Music Blogs

One way or another, all music is about emotion, even when it’s about lack of emotion. But some records reach the parts others never can, raising emotional intensity to a pitch that can verge on the unbearable. We here at RBP Towers have selected a ton of the most overwhelming, intoxicating, cathartic records ever captured on tape. They hail from all walks of music, from blues to disco and punk to big beat... Charlie Parker to Charlie Rich, Neil Young to Nirvana, Smokey Robinson to the Smashing Pumpkins. The criteria for all of them are simple: Does your face scrunch up into hideous contortions when you listen to them? And do they cause you involuntarily to hold your breath for much of their duration? We start at No. 100 and over the next 5 weeks work our way up to the real earth-shakers. Enjoy the ride!--Barney Hoskyns, Editorial Director, Rock's Backpages

100 "Motorcycle Emptiness": The Manic Street Preachers, from Generation Terrorists (CBS, 1992) A great early Manics anthem from the pre-Fidel days when Richie was still around (and they didn't take themselves so darned seriously).

99 "Nothing Compares 2 U": Prince, from The Hits--the B Sides (Warner Brothers, 1993) Thunderous, gargantuan, maybe even a little bloated (we'll forgive him). His Royal Purpleness, ably assisted by soul sister Rosie Gaines, revisits his own catalogue to splendid effect.

98 "It Takes A Lot Of Strength To Say Goodbye": Bobby Womack and Patti LaBelle, from Poet ll (Beverley Glen, 1984) Patti LaBelle goes ballistic from the get-go, and Womack isn't far behind. Two Rhythm 'n' Blues giants go head to head on this monumental ballad off Womack's 1984 masterpiece.

97 "I’ve Been A Mess": American Music Club, from Mercury (Reprise, 1993) Mark Eitzel at his miserablist best, revelling in loss, practically vomiting pain. One of rock’s last great romantics.

96 "One Armed Scissor": At The Drive-In, from Relationship Of Command (Grand Royal, 2000) Hardcore frenzy returns in the shape of the San Antone wild boys with the White Panther 'fros. Savage, head-on: nu metal eat your pissy little heart out.

95 "I'm Every Woman": Chaka Khan, single (Warners Brothers, 1978) The Mount Rushmore of Disco. Wide-screen arrangement and production from Arif Mardin, propelled by Anthony Jackson's hustling bass, and topped off with La Khan's multi-tracked vocals. Exhausting, draining and a tad sweaty around the underwear.

94 "Real World": Husker Du, from Metal Circus (SST, 1983) Muscle meets melody on a throttled torrent of spewed vocals and thrashing guitars: the Minneapolis power trio at their most incendiary.

93 "Please, Please, Please": James Brown, single (King 1959) Mr Brown's first hit. Over a vaguely doowop-ish backing, James rants, raves, screams and hollers. What is it that he hollers? Essentially, "please, please, please..."

92 "Junkyard": The Birthday Party, from Junkyard (4AD, 1982) "There’s garbage in Honey’s sack again..." From long ago in the days before Nick Cave played the pianoforte, an evil, grinding, one-chord horrorshow of a song about filth and detritus. Splendid stuff.

91 "Sidewalk": Built To Spill, from Keep It Like A Secret (Warner Brothers, 1999) Is Doug Martsch the last guitar hero? This storming song, with its arching, neo-Spiritualized guitar swoops, would suggest as much. Post-grunge blissout from Boise, Idaho.

90 "Manimal": The Germs, from (GI) (Slash, 1979) "I came into this old world/A puzzled panther waiting to be caged..." An unholy but truly magnificent howl of enfant sauvage anguish from doomed Darby Crash L.A.’s very own Sidney V, dead a year later of a smack overdose.

89 "The End": The Doors, from The Doors (Elektra, 1967) Now inextricably linked with Coppola's Apocalypse Now!, this splendid example of L.A. raga-rock peaks in an explosion of patricidal/oedipal frenzy. "Father, I want to kill you; Mother, I want to..." I wonder what Admiral and Mrs. Morrison made of that.

88 "Waves Of Fear": Lou Reed, from The Blue Mask (RCA, 1982) Recovering alkie Lou relives the horrors of chem-dependency, his voice shaking over Bob Quine’s berserk, nerve-jangling guitar. Brutal.

87 "Blue Bell Knoll": Cocteau Twins, from Blue Bell Knoll (4AD, 1988) A Cocteaus peak, with Liz Fraser weaving her way through harpsichord arpgeggios before the track tips magnificently into a full-throttle Banshees climax. Stupendous.

86 "Sweet Surrender": Tim Buckley, from Greetings From LA (Reprise, 1974) "This little man had to try to make love feel new again..." The vocal acrobat as boho Lothario, swooping, swooning and, yes, yelping his way into the sack.

85 "Stones In My Passway": Robert Johnson, on King Of The Delta Blues Singers (Columbia, 1961) Imagine, if you will, Eminem coming out as gay. Well, blues music in the ’30s was just as imbued with machismo as gangsta is today. So to hear Robert Johnson sing about impotence with such startling clarity and directness is pretty jaw-dropping. Sophisticated lyrics, exquisite guitar playing and impassioned singing prove why Johnson was indubitably the King of the Delta Blues.

84 "The Sky Lit Up": P.J. Harvey, from Is This Desire? (Island, 1998) Polly does Patti Smith, but girl does she do it well. A bracing blast of urban psychosis from the "difficult" album.

83 "Walk Away From Love": David Ruffin, single (Motown, 1975) Van McCoy’s hustle-esque arrangement takes nothing away from the ex-Temp’s frayed, ferocious vocal, a performance filled with "a dread that shakes my body, that even I don’t understand." The faletto howls at the end of the choruses are blood-curdling.

82 "All Shook Down": The Replacements, from All Shook Down (Sire/Reprise 1990) The flipside to Elvis’s "All Shook Up," "All Shook Down" burns with as much intense energy, only directed inwards instead of out. Drawling random lines from his notebooks over a couple of dulcimers playing a really simple riff, Westerberg sounds like the most exhausted, pissed-off man on earth.

81 "Stan": Eminem, from The Marshall Mathers LP (Interscope, 2000) Intensity doesn't need to be roared or hollered. It ain't gotta-gotta-gotta be delivered on its knees, in a sweat-soaked mohair jacket. Hell, it doesn't even have to be sung. Eminem pops us into the trunk and drives off into a river of paranoia, equivocation and fear, drowning us in a whirlpool of unanswered--and unanswerable--questions. Clammy, nasty, great stuff.

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