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60. Freeway
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So dominant was the Roc in the early '00s that, for a time, even the supporting actors on Jay-Z's record label were regularly releasing classics, and “What We Do” is one of the best any artist released on the label. Over Just Blaze's breezy hyper-speed sample, which sounds as though it were running at double pace to keep warm in the winter, Hov, Beans, and Freeway make wrong sound so right. Jay steals the show with Clipse-before-Clipse punch lines like, “I move keys/you can call me the piano man,” but his Philly fellows shine almost as bright, huffing gritty, heartfelt verses that blow human warmth into cold subject matter.
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59. The Strokes
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Did rock actually need saving? Probably not. The concept of the teenager in rock? Now that did need saving. As the nineties became noughties, the baggy-panted skate punk hordes made late adolescence seem a less-than-enticing prospect. “Hard to Explain”’s precise drive has been co-opted by numerous others this decade but few have infused that Bowery rush with the same subtle pathos. Julian Casablancas often seems to drag behind the beat, sometimes rousing to something near agitation but mainly settling on a slightly lost, slightly sad croon. It both embodies and celebrates the indolence and inarticulacy of youth with a wit many miles from their contemporaries. In a few minutes and 250 words they recast The Catcher in the Rye for the 2000s.
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58. Clipse
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Long before Clipse became infamous industry martyrs, not to mention locus of one of the decade’s most tediously never-ending ‘net-crit arguments (linguistic impresarios or one-note coke-rap frauds?), Malice and Pusha T were just two dudes lucky enough to be getting shepherded by the Neptunes at a time when Pharrell and Chad were hitting 98 mph on the gun every time they took the field. However, the Thornton boys quickly proved themselves to be the perfect foils for their producers’ jaw-dropping minimalist sonics, and “Grindin’” stands not only as the apex of the Clipse-Neptunes partnership, but arguably the high-water mark this decade for either party involved, as the fraternal emcees spit icy, intoxicating arrogance over a starkly monochromatic beat that’s every bit as cold, mechanistic, and disdainful.
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57.Ghostface Killah
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The siren may have been a staple hip-hop sample since the days of Mantronix, but few used it to such pulse-racing effect before Pretty Toney and Jadakiss spent 22 bars running from the five-o. Triggering off the beginning of every line of "Run," the sample created one of the most instantly tense atmospheres in hip-hop history, like getting dropped right into the middle of one of the chase scenes in The Bourne Ultimatum. You can practically see the slanted camera angles as Ghost and Jada jump from the fire escapes and hit the corners, each sounding like they're trying to freestyle for their freedom, Jadakiss shirtless for some reason.
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56. Baby
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No one—not M.I.A., Lil’ Wayne, Eminem, Cam’ron, sunn0))), DJ Shadow, Burial—motherfucking no one, made a song as chilling in this entire decade. The Neptunes cut the bullshit and left Clipse in a bassless interzone where the only sounds are a couple bucket-drums, a monotonous ringtone, and birdcalls. Aside from accomplishing the nearly impossible task of making Baby tolerable, Chad & Pharrell’s real coup was finding the ideal context for Clipse. It shows: Each verse is arguably the best of each brother’s career. Come on: “Word on the street that the envy is me/Enough ice on that watch to make a n***a lose sleep.” Catch that? The word on the street is that he is envy; there is enough ice on his wrist to make someone worry to the point where they can’t sleep. And then: “And have your body parts mix and matchin’.” Are you awake yet? Welcome to Clipse country -- no country for old men.
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55. Friendly Fires
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The original version of "Paris" is no doubt one of the highlights of Friendly Fires' self-titled debut album, a romantic daydream given extra vitality by the song's sweaty polyrhythmic clatter. But it's the Aeroplane remix that's the true marvel. Ingeniously swapping Ed Macfarlane's slack vocals for the sweet, insouciant tones of Au Revoir Simone (previously confined to a backup role), this is a crisp, sparkling reimagination that somehow takes on a measure of wistfulness even as it boosts the bass. Sure, maybe it goes on for about a minute longer than it needs to, but who can blame them for wanting to luxuriate in such an attractive fantasy?
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54. Nas
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The remix of “Made You Look” is the last great posse cut. In this churn mixtape/Nah Rightified-era of rap, posse cuts have become a lost art: eventually every combination of rappers will have collabed together just to fill up track 19 on DJ Wank Arm's latest LinkedIn-only exclusive release. This is what they should be though, three guys who all had designs of a stripe on the number one spot making a play for it. Luda, with the “evicted tenants” knockdown-blow punchline, takes it on a split decision, but damn if it all doesn't make you wish there coulda been a rematch.
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53. Kanye West
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Although helium-voiced “chipmunk soul” soon became one of the decade’s more irritating fads—Akon’s “Mr. Lonely” standing out as a particularly pointless example of the genre—this early deployment still feels artistically justified. As Kanye recovers from reconstructive surgery—jaw wired shut, meds coursing through his veins—a hallucinatory vision of mid-80s Chaka dances around the edges of his consciousness, her pitched-up vocals heightening the sense of other-worldly remove. Meanwhile, at a more earthbound level, the patient raves and drools, cracks jokes, gives thanks, spits in the eye of misfortune, and—as the world was soon to see—turns “tragedy to triumph.”
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52. Daft Punk
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Piggybacking brilliantly off a sample from funk footnote Edwin Birdsong, Thomas Bangalter and Guy-Manuel de Homem-Christo’s filter-disco factory anthem plugs away at the puzzling human need for forward progress. The dead clank of the ride cymbal punctuates a self-improvement anthem ready-made for exercise, mass-production, steam-punk, and just about any other mass-produced inhuman archetype. The track mirrored the duo’s transformation into robots, but the ultimately repetitive structure of “Harder” acts as an even deeper Kraftwerkian metaphor satirizing the vanity of personal growth. Ultimately, it’s the repetition of the sample, the artifice of groove-driven house, and the incessant recitation of lyrics clicking in and out of double-time that stand out. Bangalter and de Homem-Christo suggest that humanity’s best bet is celebrating the clockwork cycle of being, that we move ourselves forward by merely convincing ourselves to continue existing. Any delusion to the contrary leads us around in circles.
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51. Los Campesinos!
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I remember driving to a Los Campesinos! show, listening to the first EP on repeat, and the way it felt to hear this song again knowing we were seeing them live in a few hours: that slow build of an intro, the song drawing closer and closerandcloser... until it explodes into one of the most joyous riffs I've ever heard in modern music. It felt like we were going to explode. Whatever they're becoming now, Los Campesinos! started out with one of the inarguably great (if nuanced) statements of joy and unity found in what we insist on calling indie rock.
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50. The Walkmen
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All it takes is a well-intentioned request for The Walkmen to lose their rag: one long suffocating chord, furious, frantic drumming, and Hamilton Leithauser throwing accusations out like he dare not breathe in, throat tightened, anger but no air escaping. Leithauser's straining vocal and the momentum of the drums combine for a nervous energy that's thrilling to hear unleashed, like an articulate and timely rant that finally closes an argument. Like that, except that this is not final: even after a moment of reflection Leithauser returns to her door, and now he's pounding with both fists.
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49. Interpol
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Although Interpol prompted comparisons to a slew of art-punk bands that people weren’t yet sick of in 2002, the eighth-note chug and twinned guitars of their first single call to mind The Strokes as much as anything. PDA proved be the optimal vehicle for Paul Banks’ notoriously inane lyrics; on the verses here they slotted into a neat, incessant cadence even if they were apparently about keeping lots of furniture. Regardless of how many couches Banks has, it’s hard to begrudge the coda: an ornate dream-pop detour with an emotional punch that Antics’ blandly chirpy singles fell short of.
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48. M.I.A.
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“Paper Planes” may strike some people as the consummate M.I.A. song, but in hindsight, its Clash sample and gunshots feel like easy, obvious ornamentation. A clamorous barrage of vague sex-death taunts, digitized noise, and what is quite possibly the mightiest and scariest wordless chant ever, “Galang” imparts the menace in M.I.A’s music much more effectively. The pummeling, speaker-splintering drum jabs on the three and four and the super-compressed handclaps do a much better job conveying violence. More importantly, “Galang” feels like the standard-bearer of Internet Music: miscegenated, claustrophobic, propulsive, and impressively self-aware.
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47. Basement Jaxx
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On the surface, so joyful—from its cartoonishly mechanical bounce to the catchy "oh-oh-way-oh" refrain and even the cheerful little synth squiggle that echoes "yo-yo"—that it's sometimes easy to ignore the fact that it's essentially a lamentation of a love run aground. But that undercurrent of regret is what gives the song dimension beyond Felix Buxton and Simon Ratcliffe's sturdy, effervescent beats; when vocalist Kele Le Roc croons "Let it all go," you get the sense that the song itself is what's helping her to do so.
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46. The Pipettes
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"Pull Shapes" is one of those songs so amazing it makes you want to say ridiculous things, like: All great songs are actually about music itself. If you dance with them, it will be all right. Motown girl groups and indie disco are the greatest forces for good mankind has ever produced. One great single can make a band—any band, no matter what else is right or wrong with them—deserve immortality. It is possible to contain ebullience on vinyl (or in 1s and 0s). Pop music actually can (and should) save your soul. Nothing matters when we're dancing.
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45. Snoop Dogg
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Justin the young pup, Charlie the sage, Snoop on even keel—they're covering all the bases here, especially having Uncle Charlie quoting his own "You Dropped A Bomb on Me," a very wise move. Initially shocking for hearing JT sweetly sing "don't fuck with me"—because remember, this was before he became Mr. "SexyBack"—this also did wonders for Justin's cred, aka his sounds of blackness. Time has since shown he may have learned a thing or two from Uncle Charlie's growling croon, as well. As for Snoop, he's just here to steer the ship, dropping bourgie references to seeing "Venus and Serena in the Wimbledon arena."
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44. Dizzee Rascal
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“I Luv U,” in its two official versions, details two extreme parables of a young relationship’s breakdown. The remix, featuring Wiley and Sharky Major, is about exploiting vulnerability as a means of avoiding commitment, and is pretty solid as far as remixes go. But it’s the version off of Boy in Da Corner that’s truly unique. A rousing repartee concerning sexual mistrust, the song brilliantly plays off of the gender archetypes of men as obsessive and paranoid and women as touchy but reasonable. It would seem almost melodramatic if this weren’t so engaging and, dare I say, disturbingly realistic.
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43. Goldfrapp
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The saddest song on our list, not that anyone noticed. That's the whole problem – You don't notice. The “me” here might be a stalker or an ex, might just be lonely. But while you're living it up, I'm overdosing on these ridiculous drugs. Maybe it's wrong to expect you to want me the way I want you, but being crazed by solitude and lust makes one irrational. Can't you tell from the pain in my voice? Can't you see that no one else loves you, needs you, like me? Why isn't that enough? Why can't my love change the world?
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42.Phoenix
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This is exactly how to make pop that turns on a dime without resorting to gimmicks, shameless bombast, or girl singers from Canada. Buoyed along by sheer urgency, hinting at emotional and moral dilemmas unspoken, and embroidered with the finest thread of longing, it hits like a ton of bricks and then holds you, suspended in midair with the sweetest smile on your face. Phoenix have made a career out of writing songs that are almost as perfect as this one—and that in itself is an incredible feat.
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41. Booka Shade
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Sitting with headphones on almost half a decade on, I still get a rush when the fluttery organ notes of “Mandarine Girl” start. Never has name fit a label better than Get Physical’s did in its early years, and “Mandarine Girl” was the their most perfect engine for making the body move. It’s just a few simple measures of plastic bass, clonk, and midrange fuzz but they shift into seemingly endless teasing combinations that always hint at more to come. The most delicious parts of the track though are the drops into silence. Silences that promise so much, and the promise is always sweatily delivered on.
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