Tunes Du Jour Presents Fiona Apple

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Fiona Apple’s career reads like a masterclass in artistic evolution, beginning with the raw vulnerability that made “Criminal” a cultural phenomenon in 1996. From her debut album Tidal, tracks like “Sleep to Dream” and “Shadowboxer” established her as an artist unafraid to excavate the messier corners of human emotion. These early songs showcased a young woman wrestling with desire, anger, and self-discovery through piano-driven compositions that felt both intimate and explosive. Apple’s voice, even then, carried a weight that suggested experiences far beyond her years.

The progression from her debut through albums to its follow-ups When the Pawn… and Extraordinary Machine reveals an artist continuously refining her approach without sacrificing intensity. Songs like “Fast as You Can” and “Paper Bag” demonstrate her ability to craft complex emotional narratives that resist easy categorization.

Apple’s later work, particularly evident in tracks like “Every Single Night” from The Idler Wheel… and the entire Fetch the Bolt Cutters era, shows her pushing into increasingly experimental territory. Songs like “Shameika,” “Heavy Balloon,” and the title track “Fetch the Bolt Cutters” reveal an artist who has grown more confident in her willingness to challenge conventional song structures. The percussion-heavy, almost ritualistic quality of these newer compositions suggests someone who has found liberation in embracing chaos rather than fighting it.

What emerges from examining this collection is Apple’s consistent refusal to smooth over the jagged edges of human experience. Whether exploring themes of mental health in “Heavy Balloon,” childhood trauma in “Shameika,” or relationship dynamics in “Hot Knife” and “Valentine,” she approaches each subject with unflinching honesty. Her willingness to sit with discomfort, both musically and lyrically, has created a body of work that feels essential rather than merely entertaining.

While she is fiercely individual, the playlist also highlights her power as a collaborator and interpreter. Hearing her voice alongside Johnny Cash’s on “Bridge over Troubled Water” is a profound meeting of two artists who share a certain gravitas, and her contributions to songs by The Waterboys or Iron & Wine show how her distinct phrasing can elevate another’s work. This respect from her peers is perhaps best illustrated by an invitation from Bob Dylan to play piano on his epic “Murder Most Foul.” Apple later shared that she felt insecure about the task, but Dylan offered the perfect reassurance: “You’re not here to be perfect, you’re here to be you.” That sentiment gets to the heart of her appeal. She is a musician’s musician, valued precisely for the unique, imperfect, and wholly authentic self she brings to the table.

To listen to Fiona Apple, from the defiant teenager of “Sleep to Dream” to the liberated woman of “I Want You To Love Me,” is to witness an artist in a constant state of unfolding. Her music doesn’t offer easy answers or simple sentiments. Instead, it offers something more valuable: companionship in complexity. It’s a body of work that validates the tangled, messy, and often difficult process of knowing yourself and, when necessary, finding the courage to fetch the bolt cutters and set yourself free.

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Tunes Du Jour Presents 1965

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Have you ever looked at a playlist from a single year and felt a sense of disbelief? It’s one thing for a year to produce a few memorable hits, but it’s another for it to feel like a highlight reel of music history. Looking at the charts from 1965 is exactly that kind of experience. It wasn’t just a year of good songs; it was a pivotal moment when popular music seemed to mature in several different directions at once, producing an astonishing collection of classics that still resonate today.

On one hand, 1965 saw the art of the immaculately produced pop song reach a new peak. The Motown machine was in full, glorious swing, giving us the suave romance of The Temptations’ “My Girl” and the intricate heartbreak of Smokey Robinson’s “The Tracks of My Tears.” The Supremes demanded attention with the dramatic plea of “Stop! In the Name of Love,” a perfect example of studio craftsmanship meeting raw emotion. Across the Atlantic, Petula Clark’s “Downtown” offered a sweeping, cinematic vision of city life. These weren’t just catchy tunes; they were impeccably arranged, powerfully sung, and emotionally direct pieces of art that defined a certain kind of pop perfection.

At the very same time, a grittier, more defiant sound was taking hold. The Rolling Stones’ “(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction” wasn’t just a hit song; it was a statement of intent, built around a fuzzy, unforgettable guitar riff that sounded like pure frustration. This raw energy was a common thread. From the garage-rock howl of Them’s “Gloria” to the stuttering, youthful angst of The Who’s “I Can’t Explain,” rock music was shedding its cleaner-cut image. This wasn’t the polished sound of the studio; it was the restless sound of the rehearsal room, and it was connecting with an entire generation.

Beyond the evolving sounds, the lyrical substance of popular music was deepening profoundly. Bob Dylan completely rewrote the rules with “Like a Rolling Stone,” a six-minute epic of poetic scorn that proved a hit single could be complex, challenging, and literary. That same year, The Byrds took Dylan’s words and electrified them, creating a new genre overnight with their shimmering version of “Mr. Tambourine Man.” This new lyrical consciousness also carried immense social weight. Sam Cooke’s posthumously released “A Change Is Gonna Come” and The Impressions’ hopeful “People Get Ready” became enduring anthems of the Civil Rights Movement, demonstrating that music could be both a comfort and a powerful call for progress.

What makes 1965 so striking is that none of these developments happened in isolation. It was a year of convergence, where you could hear the sweet soul of Marvin Gaye’s “How Sweet It Is (To Be Loved By You)” on the radio right next to the birth of funk in James Brown’s “Papa’s Got a Brand New Bag.” The carefree optimism of The Beach Boys’ “California Girls” shared the airwaves with the deep, aching soul of Otis Redding’s “I’ve Been Loving You Too Long.” The sheer volume of landmark recordings from this single 12-month period is a testament to a unique moment in time—a year when the boundaries of pop music were expanding in every direction, leaving us with a collection of songs that feel less like relics and more like foundation stones.

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Tunes Du Jour Celebrates National Eye Exam Month

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August is National Eye Exam Month in the US of A, so do yourself a favor and make an appointment to see an eye care professional. Your eyes will thank you (which is reason enough to see such a doctor, for if your eyes are talking, something is very very wrong).

Below are 30 songs with the word “eye” (or “eyes”) in the title.

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Tunes Du Jour Presents The Bob Dylan Songbook

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One way to measure a songwriter’s reach is not by how often their work is covered, but how widely. The playlist below spans decades, genres, and sensibilities—from Adele to The Dead Weather, from Johnny Cash to the Neville Brothers—and all roads lead back to Bob Dylan. This is not just a reflection of his prominence; it’s a testament to the adaptability of his writing. Dylan’s lyrics aren’t locked into one style or moment—they hold up when filtered through gospel, punk, glam, folk, or soul. His songs invite reimagining because they’re grounded in strong narrative bones and emotional honesty, not ornamental frills.

Consider the different shades of “All Along the Watchtower.” Dylan’s original version is stark and cryptic; Hendrix turned it into an electrified storm. Likewise, “I Shall Be Released,” rendered with hushed reverence by The Band, has the structure of a gospel hymn but the ambiguity of a fable. “Make You Feel My Love,” one of Dylan’s later compositions, found new life in Adele’s version—proof that his songwriting didn’t peak in the ’60s, but simply evolved. His voice as a writer has always been the constant: a blend of plainspoken wisdom, sly humor, and a deep sense of historical and emotional context.

It’s notable, too, how Dylan’s songs seem to absorb the character of the performer. When Elvis Presley sings “Tomorrow Is a Long Time,” it feels like a Southern ballad. When PJ Harvey takes on “Highway 61 Revisited,” it becomes something raw and jagged. Nina Simone’s version of “Just Like Tom Thumb’s Blues” brings out a haunted intensity not present in Dylan’s own delivery. That elasticity points to a rare kind of craftsmanship—songs written with enough specificity to be meaningful, but enough openness to be inhabited.

Even in unexpected settings, Dylan’s words linger. Tom Petty co-wrote the lyrics to “Jammin’ Me” with him, a pointed pop-rock critique of media saturation. Patti Smith’s “Changing of the Guards” channels the mystical imagery and layered storytelling that Dylan deployed throughout the ’70s. And when The Specials tear into “Maggie’s Farm,” it becomes a statement of punk-era defiance. These aren’t nostalgia pieces—they’re songs that meet each era on its own terms.

Dylan’s catalog isn’t just influential; it’s usable. His songs function as cultural currency, endlessly exchangeable yet retaining value. Whether you hear him through Joan Osborne’s gothic reading of “Man in the Long Black Coat” or the crystalline harmonies of Peter, Paul and Mary’s “Blowin’ in the Wind,” what’s most striking is not just who sings Dylan—but what his songs reveal when they do.

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Tunes Du Jour Celebrates National Joe Day

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For those of you outside the U.S., today is National Joe Day — an important holiday stateside. Anyone named Joe (or Joseph, Josephine, Joey or Johanna) gets the day off. No work, no mail delivery, no access to federal buildings. Some Joels try to sneak in on the action, but they’re swiftly dealt with—usually by a retired mall cop wielding a two-by-four.

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Tunes Du Jour Presents 1966

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By 1966, rock and pop music had reached a critical turning point. The early, relatively simple sounds of rock and roll were giving way to a more experimental, ambitious approach, yet the airwaves were still filled with instantly memorable melodies. The year saw the release of songs that would go on to define entire careers—The Beach Boys’ “Good Vibrations” took pop production to new heights, The Four Tops’ “Reach Out (I’ll Be There)” solidified Motown’s dominance, and The Rolling Stones’ “Paint It Black” pushed rock into darker, more dramatic territory. Meanwhile, The Monkees burst onto the scene with “I’m a Believer,” adding a dose of manufactured but undeniably catchy charm to the mix.

Psychedelia was creeping into mainstream music, foreshadowing the sonic explorations that would fully take hold in the coming years. The Byrds’ “Eight Miles High” and The 13th Floor Elevators’ “You’re Gonna Miss Me” hinted at a new, mind-expanding direction for rock, while The Beatles’ “Paperback Writer” and its B-side, “Rain,” found the band toying with the limits of studio technology. The Who’s “My Generation,” released in late 1965 but peaking on the US charts in ’66, captured the rebellious energy of youth culture, while ? and the Mysterians’ “96 Tears” gave garage rock one of its most enduring anthems.

Soul music was also in full bloom, delivering some of its most powerful and enduring records. Percy Sledge’s “When a Man Loves a Woman” became an instant classic, dripping with raw emotion. Jimmy Ruffin’s “What Becomes of the Brokenhearted” and The Supremes’ “You Can’t Hurry Love” showcased Motown’s knack for blending heartache and joy in equal measure. Meanwhile, James Brown’s “It’s a Man’s Man’s Man’s World” was a testament to his singular ability to infuse deep soul with commentary. Over in the R&B realm, Ike & Tina Turner’s “River Deep – Mountain High”—though not a hit in the U.S. at the time—demonstrated producer Phil Spector’s bombastic “Wall of Sound” approach at its most overwhelming.

The year also had its share of songs that were simply too infectious to ignore. The Lovin’ Spoonful’s “Summer in the City” painted a sweltering urban landscape with its mix of laid-back verses and explosive choruses. Nancy Sinatra’s “These Boots Are Made for Walkin’” turned a simple, stomping beat into a statement of defiant cool. The Walker Brothers’ “The Sun Ain’t Gonna Shine Anymore” and The Left Banke’s “Walk Away Renée” delivered lush, baroque pop melancholy, while Eddie Floyd’s “Knock on Wood” became one of the defining records of Stax-style Southern soul.

Perhaps what’s most striking about 1966 in retrospect is just how many of these songs have endured. Whether through original recordings, countless covers, or their presence in film and television, these records still resonate. From the garage rock sneer of The Bobby Fuller Four’s “I Fought the Law” to the hypnotic stomp of The Troggs’ “Wild Thing,” the music of 1966 wasn’t just a snapshot of its time—it was the foundation for what was to come.

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Tunes Du Jour Presents Nina Simone

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Few artists have embodied as many roles as Nina Simone. She was a classically trained pianist, a jazz singer, a blues interpreter, a protest leader, and a torch song specialist—often all in the span of a single performance. Simone’s catalog is as vast as her influence, but this playlist highlights the breadth of her artistry, from the tenderness of “I Loves You, Porgy” to the fiery urgency of “Mississippi Goddam.” Whether reimagining the standards or giving voice to the Civil Rights Movement, Simone delivered each song with a conviction that made it undeniably her own.

Simone’s ability to transform a song was unmatched. Her take on “To Love Somebody” strips the Bee Gees’ original of its pop sheen and replaces it with raw yearning, while “I Put a Spell on You” moves beyond Screamin’ Jay Hawkins’ theatrical growl into something genuinely haunting. She injected “Mr. Bojangles” with a quiet sorrow that feels more lived-in than nostalgic, and her version of “Here Comes the Sun” trades George Harrison’s optimism for a more hesitant hopefulness. Even when covering others, she reshaped the material to fit her vision.

Yet Simone’s greatest impact may have come through her role as a protest singer. Songs like “To Be Young, Gifted and Black” and “I Wish I Knew How It Would Feel to Be Free” were more than recordings; they were rallying cries. “Mississippi Goddam,” written in response to the murder of Medgar Evers and the bombing of the 16th Street Baptist Church, remains one of the most blistering indictments of racial injustice ever put to music. “Four Women” delivers a stark, unflinching portrayal of Black womanhood, a subject few artists tackled so directly at the time.

Simone’s ability to balance the political with the deeply personal is part of what makes her catalog so compelling. “The Other Woman” and “I Want a Little Sugar in My Bowl” reveal her mastery of intimate storytelling, while “Wild Is the Wind” and “Feeling Good” showcase her ability to evoke sweeping emotion. Even in moments of defiance, as on “Revolution (Pts. 1 and 2)” or “Go to Hell,” there is an undercurrent of vulnerability—Simone was never just delivering messages; she was baring her soul.

Through it all, her voice remained unmistakable: sometimes smooth, sometimes jagged, always expressive. She could whisper, growl, or soar, depending on what the song demanded. Whether she was interpreting Dylan (“Just Like a Woman,” “I Shall Be Released”) or spirituals (“Sinnerman”), jazz standards (“Nobody Knows You When You’re Down and Out”), or contemporary compositions (“Baltimore”), she inhabited the music in a way that few artists ever have. Nina Simone didn’t just sing—she made sure you felt every note.

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