Subscribe to the Spotify playlist here.Those who can’t remember the ‘60s may be doomed to repeat them, but that may be more a blessing than a curse. Though other eras ebb and flow in terms of their musical influence on the present moment, the Age of Aquarius appears to be a constantly churning river that runs through every subsequent period in pop culture, providing inspiration anew to each fresh crop of strummers, slammers, and shouters. 2016 was no exception to this phenomenon—of the albums released over the course of the year, there was no shortage of records sporting a significant ‘60s flavor. Of course even among ‘60s fetishists, everyone has their own variation. For instance, current troubadours like Ryley Walker and Itasca show fealty to the acoustic guitar-wielding folkie songsmiths of bygone days, while The Explorers Club and Seth Swirsky pay homage to the sunshine pop powers of The Beach Boys and their ilk, and Night Beats and The Warlocks represent the drop-some-acid-and-floor-the-distortion-pedal approach to psychedelia. All in all, 2016 turned out to be a pretty good year for the ‘60s.

If you were a teenager in the ‘80s (as I was), you could be forgiven for thinking the ‘60s were lame. Between yuppies dancing around to Motown milestones in The Big Chill to classic rock radio’s ossification of a couple dozen hippie-era hits (whose ubiquity proved that familiarity does indeed breed contempt), any right-thinking young person was bound to eschew the Aquarian age in search of greener pastures. Most likely, you gravitated toward the bright, gleaming light beckoning from the New Wave/post-punk realm, where everything seemed fresh and vibrant.But as I discovered pretty quickly into my obsession with college radio—and contemporary chronicles like Trouser Press, New York Rocker, and Creem—punk’s tabula rasa/year zero ideal didn’t hold much ground when you got into the nitty-gritty of what followed it. The flood of ‘80s acts who arrived in punk’s wake, for all their bold new moves, still sported a slew of influences from the ‘60s—sometimes overtly in the form of cover tunes, and sometimes more subtly in the influences they’d assimilated.The more I viewed the music of the ‘60s through the filter of ‘80s bands who were breathing new life into the airwaves and record stores again, the more attractive that bygone era seemed. Sometimes a cover version could put you on a direct route to the original artist’s oeuvre: For instance, ‘60s L.A. psych underdogs Love, who would be posthumously deified a couple of decades later, were more popular than ever as an underground phenomenon in the ‘80s. The Damned’s cover of their “Alone Again Or” made it easy to find your way to the seminal Forever Changes; and once you were there, the spelunking was endlessly rewarding.Even on the less obvious end of the spectrum, it didn’t take a cultural anthropologist to trace the links from, say, the power chords of The Jam and Secret Affair to mod OGs like The Who and Small Faces. Nor was it too tough to determine that the chiming guitar riffs of R.E.M. and The Cleaners From Venus led straight back to first-gen jangle kings The Byrds.It wasn’t just ‘60s rock that revealed itself to me in this manner. The ‘80s synth-pop bands may not have had much of a musical investment in psychedelia and such, but the pop, R&B, and girl group sounds of the ’60s were another story. It was easy to follow the paths of the likes of Naked Eyes to the glittering legacy of singers like Dionne Warwick, who previously might have seemed like a middle-of-the-road musician from another generation to my amateurish ears. And while New Orleans R&B wasn’t especially accessible to an ‘80s kid growing up in The Bronx, Devo’s mechanized take on the Allen Toussaint-penned Lee Dorsey classic “Working In the Coal Mine” illuminated a whole new world to be explored.Of course, in a pre-Internet world, these explorations of the past were far more difficult than they are for teens, or anybody else, today. But the thrill of the chase was as much a part of the fun as the end result.

What a difference 25 years can make. In 1992, the American alt-rock movement arguably reached its zenith: It had become big enough to earn major-label attention, but hadn’t yet been corrupted by its exposure to the mainstream. The gods of grunge were walking the earth but so were the power-poppers, sadcore kings, lo-fi upstarts, and others. A quarter-century later, some of them have departed this earthly plane, but most of them are still active and making music that’s a far cry from the sounds that helped them ascend to the top of the alt-rock heap back in the early ‘90s.When Pavement were putting the lo-fi movement on the map with 1992’s Slanted and Enchanted, it would have been tough to predict that Stephen Malkmus would one day unleash an 11-minute cover of a Grateful Dead tune. The hooky pop perfection of The Lemonheads’ “It’s A Shame About Ray” doesn’t exactly set you up for Evan Dando’s take on country-folk troubadour Townes Van Zandt’s doomy “Waiting Around to Die.” Nor could you draw a straight line from Chris Cornell’s wailing on Soundgarden’s post-metal monster “Rusty Cage” to the epic, romantic balladry of his 2017 single “The Promise” (the track that sadly proved to be his swan song). The latest output from the likes of The Afghan Whigs (pictured) and Mark Lanegan is a complete 180 from the sounds of their salad days, but there’s an undeniable artistic maturation at work there.The alt-rock class of ‘92 might seem different from what you remember (if you’re even old enough to remember), but they’re still at it today, and they’ve still got something to say. Here’s a snapshot of what some of them have been up to lately, paired with tracks from a quarter-century ago.

Click here to add to Spotify playlist!The party line among rock historians is that 70s progressive rock was a uniquely British phenomenon, with minor prog annexes popping up in America and elsewhere. While its true that prog found its footing in England, the idea that it was the musics only—or even main—stronghold is a patent falsehood.While there were active prog scenes all across Europe in Germany, Sweden, France, and other regions, Italy became as much of a hotbed for it as England, if not more so. As in the UK, Italian prog grew out of psychedelia, with fuzzy guitars and organ solos giving way to swooping synths and complex suites. But Italian prog had a distinct sonic fingerprint that set it apart from its British cousin.Aside from the obvious fact that most of the lyrics were in Italian, the countrys prog bands—with some important exceptions—tended toward a lush, symphonic sound that embraced classical influences and eschewed the blues modalities that popped up in the music of their British counterparts. The influence of Italian folk was also crucial, making for a more pastoral feel than commonly found in British prog.The big stars of Italian prog—the handful of bands who ever performed or had records released outside of their homeland—included Premiata Forneria Marconi (PFM for short), Banco, and Le Orme (pictured at top). But at various strata beneath that tiny top tier were countless other bands who were as equally inventive. Though the likes of Biglietto Per LInferno, Metamorfosi, and Celeste didnt gain much attention in other countries, theyre a vital part of Italys proud prog legacy. The presence of contemporary bands like La Maschera Di Cera and Nuova Era, who are overtly influenced by their forebears, attests to the staying power of this singular sound.

In the songs that bookend this playlist, which are separated by a decade, Prince cheekily reports, “I just can’t believe all the things people say/Am I black or white? Am I straight or gay?” and David Bowie rhetorically inquires, “Oh, you pretty things, don’t you know you’re driving your mamas and papas insane?”

Each in his own way was reveling in the joys of androgyny. And each memorably presented a gender-amorphous image to the pop-culture mainstream, helping to further the cause of LGBTQ identity politics.

When Bowie sang “Oh! You Pretty Things” in 1971, there were lots of longhaired males on the rock scene but precious few actively courting an androgynous (or outright feminine) image as he would. By the ’80s, that had changed drastically. Especially in England, New Wave and synth-pop ushered in a raft of new celebrities who had no qualms about dancing down the middle of the gender-identity divide, delightedly tweaking sexual and social preconceptions in the process.

By the time Culture Club’s Boy George ascended to international superstardom in 1982-83, a sexually ambiguous image could be seen as actively advantageous to aspiring pop icons. And around the same time, Annie Lennox of Eurythmics and Grace Jones showed that women could flout gender convention as effectively as men.

Though trends would naturally come and go in the decades that followed, the lessons of ’80s pop androgyny were not lost. La Roux, Janelle Monáe, Antony and the Johnsons, LP, and others represented the increasing fluidity of gender identity in the new millennium, sometimes incorporating not only the images of the ’80s but also the musical innovations of artists like Prince and Eurythmics, becoming part of a pop-cultural continuum with plenty of room to move forward.

This post is part of our Psych 101 program, an in-depth, 14-part series that looks at the impact of psychedelia on modern music. Want to sign up to receive the other installments in your inbox? Go here. Already signed up and enjoying it? Help us get the word out by sharing it on Facebook, Twitter or just sending your friends this link. Theyll thank you. We thank you.Be advised: You’re about to encounter a bumper crop of bad vibes. The CliffsNotes version of rock history would have you believe that the ‘60s was just a wall-to-wall Age of Aquarius packed to the gills with peace, love, and paisley. But a closer look reveals a darker side to the hippie dream. The same counterculture that made all those sunshine daydreams possible also encompassed some seriously shadowy elements. Psychosis, sexual perversion, misanthropy, morbidity, social decay, the downside of psychedelics—all of these were a potent part of the scene. Whether you’ve got a well known band like The Velvet Underground delivering an ode to sadomasochism on “Venus in Furs” or a more obscure outfit like St. John Green serving up a song for the “Goddess of Death,” take a tumble into the creepier side of the ‘60s.

When Florian Schneider and Ralf Hütter—two denizens of Germany’s musical underground—founded Kraftwerk in 1970, nobody could have imagined the impact they would have. But all these decades later, few corners of popular music are untouched by their influence. The sounds they crafted in the ’70s and ’80s with Karl Bartos and Wolfgang Flür resonated worldwide, influencing post-punk, synth-pop, New Wave, hip-hop, techno, and more.

Kraftwerk were among the first to use electronics as a tool for fashioning pop music. Even though their first few albums employed electronics in a more experimental way, they broke through internationally in 1974 with “Autobahn,” their mechanically paced hooks and android image positioning them as the Beach Boys of the robot revolution, pointing toward an entirely fresh musical future.

Before the ’70s were over, disciple David Bowie had released the Florian homage “V-2 Schneider” and incorporated Kraftwerk’s influence in his legendary “Berlin trilogy” of albums, and Gary Numan had channeled the band’s inspiration into the first flowering of synth-pop, which would continue to bear Kraftwerk’s mark in the ’80s.

From there, Kraftwerk’s electronic innovations went on to profoundly affect hip-hop and electro, starting with Afrika Bambaataa & The Soulsonic Force’s “Planet Rock” and continuing through countless samples. This fed into the band’s influence on Detroit techno (and subsequently the international IDM scene). By the 2000s, the band’s influence was doubling back on itself via the ’80s-retro electroclash movement.

Today the majority of pop and hip-hop is created with electronics, and even artists who have never heard a note of Kraftwerk in their lives owe some of their existence to them, whether they realize it or not. Schneider left the band in 2008 and Hütter continued to lead a new lineup in occasional tours, but when Schneider passed away on April 30, 2020, at the age of 73, even though he was no longer working with the band, it marked an epoch’s end. Gathered in the accompanying playlist is a tiny percentage of the countless artists indebted to Kraftwerk’s fearless vision.

For those who get tired of hearing the same tired old versions of the same damn Christmas tunes every time the holidays roll around, this playlist offers some electrifying options to keep your seasonal soundtrack vital, and hopefully prevent you from falling asleep in your eggnog.Even those who think they know it all when it comes to the classic-rock canon might be surprised by the number of Christmas songs that have been recorded by some of rock n rolls mightiest artists over the years. The best-of collections by the Eagles and REO Speedwagon rarely, if ever, end up including tracks like "Please Come Home for Christmas" and "Ill Be Home for Christmas," respectively. And when the catalog of The Beach Boys is celebrated, how often does their "Little Saint Nick" get a mention?Even prog rockers have taken time out from their tricky time signatures and otherworldly epics to spend some time in the land of sleigh bells and roasted chestnuts. Emerson, Lake & Palmer offered up a tune that would become a holiday standard in England, "I Believe in Father Christmas," and Jethro Tull turned out a flute-tastic version of the classic carol "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen."The harder end of the rock spectrum is represented not only by Twisted Sister giving a new spin to a time-honored idea with "Heavy Metal Christmas (The Twelve Days of Christmas)" but also by the kings of metal satire, Spinal Tap, with their satanically seasonal "Christmas with the Devil." Beatlemaniacs are well served at Christmastime — theres John Lennons hopeful "Happy Xmas (War Is Over)," Paul McCartneys jubilant standby "Wonderful Christmastime," and Ringo getting his licks in with "Come On Christmas, Christmas Come On."While some of the most popular classic-rock Christmas tunes are originals, theres also a fair number of rockers who have tackled timeless holiday standards, coming up with their own takes on the venerated tunes. Bruce Springsteens live version of "Santa Claus Is Comin to Town" is probably one of the best-known and most beloved, but dont sleep on Stevie Nicks take on "Silent Night" either.Pioneering 50s rockers left their mark on the holiday canon as well. Chuck Berrys "Run Rudolph Run" pretty much set the template for every rock n roll Christmas tune to come, and Elvis Presleys "Blue Christmas" is just about the most mournful seasonal track ever recorded.So when it comes time to crank up the holiday soundtrack this year, dont worry about drowning in worn-out warhorses. Just turn to this collection of classic-rock cuts to keep your Christmas crackling with energy.

Deep down in the shadowy, cobwebby corners of many musical legends, you’re bound to come across a stray track that goes way against the grain, differing so drastically from the artist’s signature sound that you might think it was recorded by someone else entirely. These tracks are the outliers, and while a handful of them have become renowned over time, many are still lurking in the darkness waiting for some hardy historian to shine a light on them.One of the most famous outliers is The Beatles’ “Revolution 9,” in which John Lennon left conventional song format far behind in favor of an utterly avant-garde musique concrète composition. Lou Reed’s Metal Machine Music—essentially an album full of feedback and electronic whirring and buzzing—is almost as iconic. But there are plenty of other equally anomalous tunes to discover from the catalogs of major artists.Creedence Clearwater Revival might seem like the band least likely to go for their own “Revolution 9,” but that’s pretty much what they did with “Rude Awakening #2”; Folk rock trailblazers The Byrds found time to mix synths and Indian influences on the out-there instrumental “Moog Raga”; and everybody from Chubby Checker to Sonny Bono to The Four Seasons managed to turn out a mind-bendingly trippy tune or two in the psychedelic era.Those who associate Foghat with leaden blues rock boogie will be astonished at the shockingly Squeeze-like power pop nugget “Wide Boy,” and who expected hard rock hero Phil Lynott of Thin Lizzy to cough up a Eurodisco-tinged synth-pop tune co-written with Ultravox’s Midge Ure? Tony McPhee, frontman for UK blues rockers The Groundhogs, is a cult hero, but his 20-minute electronic freakout “The Hunt” is such a quintessential example of the outlier phenomenon that it’s the ideal way to close out this carnival of the unlikely.

Let’s get one thing straight right off the bat. This is not “neo soul.” At least it’s not what’s been commonly described that way ever since R&B acts started channeling ‘70s influences in the ‘90s. “Neo classic” is a more apt term, when we’re talking about the likes of Sharon Jones, Eli “Paperboy” Reed, Raphael Saadiq, and James Hunter, who may toss in some ‘70s shadings here and there but keep their musical template firmly rooted in the ‘60s. You can hear the influence of everything from the sweet Chicago soul of The Impressions to the emotion-wracked moan of James Carr. While Brooklyn’s Daptone label leads the pack, with artists like Jones, Charles Bradley, and Naomi Shelton, neo-classic soul can pop anyplace where there’s a band with a sense of history and a singer willing to lay it all on the line.