Ten Songs That Made Me

What makes a perfect song?

In February of 2024, Rolling Stone published their list of the 500 greatest songs of all time. Sitting atop that list were stone-cold classics such as Stevie Wonder’s “Superstition,” The Beach Boys’ “God Only Knows,” Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody,” Marvin Gaye’s “What’s Going On,” John Lennon’s “Imagine,” and Aretha Franklin’s “Respect.” Scrolling through that enormous list, you might find yourself wondering: Why were these songs selected over others? Were they chosen for their artfulness, their cultural impact, their ubiquity, their musical innovativeness, their political relevance, or a combination of all these factors? Once they were chosen, who assembled them into a ranking, and who made the final cuts? How did they compare songs that were written in vastly different styles and intended for vastly different purposes? When the project was finished, did its creators thump their chests and shout, Eureka! We’ve done it! Or did they close their laptops and heave wistful sighs, their minds bleary with sleep deprivation and lingering doubts about the futility of the whole art-list-making enterprise?

If you really want to know, I’m sure you could Google some behind-the-scenes story about the making of the Rolling Stone 500. Pondering the project myself, I emerge with two general conclusions about “best-of” music lists. First: They can never be definitive. Everyone brings their own unique background and perspective to the works of art which they enjoy, and aside from whether or not it was composed in Ireland, there’s no objective metric for what counts as a “great” tune (I’m only slightly kidding). Is a song great because it’s popular, because it’s memorable, because it’s unusual, or because it’s progressive? Does the melody matter more than the lyrics, or vice versa? Should music critics decide what counts as great, or should that be left up to ordinary folks tuning their car radios? Is complexity preferable to simplicity? Is there any conceivable world in which Rednex’s “Cotton Eye Joe” beats Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah” in a cage match? How much cowbell really is too much? Ultimately, we’ll never know.

Second: Like the mythical Sisyphus’ doomed efforts to roll his boulder uphill (Wait a sec… is that where “rock-n-roll” got started, and Rolling Stone for that matter?), best-of-lists remain a worthwhile enterprise, despite their apparent futility. I’ve discovered dozens of incredible songs through Rolling Stone‘s list, and I’m so grateful that people took the time to compile it. These lists aren’t a way of pinning music down, bug-on-a-card style, and deciding that we’ve figured it all out. They’re actually a way of opening music up. Undoubtedly, a best-of list can become an excuse for snobbery, in which the list-maker applauds their own aesthetic judgements. But it can also become an invitation to the celebration of beauty – a breathless, wonderstruck encouragement to explore works of creativity that have stirred the list-maker’s heart and mind.

This is the latter kind of list. Below, I’ve compiled my ten favorite songs of all time (along with one honorable mention that I just couldn’t help myself from including). If you’re a music nerd like me, that might sound like a fool’s errand, and I’d be lying if I said it was easy. There were so many wonderful songs to consider, and sacrifices had to be made (I may never forgive myself for leaving off Kermit the Frog’s “Rainbow Connection”). However, the challenge wasn’t as difficult as you might expect. I’ve lived long and journeyed far with the tracks listed below. I know them inside and out, like old friends. They’re the songs that I’ve found myself returning to, over and over again, throughout life’s changing seasons, the ballads that I catch myself whistling when the road gets dark and the shadows come out. Everyone’s got their own criteria for what makes a perfect song, and here are mine: 1) beautifully crafted lyrics, 2) a melody that brings those words to vivid life, 3) an experience that delves to the heart of what it means to be human. The songs on this list demanded their place by hitting those criteria out of the park.

I hope these songs make you glad to be alive, as they do for me, and I’d love to hear your own examples of perfect songs in the comments below. Happy listening!

Honorable Mention: “Shrike” – Hozier

For thousands of years, songwriters have expressed their love and heartbreak through metaphor, drawing inspiration from the natural world in their quest to convey inner truth (How many lovers have been compared to the moon, I wonder?). You might think that all the good metaphors would’ve been used up by now. However, I’m willing to bet that singer-songwriter Hozier is the first to use this one: a bird, native to his home country of Ireland, that impales its prey on thorn bushes. If your response to that is, “Ick!,” I’m right there with you. Yet, in the hands of this brooding wordsmith (who composed one of my favorite albums of all time, 2019’s Wasteland, Baby!), that grisly image turns profound. Facing his inevitable death, Hozier yearns to be reborn as a shrike and fly back to the “sharp and glorious thorn” of the woman who broke his heart – to endure the sting of loss all over again, if only to draw near to her one last time.

#10. “Moon River” – Henry Mancini & Johnny Mercer

My little sister introduced this song to me years ago, and it just stayed with me. The lyrics are deceptively simple, but the longing they capture is deep and wide as the river that summons the singer. There’ve been many great covers of this one by artists like Jacob Collier, Frank Ocean, and Josh Ritter, but Audrey Hepburn’s soulful rendition in Breakfast at Tiffany’s will always be my favorite.

#9. “On Raglan Road” – Luke Kelly

I’m a sucker for sad Irish folk ballads, and this, in my humble opinion, is the saddest and best of them. Luke Kelly of the Dubliners had a voice like no other, as mighty and vibrant as the Irish coast, and when he put Patrick Kavanagh’s poetry to music, he captured something ineffable. “Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved,” Tennyson wrote. Maybe so. But on this side of the grave, those lovely ghosts never really leave us, and neither does the ache.

#8. “For What It’s Worth” – J Lind

I’ll never forget hearing the title track of J Lind’s astonishing debut album for the first time. In just under five minutes, it explores the weight of human and animal suffering, the tension between religious faith and doubt, and the struggle of making peace with the world’s wounds, more honestly and articulately than many books I’ve read on those subjects. The whole of For What It’s Worth was inspired by Friedrich Nietzsche’s concept (borrowed from the ancient Greeks) of amor fati – “love of fate” – and it ponders the reality that hardship and beauty are inextricable. Lind’s music deserves wider recognition, but he seems content to write his masterful songs for anyone who will listen. Clearly, he’s doing something right.

#7. “Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes” – Paul Simon

Paul Simon’s collaboration with the South African band Ladysmith Black Mambazo opens with one of the greatest lyric intros of all time:

She’s a rich girl, she don’t try to hide it
Diamonds on the soles of her shoes
He’s a poor boy, empty as a pocket
Empty as a pocket with nothing to lose

Once that jubilant rhythm section (helmed by lead guitarist Ray Phiri, bassist Baghiti Khumalo, and drummer Isaac Mtshali) kicks in, it’s hard to stop smiling… or dancing. I’m not religious anymore, but when I was, I used to imagine that this was the kind of music they’d make in heaven – diverse cultures, languages, and styles swirling together, as if they were always meant to, into something unforgettable.

#6. “The Words” – Anaïs Mitchell

Do you have a song that brings you to tears every time you hear it? This is that song for me. I won’t try to explain why it hits me so deeply; there’s too much complicated backstory there, at least for this kind of post. All I can say is that this track, penned by the acclaimed creator of Hadestown (one of my favorite musicals), was a balm for me during the most difficult season of my life, and it fills me with gratitude for the woman whose love carried me through that storm.

#5. “Round Here” – Counting Crows

In 1991, 28-year-old Adam Duritz sang this song by night in the bars and coffee shops of San Francisco, taking a break from his job as a dishwasher to lament his aimlessness, and Counting Crows was born. It was the very first song composed by one of my all-time favorite bands, and it remains their masterpiece. I don’t know any other song that evokes the restless, raw bewilderment of adolescence and young adulthood in modern America as honestly as this one does. The song’s characters are at once mysterious and heartbreakingly familiar. Duritz’s version remains iconic, but this cover by songwriter Noah Gundersen finds new resonance in the original, and I can tell that he feels the same way about the song that I do.

#4. “Thin Blue Flame” – Josh Ritter

Who’s the best American songwriter of all time? Is it Bob Dylan? Paul Simon? Bruce Springsteen? Joni Mitchell? Stevie Wonder? I’m a huge fan of all these artists, but my money is on Josh Ritter, the soft-spoken folk troubadour from Moscow, Idaho. If you need proof of his songwriting prowess, check out this ten-minute epic, which some have called the song of its decade. Packed with dozens of literary allusions, Ritter’s magnum opus is equal parts lament and love letter – a searing evocation of a world in ruins and a reverent meditation on this planet’s persistent, fragile glory.

#3. “Magic Kingdom” – Ben Shive

No one writes songs about the passing of time better than Ben Shive. A music producer by trade, Shive has only released two of his own studio albums (both remarkable works), the latter of which dropped in 2019. So, when he shared this track last year, I couldn’t have been more excited. I visited Disney World with my family a couple times as a kid, and I’ll never forget the feeling of hurtling through the night on the park’s monorail, palm fronds rustling below, as the day’s excitement gave way to sleep and dreams. After listening to this song, my older brother and I agreed that Shive captures that experience perfectly. However, if you think this song’s about Disney World, hold on for the ride. The “magic kingdom” that Shive describes here has nothing to do with Mickey Mouse, everything to do with life’s most precious gifts.

#2. “Thunder Road” – Bruce Springsteen

Gosh, it hurts my heart to put this at #2. On any other day, it could easily take the top spot. “Born to Run” might be Springsteen’s quintessential anthem (and deservedly so), but “Thunder Road”‘s yearning and vulnerability are unparalleled in the songwriter’s legendary corpus. If you’ve already heard this ballad about taking chances for love and striking out into the unknown, just wait until you discover that no two lines of the song are sung exactly alike, either rhythmically or melodically. As in the hero’s journey, discovery waits around every corner. Few artists have written love songs that people across the world know by heart, despite their differing languages, and Springsteen is one of them. There’s a reason they call him The Boss.

#1. “Magnificent (She Says)” – Elbow

Here it is, folks. The song that has moved and inspired me more than any other. The first verse introduces us to a little girl, her toes sunk in wet sand, reaching for a fragment of sea glass as her father looks on. Through this simple image and everything that follows it, the lead singer of British rock band Elbow, Guy Garvey, meditates on what it means to truly and lovingly attend to the world around us. The father who stands on the beach is older and wiser than his daughter. He has seen far more of the world than his child can imagine – its far-flung landscapes, its diverse peoples, its innumerable joys and sorrows. Yet might the child have something to teach the parent? Garvey seems to think so, and he imparts that lesson atop soaring, shimmering strings that sound like a bird unfurling its wings, a child opening its eyes, or a frozen heart thawing in the warmth of a forgotten flame.