Essentials

This Beatles acolyte learned the lesson: he imitated their eccentricity because he was a natural eccentric and a natural songsmith, not because he wanted to write Great Songs. For a while they poured out of him; he was the shaggiest, loveliest, and most self-destructive of the seventies singer-songwriters. His was a doomed project, for meshing Nelson Riddle’s orchestral pop and the American Songbook tradition it invokes with a Vietnam generation’s fetish for revelation sounded impossible then, and it hasn’t worn well. But he and Carole King should have composed more soundtracks for children’s TV — imagine sequels to “Chicken Soup with Rice” written by the author of “Cuddly Toy”!And “Spaceman” is more devastating than “Rocket Man” and “Space Oddity,” fools.Visit our affiliate/partner site Humanizing the Vacuum for great lists, commentary, and more.

No way in hell will I essay my own context-building, not when exemplary profiles by Philip Gourevitch and Jonathan Lethem exist. Besides, my intro to James Brown I credit to an episode of The Cosby Show in which Rudy Huxtable did her best “baby baby baby” lip syncing to “I Got That Feelin’.” What Gourevitch wrote in 2002 about “Please, Please, Please” strikes me as definitive:

The song doesn’t tell a story so much as express a condition. The singer might be speaking from the cradle of his lover’s arms, or chasing her down a street, or watching the lights of her train diminish in the night; he might be crouched alone in an alleyway, or wandering an empty house, or smiling for all the world to see while his words rattle, unspoken, inside his skull. He could be anyone anywhere. His lover might be dying. He might be dying. He might not even be addressing an actual lover. He could be speaking of someone or something he’s never had. He could be talking to God, or to the Devil…Speech is inadequate, so the singer makes music, and music is inadequate, so he makes his music speak. Feeling is stripped to its essence, and the feeling is the whole story. And, if that feeling seems inelegant, the singer’s immaculately disciplined performance makes his representation of turmoil unmistakably styled and stylish—the brink of frenzy as a style unto itself.

Facing such a statue in the park, I saw fit, more than ever, to include songs I wanted to hear again, hence the absence of “I Got You” and “Papa’s Got a Brand New Bag.” On the other hand, I included a track from 1991’s forgotten post-prison Love Over-due called “(So Tired of Standing Still We Got to) Move On,” boasting some of the most ferocious rhythm lickin’ of his career — and that’s saying a lot. Also a contender is “What Do You Like” from James Brown Plays the Real Thing, designed to showcase his organ playing. He’s also responsible for one of the more galling examples of plagiarism in popular music: forget “rewriting” and use the verb “re-releasing” Bowie’s 1975 “Fame” as “Hot (I Need to Be Loved, Loved, Loved)”; it works because “Fame” is a monster and so is Mr. Lickin’ Stick.Sigh. An evening I anticipated listening to new music I’llnow spend listening to Star Time. Sigh.Visit our affiliate/partner site Humanizing the Vacuum for great lists, commentary, and more.

It always comes back to Black Sabbath. It really does. In the case of Japanese metal, Sabbath was more or less the spark that catalyzed the genre in the East. In 1970, the Tokyo-based Flower Travellin’ Band—whose gloomy heavy metal merged psychedelic and prog trends—released their first LP, Anywhere, which included a cover of the title track of Sabbath’s self-titled record from the same year. The following year, they released the weighty, howling Satori, a landmark record that sounded like equal parts Sabbath and The Stooges and solidified the genre’s sovereignty in Japan. Since Satori, many bands have fought to live up to its standard. Fortunately, to help sort through almost 50 years of heavy sounds from the Land of the Rising Sun, Loudwire has made their definitive list of The 10 Best Japanese Metal Bands.The list is a decent primer into the country’s history in metal; yet, surprisingly, it does not include Flower Travellin’ Band or other important, early groups like 44 Magnum or Bow Wow. The ‘80s glam-metal band Loudness is represented here, and so is late-’80s/’90s power-metal group X JAPAN, who pioneered “visual kei,” which is basically the Japanese stylistic equivalent of glam and punk rock, in terms of incorporating fashion into the aura of a band.The list does hit solid modern groups like Maximum the Hormone and Dir En Gray, but surprisingly, leaves out Church of Misery. Teenage metal sensations BABYMETAL are on here as well and, whatever your opinion of them may be, it cannot be contested that they’re one of the most popular Japanese bands on the planet. To me, they sound like what would happen if Katy Perry made a metal record, so I’m a little skeptical of their inclusion as one of the greatest Japanese metal bands. But they’re massively successful, so it’s fine.And, of course, doom/drone/extreme-metal masters Boris are here. Alongside BABYMETAL, they’re probably the other dominating force from Japan in the contemporary Western metal scene. Boris, whose 2005 album Pink is considered a contemporary metal landmark, is celebrating their 25th anniversary as a band in 2017 as they prepare to release Dear. Before you explore their latest, turn your back to the sun and delve into our rich history of Japanese metal, which uses Loudwire’s list as the foundation while expanding the scope with some supplementary selections of our own.* Unfortunately, the music of Abigail and Maximum the Hormone is not available on Spotify, but it can be found onYouTube. Abigail, who is self-described as “the most evil band in Japan,” is particularly worth investigating.

The arrival of a new Kendrick Lamar album on April 14 has us thinking about the Compton MCs place in L.A.s storied hip-hop history. To that end, The Dowsers Sam Chennault, Mosi Reeves, and David Turner convened to determine this list of the citys greatest-ever rappers—and compile a playlist of their hottest moments on the mic.5. Vince StaplesTwo decades after Snoop Dogg emerged from Long Beach, another sharp-tongued and witty rapper arrived to lead a new generation. Through a loose Odd Future affiliation, Vince Staples surfaced in 2014 with the harsh screech and wailings that powered his single “Blue Suede.” While hes charming and humorous off the mic, on record Vince holds nothing back, touching upon issues of gang violence, racial injustice, and the burden society places on blackness. That weight might be why, on 2014’s “Fire,” he casually admits, “I’m probably finna go to hell anyway.” — David Turner 4. Earl SweatshirtEarl Sweatshirt’s career has been defined by absence. His 2010 debut mixtape, Earl, matched themes of adolescent obsession, neurosis, and bravado with a preternatural sensitivity to language, resulting in a statement of dysfunction startling for its casual violence, Rubiks Cube rhyme schemes, and childish misogyny. Shortly thereafter, Earl’ parents forced him into exile, banishing him to boarding school in Somoa, and making Early a cause-du-jour for his crew, the zeitgeist-peddling pranksters Odd Future. For a while, the world’s best rapper was a 17-year-old sharing a bunk-bed in a tiny island state in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. When Earl re-appeared, releasing 2013’s bleary Doris, he was heralded rap’s prodigal son, but while he lost the problematic rape fantasies, he sounded impossibly fragile. The title of his follow-up, I Don’t Like Shit, I Don’t Go Outside, underlined this reluctance, and many felt Earl would become hip-hop’s Henry Darger, a talented and idiosyncratic artist content to spin polysyllabic rhymes of post-adolescent ennui in anonymous L.A. basement studios. Hopefully, that won’t be how he’s remembered—he’s only 23, and his story is far from over. — Sam Chennault3. Ice CubeIce Cube was arguably the first great Los Angeles MC to win over New York’s notoriously finicky rap aesthetes. As the Jheri-curled knucklehead capable of both observing and (musically) partaking in the gangsta madness of his native Compton, and then connecting those images to a wider socio-political context, Ice Cube brought a lyrical deftness that still resonates to this day. Case in point: The popular rap blog 2dopeboyz.com recently conducted a poll of the best diss song of all time. The winner? Ice Cube’s “No Vaseline.” — Mosi Reeves2. Snoop DoggIn 1993, Snoop Dogg released his debut album, Doggystyle, which furthered the nihilistic mission statement he introduced the previous year on Dr. Dre’s The Chronic. Though he was only 22 years old at the time—and was seemingly concerned only with how much weed he could smoke and how many parties he could throw—Snoop had a prematurely aged, raspy flow that perfectly complemented Dre’s ingenious reworking of 70s and 80s funk and soul. But in the 2000s, Snoops partnership with Pharrell—which yielded the rappers first No. 1 single, "Drop It Like Its Hot"—showed how his cool demeanor could also shine over minimalist Neptunes production. And when Snoop teamed up with Charlie Wilson on “Peaches N Cream” for his 2015 album, Bush, it was a reminder of how his love of funk has guided his entire career. — David Turner 1. Kendrick LamarKendrick Lamar represents the new perspective of L.A. hardcore rap: loyal to the streets, but not defined by them. As an MC, he’s a virtuoso who is capable of speeding up and slowing down a verse’s rhythm, changing the cadence mid-speech, and shifting tones. Lyrically, he writes about the whole of the black experience as it is lived physically and spiritually. His music is conceptually ambitious, almost to a fault—it sounds like a man whose brain is perpetually stuck in high gear. But it’s a burden that he seems happy to accept. — Mosi ReevesHonorable mentions: YGDJ QuikBusdriverAceyaloneKurupt

As cassette tapes and CDs proliferated in the ‘80 and ‘90s, music began to travel to uncharted territories—like small villages in South America. And thanks to the vast reach of MTV and, later the internet, that cultural cross-pollination has only accelerated. One of the more intriguing results of this process has been the rise of Latin American shoegaze: young South American musicians in thrall to U.K. bands like My Bloody Valentine and Ride, but putting their own spin on the genre.Latin American Shoegaze can be milky and romantic (see: Robsongs’ “Essa Grande Falta de Você”), touching and spiritual (Sexores’ “Sasebo”), or brisk and spiky (Blancoscuro’s “Figaro”). The lyrics are often completely in Spanish or Portuguese, bringing a unique, authentic tone to the music (particularly in a genre known for obscuring the words). As this playlist shows, shoegaze has permeated the Latin American underground from Sao Paulo to Mexico City to Buenos Aires—have a listen to hear how they do it down south.

As was the case with most 60s-rock survivors, the 1980s were not kind to Paul McCartney. Despite ushering in the decade with a pair of blockbusterduets, by 1986s Press to Play, hed hit a commercial and critical nadir, and an artist who once set the pace for rock n roll innovation was stalled in the middle of road. But McCartney eventually wiggled his way out by reminding himself of a lesson that served him well during his Beatles years: He always does his most inspired work with a foil.For 1989s Flowers in the Dirt, he tapped the songwriting smarts of Elvis Costello. Alas, Costello proved not to be Maccas new Lennon—plans for a full-album collaboration were eventually whittled down to a handful of co-writes. (The trove of stripped-down, Elvis-assisted demos featured on Flowers 2017 reissue reveals the album that couldve been.) But the Costello experiment seemed to open McCartney up to more collaborations that would push him outside his usual comfort zone. The most surprising of these was The Fireman, a union with ex-Killing Joke bassist Youth that began in the early 90s as an anonymous ambient-techno project, but reemerged on 2008s Electric Arguments as a cinematically scaled pop group that imagined an alternate 80s where McCartney started taking notes from U2. But The Fireman wasnt even his most outré detour—that honor belongs to Liverpool Sound Collage, a beat-spliced, found-sound curio created with members of Super Furry Animals. And then theres "Cut Me Slack," a 2012 one-off with the surviving members of Nirvana that pushed McCartney toward his "Helter Skelter" heaviest.Alas, these diversions may have been too sporadic to bolster McCartneys long-standing campaign to reclaim the "cool Beatle" status that has long been conferred to John Lennon. After all, in between these side projects, McCartney continued to release solo records of varying quality that captured him in his familiar modes: the piano balladeer, the farmhouse folkie, the Little Richard-schooled rocker. But even his most forgettable albums from the past three decades—like 1993s Off the Ground—feature displays of his melodic mastery (in that case, the golden, slumberous serenade "Winedark Open Sea"). And occasionally, hes let his eccentric streak bleed into his proper albums, like on the epic Driving Rain blowout "Rinse the Raindrops," or the art-pop oddity "Mr. Bellamy" from Memory Almost Full.It says a lot about McCartneys enduring songcraft and capacity for curveballs that his most popular single ever—judging by the nine-digit Spotify streaming numbers, at least—came more than 50 years into his incomparable career. Sure, having both Rihanna and Kanye West sing on it will help boost the stats. And yet, that unlikely but carefree collaboration perfectly crystallizes the latter-day work of an artist whos still pulling from a bottomless well of pretty tunes, but is always four, five seconds from wilding.

How fitting that James Murphy released his last album in 2010, for LCD Soundsystem lives in a climate-controlled space where college students and post grads, downloading songs onto their new smartphones, got excited about voting for Barack Obama. To say the music is “dated” is redundant—all music sounds like the time in which it was recorded. Also wrong. If anything, the collar-loosening white boy boogie of “Dance Yrself Clean” and “Daft Punk is Playing in My House” predated the ways in which the Silicon Valley ethos of app-ready affluence established itself in the last three to five years: dancing to “I Feel It Coming” after a few pints of the local microbrew. LCD’s 2010 show at the Fillmore presented the act at its best, with Murphy and Nancy Whang trading instruments and losing themselves to the music. He started losing me with the singer-songwriter material that won him praise a decade ago: all that “In My Life” stuff. I included a couple moments anyway because I won’t renounce my past.Visit our affiliate/partner site Humanizing the Vacuum for great lists, commentary, and more.

There was a time, not too long ago, when the term “LGBT rapper” did not exist. Of course there were lesbian, gay, bisexual, or transgender rappers out there but, the truth is, they simply were not accepted by the mainstream hip-hop community. As recently as 2012, it was considered somewhat taboo for Jay-Z to come out in support of gay marriage. Around the same time, Odd Future was catching flak for their overuse of a certain anti-gay slur that’s been around rap for decades. In 2017, Jay-Z’s mother came out as lesbian on 4:44 and Tyler, The Creator confirmed on Scum Fuck Flower Boy that he’s maybe, but maybe not, gay or bisexual, like fellow Odd Future members Frank Ocean and Syd.Those are still the most high-profile examples in hip-hop, and, despite Macklemore’s best intentions with “Same Love,” the genre has yet to accept a truly mainstream LGBT artist. But advances have still been made, and the fact that there are enough rappers to fill this playlist (as well as enough bad LGBT rappers that not all of them had to be included) shows how far the genre has come in a relatively short period of time.This playlist begins with the hits, in an attempt to prove that ILoveMakonnen and Young M.A. make songs we all like, regardless of their sexual preferences. Then we get into artists that have become icons of LGBT rap, like Le1f (pictured above), Cakes da Killa, and Big Freedia, as well as younger artists like Kevin Abstract and his Brockhampton group that consider being gay normal and probably wouldn’t even want to be on this list at all.The only non-LGBT artists here (aside from the aforementioned Jay-Z) are Chance the Rapper and Jeremih, who feature on Taylor Bennett’s song “Grown Up Fairy Tales.” They’re included because Taylor Bennett revealed earlier this year that he’s “a bisexual man,” and the fact that Chance—one of the world’s most popular, Christian rappers—is supporting his brother’s sexuality is yet another small but significant testament to the genre’s progress. (Even though Bennett’s other song on this list is called “Straight from the Bottom,” it’s also good.)There are a lot of openly LGBT rappers now, but things will be better when we don’t categorize them in that manner at all. In the meantime, enjoy these songs, all of which are great regardless of their creators’ sexual orientations.

Searching for progenitors, Americans might have stopped at Neneh Cherry’s “Manchild,” in which a lulling, dazed beat refuses to so much as shudder as strings rumble and crack. But it took hearing “Protection” at an Edinburgh pub in the summer of 1997 to start my walk backward. So did an excellent Finsbury Park performance a week later, during which they debuted new material. Tricky (Kid) was another story. By the late nineties Massive Attack were Gap music: “Inertia Creeps” and “Teardrop” accompanying the choosing of V-neck shirts. A delightful wrinkle, for 1998’s Mezzanine contained their thickest music. I missed the samples and Mushroom on 100th Window, Shara Nelson always. Hence, “Unfinished Sympathy” atop my list, first heard by yours truly on the Sliver soundtrack (Heaven 17’s “Penthouse and Pavement” too!).Visit our affiliate/partner site Humanizing the Vacuum for great lists, commentary, and more.

Middlemarch. The Changing Light on Sandover. Get Up On It. When I’m seventy, I’ll be divining their mysteries. Even if D. Boon hadn’t died in a car accident in 1985, The Minutemen suggest plumbless depths. Marrying the terseness of Wire to an adoration of classic rock produced musical haiku whose undulating bass riffs and shouted hooks ultimately owed nothing to no one. I can’t even say I’m a devotee; I’m still figuring out how to listen to them, and it’s a thrill. To realize slop and precision is some kind of feat, hence their CCR and Steely Dan covers (adducing the precision side) and “Bob Dylan Wrote Political Songs” (adducing their sloppy-visionary side)The most amiable of double albums, Double Nickels on the Dime is also among the deepest. I’ve owned it for fifteen years yet I look at the track listing and couldn’t hum a bar of certain songs — and that’s fine. I look at the list below and have trouble recalling certain riffs too. Boon’s furtive tone is, of all people’s, like Dionne Warwick: he’s sharing a conversation which listeners may or may not be able to follow, babbling and crooning as required, wondering if you know the way to San Jose because he wrote the directions down on a scrap of cig pack paper he lost. George Hurley can be as spare as Robert Gotobed or insert a roll as unexpectedly as Keith Moon. Negotiating between Mike Watt’s stentorian bass runs and Boon’s chikka-chikka riffs defined the Minutemen’s tension — see “Mutiny in Jonestown.”I titled this post after a lyric in “The Price of Paradise”; awed by CCR’s “Don’t Look Now,” they wrote their own distillation of what they’d learned about American life under a frightening president, in their case Ronald Reagan, i.e. life is cheap and, to quote the song, you die without dreams. Hi! It’s 2017. 3-Way Tie (For Last), its host album, has a tune called “The Red and the Black,” named after Stendhal’s classic novel about political intrigue in post-Napoleonic France. Imagine if Boon had lived long enough to read about Iran-Contra.Visit our affiliate/partner site Humanizing the Vacuum for great lists, commentary, and more.