Today we’re celebrating World UFO Day with an out-of-this-world playlist of songs about beings not of Earth.
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Tunes Du Jour Presents 1977
If you had to pick a single year that captured popular music at its most creatively overstuffed, 1977 would be a strong candidate. Rock was arena-sized and expensive. Disco was inescapable and, for a certain crowd, irresistible. Punk was arriving like a kicked-in door. And somewhere in between, artists were quietly making records that didn’t fit neatly into any of those categories. The year produced an almost absurd concentration of songs that people still know by heart, not because nostalgia has been kind to them, but because many of them are genuinely excellent pieces of music.
The rock side of ’77 was dominated by songs that have since become impossible to avoid. Eagles’ “Hotel California,” Fleetwood Mac’s “Dreams,” and Bob Seger’s “Night Moves” all came from the same general tradition of polished, emotionally direct rock songwriting, the kind that prioritized feel and production in equal measure. Aerosmith’s “Walk This Way” sat a little rougher and looser, and Manfred Mann’s Earth Band’s “Blinded by the Light” was genuinely strange radio fare — a Springsteen cover that became more famous than the original largely on the strength of its own eccentric energy. Meanwhile, David Bowie’s “Sound and Vision” and Peter Gabriel’s “Solsbury Hill” pointed toward something more interior and experimental, both artists having recently untethered themselves from previous identities and clearly enjoying the freedom.
Disco in 1977 wasn’t a single sound so much as a spectrum. At one end, you had Donna Summer’s extraordinary “I Feel Love,” which Giorgio Moroder produced using almost entirely synthesized instrumentation — Brian Eno reportedly told David Bowie it had just changed the future of music, and he wasn’t wrong. Further down the dial were Thelma Houston’s “Don’t Leave Me This Way,” Marvin Gaye’s loose, joyful “Got to Give It Up,” Heatwave’s “Boogie Nights,” and KC and the Sunshine Band’s “I’m Your Boogie Man,” songs that prioritized the floor over the headphones and delivered accordingly. And then there was the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack, which arrived in late 1977 and would go on to become, for a time, the best-selling album ever released. It’s remembered as a disco landmark, but its lead single was the Bee Gees’ “How Deep Is Your Love” — a warm, unhurried ballad which doesn’t really fit the disco label. That the song was swept up into the disco phenomenon anyway says something about how powerful that cultural moment was: it absorbed everything in its vicinity, regardless of what the artists themselves thought they were making.
Punk was having none of it. The Sex Pistols’ “God Save the Queen” was banned by the BBC and still reached the top of the charts, which tells you something about both the song’s impact and the limits of official gatekeeping. Ramones’ “Sheena Is a Punk Rocker” was faster and more fun, but no less pointed. Television’s “Marquee Moon” and Elvis Costello’s “Watching the Detectives” had a punk rock spirit that suggested the genre’s real legacy might not be volume or outrage but a renewed interest in wit and directness — a correction to the perceived excesses of the rock mainstream those same artists were reacting against. These records don’t sound like novelties now. They sound like a genuine argument about what music should be doing.
What’s striking, looking at a year’s worth of this material together, is how little any of these artists seemed to be aware of, or interested in, what the others were doing. “Somebody to Love” by Queen and “Sir Duke” by Stevie Wonder share roughly the same calendar year but almost nothing else. “Solsbury Hill” and “Float On” exist in completely separate universes. That independence — each act pursuing its own idea of what a good record sounded like — might be exactly why so much of this music has held up. Nobody was chasing a trend that would have dated them. They were mostly just making the best version of the thing they already knew how to do, and 1977 happened to catch a lot of them doing it very well.
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Tunes Du Jour Celebrates Compliment Day
Per HolidayInsights.com, today is Compliment Day, created in 1998 by Kathy Chamberlin, of Hopkinton, NH, and Debby Hoffman, of Concord, NH. Offer compliments to people you know and meet. If you need help thinking of some, today’s playlist has you covered:
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Tunes Du Jour Celebrates Have A Bad Day Day
Today is Have A Bad Day Day. Per holidayinsights.com, as a greeting today, you are encouraged people to wish people a lousy or terrible day.
I think wishing a terrible day to someone to their face might put you in danger. Instead, I choose to celebrate with song. If someone were to hear one of the songs on my Have A Bad Day Day playlist, they’d know that somebody out there wants their day to suck.
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Tunes Du Jour Presents 1975
Fifty years ago, radio dials and turntables were spinning an uncommonly diverse mix of sounds. The charts of 1975 didn’t follow a single storyline—instead, they captured a moment when multiple musical currents were flowing with equal strength. Disco was gaining momentum but hadn’t yet dominated everything in its path. Rock was simultaneously reaching for arena-sized ambition and stripping down to raw emotion. Soul and funk were evolving into more sophisticated forms, while pop continued doing what it does best: making people hum along whether they meant to or not.
The year belonged, in many ways, to artists who understood that hooks and ambition weren’t mutually exclusive. Bruce Springsteen’s “Born to Run” arrived like a desperate prayer wrapped in Phil Spector production, while Queen’s “Killer Queen” proved that flamboyance and precision could coexist in three minutes of glam-rock perfection. Led Zeppelin stretched “Kashmir” across nearly nine minutes of Eastern-influenced grandeur, and Pink Floyd’s “Wish You Were Here” turned melancholy into an art form. Even Bob Dylan, never one to stand still, was crafting the narrative complexity of “Tangled Up in Blue.” These weren’t just songs—they were statements about how far popular music could reach while still connecting with listeners.
Meanwhile, dance floors were becoming cultural epicenters. KC and the Sunshine Band’s “That’s the Way (I Like It)” and Gloria Gaynor’s “Never Can Say Goodbye” helped establish disco as something more than a passing trend. The Bee Gees’ “Jive Talkin'” showed that the brothers Gibb could pivot from balladeers to funk-influenced hitmakers. Labelle’s “Lady Marmalade” brought New Orleans sass and unapologetic sexuality to the mainstream, while Earth, Wind & Fire’s “Shining Star” blended funk, soul, and jazz into something that felt both cosmic and grounded. The groove wasn’t just a rhythm—it was becoming a philosophy.
What’s striking about 1975 is how much sonic territory gets covered without any single approach dominating. 10cc’s “I’m Not in Love” used studio technology to create something hauntingly atmospheric, while Kraftwerk’s “Autobahn” was quietly suggesting what electronic music might become. Barry White continued orchestrating romantic opulence, Minnie Riperton’s five-octave range soared through “Lovin’ You,” and Linda Ronstadt’s “You’re No Good” proved that straightforward rock could still pack a punch. David Bowie’s “Fame,” co-written with John Lennon, showed him already moving past glam into funk-inflected territory. Glen Campbell brought “Rhinestone Cowboy” to country-pop crossover success, while Average White Band demonstrated that Scottish musicians could master American funk with “Pick Up the Pieces.”
Listening to these songs now, what emerges isn’t just nostalgia but a reminder of a particular kind of creative confidence. These artists weren’t afraid to be big or vulnerable, funky or introspective, polished or raw—sometimes all within the same track. The year didn’t belong to any single movement or sound, and that might be exactly what made it memorable. It was a time when the radio could take you from the Staple Singers’ gospel-infused soul to Sweet’s glitter-rock crunch to ABBA’s pristine pop architecture without anyone thinking twice about the journey. That kind of range feels worth celebrating.
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Tunes Du Jour Celebrates Pride 2025
Every June, Pride Month invites us to honor the LGBTQ+ community—not just its triumphs and ongoing struggles, but its wildly varied voices. This playlist, drawn from over six decades of music, is less a neat collection than a vibrant mix of statements, emotions, and identities. From Sylvester’s ecstatic disco classic “You Make Me Feel (Mighty Real)” to Billie Eilish’s “LUNCH,” the selections aren’t organized by genre, time period, or even theme. That’s fitting. The LGBTQ+ experience is too broad and multifaceted to be summed up by any single sound.
Some tracks speak directly to queerness, like Lou Reed’s “Walk on the Wild Side,” which namechecks drag queens and trans women, or Bronski Beat’s spiritual descendants, the Scissor Sisters, with their cheeky, loving anthem “Take Your Mama.” Others, like “Rocket Man” or “Do You Really Want to Hurt Me,” resonated with queer audiences before the artists behind them publicly came out—or even if they never did. There’s a history of coded expression here, of lyrics that offered solace to those reading between the lines.
Then there are the songs that became anthems of empowerment by sheer force of feeling: Christina Aguilera’s “Beautiful” offered a lifeline to LGBTQ+ youth when it first aired on MTV, while Madonna’s “Vogue” gave a global spotlight to a ballroom culture that had long gone ignored by the mainstream. Judy Garland’s “Over the Rainbow” might seem quaint next to Chappell Roan’s “Good Luck, Babe!,” but both songs capture longing, whether for love, acceptance, or the audacity to want more.
What unites these artists isn’t a single identity but a shared defiance—sometimes quiet, sometimes flamboyant—against what’s expected. Whether it’s the punkish ache of Buzzcocks’ “Ever Fallen in Love (With Someone You Shouldn’t’ve)” or the glossy Pet Shop Boys cover of “Go West,” the throughline is the refusal to shrink. Pride, in this sense, isn’t about perfection or performance. It’s about visibility, honesty, and a community that keeps evolving, note by note.
So, while this playlist won’t tell a single story, that’s exactly the point. Pride has never been about uniformity. It’s about claiming your truth, however it sounds—and blasting it through the speakers so someone else knows they’re not alone.
Hear last year’s Pride playlist here.
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Tunes Du Jour Presents 1976
By 1976, disco had moved from underground clubs to the top of the charts, and rock music found itself facing challenges from multiple fronts. Donna Summer’s “Love to Love You Baby” and Diana Ross’ “Love Hangover” showcased the genre’s hypnotic groove and sensuality, while Wild Cherry’s “Play That Funky Music” blurred the lines between rock and funk, proving that even guitar-driven bands weren’t immune to disco’s influence. Hits like Andrea True Connection’s “More, More, More” and Candi Staton’s “Young Hearts Run Free” reinforced that this was no passing trend—it was a movement reshaping popular music.
Mainstream rock, meanwhile, leaned into grandeur and melody. Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody” became a landmark in songcraft, a multi-part epic that defied conventional structure and solidified the band’s place in rock history. Boston’s “More Than a Feeling” offered a soaring, polished take on arena rock, while Blue Öyster Cult’s “(Don’t Fear) The Reaper” balanced an ethereal mood with a sinister undercurrent. Even David Bowie, ever the shape-shifter, leaned into a sleeker sound with “Golden Years.”
Yet, outside of the glossy productions and layered harmonies, a different kind of energy was brewing. The Sex Pistols’ “Anarchy in the U.K.” was a shot across the bow, rejecting the excesses of rock in favor of raw urgency. While not a punk act, Thin Lizzy’s “The Boys Are Back in Town” carried a swagger and directness that resonated with rock fans who would soon embrace punk’s stripped-down ethos. Punk’s full-blown arrival was just around the corner, but 1976 gave the first clear signs that the dominant sounds of the decade were about to face a reckoning.
Beyond disco and rock, R&B and soul continued to thrive, offering both lush ballads and infectious grooves. The Manhattans’ “Kiss and Say Goodbye” and Lou Rawls’ “You’ll Never Find Another Love Like Mine” showcased rich, emotive vocal performances, while Spinners’ “The Rubberband Man” and Boz Scaggs’ “Lowdown” leaned into rhythmic sophistication. Daryl Hall & John Oates’ “She’s Gone” marked a breakthrough for the duo, setting the stage for their string of hits in the late 1970s and early 1980s, where they refined their blend of blue-eyed soul and pop.
In a year that saw both nostalgia and forward momentum, songs like the Four Seasons’ “December, 1963 (Oh, What a Night)” and Gordon Lightfoot’s “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald” reminded listeners of storytelling’s power in song. Meanwhile, ABBA’s “Mamma Mia” and Elton John and Kiki Dee’s “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart” offered sheer pop exuberance. The music of 1976 reflected an industry in transition—disco was ascendant, rock was splintering, and a new wave of rebellion was beginning to make itself heard.
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