Whether you're in the depths of the Congo jungle or sitting in a symphony in Prague, music is pretty much universal and can be found anywhere people exist. Maybe it's the subconscious effect of the harmonic frequencies or something, but music can define culture, foster understanding between people, save people from lives of crime, save people from silent drives home in the middle of a traffic jam, or make or break any movie or video game. In short, music is bloody amazing, and something pretty much everyone can relate to in some manner.

 

On another note, I find that though poetry has seemingly experienced a cataclysmic death in the past few decades, I feel it has actually just experienced a metamorphosis of sorts. Rather than existing on paper, it now exists in song, making it actually more enjoyable, for rather than simply being a literary experience, it is now also a sonic experience. And for me at least, in this stage of my life, analyzing a Radiohead song is a bit more enjoyable than analyzing something by William Butler Yeats, and I think the people over at Song Meanings.net would agree. English teachers take note.

 

Click the images for links.

Radiohead is pretty much the greatest band ever. An overestimation you say? Perhaps, but I think not.

 

The music of Radiohead is impeccable and brilliant; there is nothing to dispute, nothing to argue. Their track record is not spotless, but, while most artists have a few nice tracks to their name, Radiohead has dozens, even hundreds. Tracing the evolution of their sound from the piss poor Pablo Honey to the unspeakable grandeur of OK Computer to the seminal mastery of In Rainbows, it's as if one is following the life cycle of men in search of divinity, from childhood to puberty, adulthood and beyond.

 

Radiohead are what artists ought to be. People who constantly pour everything they've go into their work. People who look at their work and themselves objectively, building upon what works, correcting or discarding what doesn't. People who reinvent themselves judiciously, but without the paralyzing fear of screwing up.

 

Not only are they the greatest band ever, but they are in my opinion some of the greatest artists to have ever graced this planet. High praise indeed for a band, but, for those who understand, it's not praise enough.

Holy moley. Or perhaps I should say unholy moley...

 

Now I hate the video game Diablo 2. It's like typing morse code with your mouse - <click click click clickclickclick>. And it's a testament to Matt Uelman's unbelievable skill and talent that he could make me want to play a game that I hated just to listen to the music.

 

The music is so haunting, so terrifying, so mournful and gorgeous that I could just listen to this music all day, though I don't want to think about the types of dreams I would have when I would eventually drift off to sleep. From a video game standpoint, each track is expertly crafted in terms of length, melody and structure so that you can listen to each track repeated endlessly and never get bored or tired of it, which is crucuial when you're playing in a particular area of the game for hours on end.

 

Which brings me to another point. This music isn't simply good, it's iconic; each track is so well tailored to the environments they're designed for that the music actually becomes the game. Even after all these years, when I listen to the Rogue track, no matter what I'm doing, I feel like I'm in the dreary night of the Rogue Encampent in Act I. And just listening to the guitarwork on the Tristram track sends chills down my spine.

 

This is not a soundtrack. This is an experience, and one I will gladly live over and over again.

With Gorillaz, experimentation is the name of the game, and through their tinkering they've discovered the sound of the new millenium. Their music is at times goregous, hypnotic, funky, and absolutely fun. Practically every one of their songs is a solid, dynamic composition, often times being way more than that, which is absolutely remarkable considering they're a bunch of cartoon characters.

 

Pop Demon Days into your CD player and throw out all preconceptions of what "good music" is as you listen to some of the coolest tunes ever.

Alice in Chains probably never got as much recognition as they should have, most likely because of Nirvana. Yet they stand on their own as a completely unique blend of soft, acoustic emotion and harsh, distorted wrath.

 

Their lyrics are both cryptic and creepy, their music unsettlingly beautiful and uncompromising in its intensity. The dichotomy between Layne Staley and Jerry Cantrell's vocals stands as a testament to the masterful dynamism, both harmonious and dissonant, of their music.

 

It's just a shame that we'll never get a chance to hear what they could have fully become.

Following all logic concerning what I like and don't like in terms of personal artistic and musical taste, and simply considering my overall personality, I ought to hate Elton John. But sometimes, upon discovering some music you think you would hate, you end up loving it, and learn something about yourself in the process.

 

Maybe its his lush piano playing, his rich, tonal voice, or his brilliantly simple musical and lyrical structure (with credit to lyricist Bernie Taupin). Whatever it is, Elton John is a real musical virtuoso. Screw the Beatles, "Goodbye Yellow Brick Road" is probably one of the greatest English language songs ever crafted.

Beck can do it all. From powerul, emotive opuses like Sea Change to the absurdist ridiculousness of Odelay!, and everything in between, Beck proves just how dynamic an artist can be, with a vegetable man in a vegetable van and a giant sun crushing dildo tossed in for flavor.

 

Post-modern pop indeed.

I have never come across more passionate nihilism or apathy than in Nirvana. At certain points, they're downright transcendental.

 

Yet it's not simply because of Nevermind that Nirvana's on this list, but because of their Unplugged album as well. Sparse, austere, yet full of an ambivalent life that can probably never be replicated ever again, Nirvana's true colors show, masterfully demonstrating the condition of the modern young adult, something rarely dealt with seriously.

 

And besides, if Nirvana can play a David Bowie song better than David Bowie himself, then I think that merits some respect.

Slint is one of those weird bands that not too many people appreciate or even know about, and yet their impact is unquestionable, though they may be a bit difficult to swallow for most people.

 

With their album, Spiderland, they have managed to weave together isolation, deslolation, and madness, layered with the alternatingly sparse and powerful guitarwork of David Pajo, all with the chilling spoken word "singing" of Brian McMahan creating not only one of the eeriest musical landscapes I've ever heard, but a sense of narrative and poetry reminiscent of the wastelands of Edgar Allan Poe as well. Spiderland is essentially the perfect modern interpretation of the Romantic concept of the sublime.