April 28 is International Astronomy Day, and today on the old blogorooni is a playlist of 30 kick-asteroid songs. Songs with titles mentioning the moon, planets, stars, and all that other scientific jargon. Hope you find it out of this world!
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If you were flipping through radio stations in 1973, you might have been forgiven for wondering whether you’d accidentally landed on multiple stations at once. In a single week, you could hear Stevie Wonder’s “Superstition” — all nervous funk and clavinet — followed immediately by Tony Orlando & Dawn tying a yellow ribbon around an oak tree. That wasn’t a coincidence or a quirk of programming. It was just what 1973 sounded like: a year when pop music was genuinely pulling in several directions at the same time, and somehow holding together anyway.
Soul and R&B were operating at an extraordinary level. Marvin Gaye’s “Let’s Get It On,” Gladys Knight’s “Midnight Train to Georgia,” the O’Jays’ “Love Train,” and the Spinners’ “Could It Be I’m Falling In Love” all landed that year, each with its own emotional weight and personality. Curtis Mayfield’s “Superfly” brought something sharper and more cinematic to the mix, while Ann Peebles’ “I Can’t Stand the Rain” — still somewhat underappreciated in the wider cultural memory — was as raw and soulful as anything released that decade. Eddie Kendricks, fresh off his Temptations run, went solo with “Keep On Truckin’,” and it clicked immediately. The breadth of what Black artists were producing in this single calendar year is genuinely remarkable.
Rock was doing its own sprawling thing. The Rolling Stones released “Angie,” one of their more restrained and melancholy singles. Elton John’s “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road” was the title track of a double album that showed he could sustain a full artistic statement across four sides of vinyl, not just deliver three minutes at a time. Pink Floyd’s “Money” brought an odd-time signature to FM radio in a way that probably shouldn’t have worked as well as it did. And then there were the louder contingents: Deep Purple’s “Smoke on the Water” became one of the most-played riffs in guitar shop history, Grand Funk Railroad declared themselves an American band, and Slade and Sweet were doing glam rock with considerably more volume than glamour. Meanwhile, Iggy & the Stooges released “Search and Destroy” — which most of 1973’s radio audience largely ignored, though history would eventually course-correct on that.
The year also captured several artists at particularly interesting transitional moments. David Bowie’s “Space Oddity,” originally released in 1969, finally broke through in the US in 1973, reaching American audiences who were now ready for its strange, detached storytelling. Lou Reed’s “Walk on the Wild Side” had no business being as widely played as it was, given its subject matter, but here we are. Bob Dylan contributed “Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door” via his Pat Garrett & Billy The Kid soundtrack — unassuming and brief, but immediately recognizable as something that would last. T. Rex’s “20th Century Boy” and George Harrison’s “Give Me Love (Give Me Peace On Earth)” filled out a year that seemed to have room for almost anything, provided it had a decent hook.
What holds up most clearly, looking back at 1973’s output, is that the music wasn’t being made according to any unified cultural script. Some of it was deliberately commercial; some of it was confrontational; some of it was deeply personal. Carly Simon’s “You’re So Vain,” Roberta Flack’s “Killing Me Softly With His Song,” and Paul Simon’s “Loves Me Like a Rock” feel like they come from entirely different worlds, yet they all landed in the same twelve-month window. Ringo Starr had a hit with “Photograph.” The Allman Brothers were rambling. Cher was charting with “Half-Breed.” By any measure, 1973 was a disorganized, contradictory, frequently excellent year for popular music — and that’s precisely what makes it worth revisiting.
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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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Welcome to a journey through rhythm. November is International Drum Month, and this collection honors the masters of the drum kit, the players whose feel, power, and ingenuity define the songs we love. From the tightest pockets to the most explosive solos, these are the heartbeats of modern music. Let’s give the drummers some.
Good Vibrations – The Beach Boys
The legendary session musician Hal Blaine provides the sharp, inventive percussion, using everything from sleigh bells to a detached kick drum to build the song’s complex and sunny atmosphere.
Cissy Strut – The Meters
Joseph “Zigaboo” Modeliste, the architect of New Orleans funk, creates a syncopated, greasy, and endlessly influential groove that has been the blueprint for funk drummers ever since.
Smells Like Teen Spirit – Nirvana
Dave Grohl’s performance is a masterclass in quiet-loud dynamics, with his simple, powerful groove in the verse exploding into a torrent of raw energy for the iconic chorus.
One – Metallica
Lars Ulrich’s machine-gun double bass drumming on the intro is one of metal’s most defining moments, perfectly mimicking the sound of battlefield artillery.
Superstition – Stevie Wonder
The irresistible funk pattern that drives this track was played by none other than Stevie Wonder himself, who laid down the clavinet, bass, and drum parts to create a perfect storm of groove.
The Glamorous Life – Sheila E.
A tour de force from the legendary percussionist and drummer Sheila E., this track is a showcase of her technical virtuosity and incredible funk sensibilities.
In The Air Tonight – Phil Collins
For three minutes, Phil Collins builds unbearable tension before unleashing the most famous drum fill in history, a thunderous burst of gated reverb toms that everyone has air-drummed to.
Rosanna – Toto
The late, great Jeff Porcaro gives a masterclass in the half-time shuffle, creating a feel so iconic and difficult to replicate that it’s now simply known as the “Rosanna shuffle.”
Come Together – The Beatles
Ringo Starr’s signature swampy, tea-towel-dampened tom groove is the unmistakable foundation of this track, proving that feel and creativity are more important than flash.
Brick House – The Commodores
Walter “Clyde” Orange not only provides the lead vocals but also lays down a funk groove so solid and deep you could build a house on it, proving that sometimes the simplest beat is the most effective.
Rock With You – Michael Jackson
Session giant John “JR” Robinson creates a beat that is smooth, sophisticated, and impossibly deep in the pocket, providing the perfect shimmering pulse for dancing.
Sing, Sing, Sing (With A Swing) – Benny Goodman & His Orchestra
Gene Krupa became music’s first superstar drummer with this performance, his primal, floor-tom-driven solo setting the standard for all drum features to come.
Voodoo Child (Slight Return) – The Jimi Hendrix Experience
Mitch Mitchell’s jazz-influenced, wildly improvisational drumming is the perfect foil for Hendrix’s guitar, a chaotic and conversational force of nature.
When The Levee Breaks – Led Zeppelin
Recorded in a stairwell with two microphones, John Bonham’s colossal, booming groove is arguably the most recognizable and revered drum sound ever committed to tape.
Message in a Bottle – The Police
Showcasing his unique, reggae-infused style, Stewart Copeland’s intricate hi-hat work and signature use of the splash cymbal give this song its nervous, driving energy.
Funky Drummer – James Brown
Here, Clyde Stubblefield plays what is perhaps the most-sampled drum break in history, a 20-second piece of rhythmic perfection that became a cornerstone of hip-hop.
Gimme Shelter – The Rolling Stones
The picture of restraint and taste, Charlie Watts enters the song with a deceptively simple beat that carries all the dread and swing the track demands.
I’ve Seen All Good People – Yes
Bill Bruford’s crisp, creative, and complex drumming is on full display, navigating the song’s shifting sections with technical precision and musical grace.
50 Ways to Leave Your Lover – Paul Simon
Steve Gadd lays down one of the most recognizable and clever marching-band-inspired beats in popular music, a sophisticated and instantly memorable pattern.
Think (About It) – Lyn Collins
Another gift to hip-hop from the James Brown band, this track features John “Jabo” Starks’s impossibly tight groove and a legendary drum break that keeps on giving.
White Room – Cream
The inimitable Ginger Baker announces this psychedelic classic with a powerful 5/4 tom-tom intro, setting the stage with his heavy, melodic, and groundbreaking style.
Hot For Teacher – Van Halen
Alex Van Halen’s frantic, shuffling intro sounds like a barely-contained engine, kicking off one of the most exhilarating double-bass-fueled drum tracks in rock history.
Sunday Bloody Sunday – U2
Larry Mullen Jr.’s militaristic, unrelenting snare drum pattern, recorded in a reverberant stairwell, serves as the song’s defiant and unwavering backbone.
Schism – Tool
A master of complexity, Danny Carey navigates the song’s dizzying array of shifting time signatures with a tribal power and mathematical precision that is simply breathtaking.
Baba O’Riley – The Who
The untamable Keith Moon crashes and tumbles through this rock anthem, playing with a frenetic energy that threatens to send the song flying off the rails at any moment.
Dig Me Out – Sleater-Kinney
Janet Weiss is the roaring engine of this track, playing with a ferocious power, impeccable timing, and creative fills that drive the song forward relentlessly.
I Heard It Through the Grapevine – Gladys Knight & the Pips
Funk Brothers drummers Uriel Jones and the great Benny Benjamin create a powerhouse rhythm section, delivering a performance full of simmering tension and explosive release that punctuates the song’s raw emotion.
Dancin’ Fool – Frank Zappa
Terry Bozzio is the manic force behind this track, navigating Zappa’s absurd rhythmic twists and turns with an explosive combination of power, precision, and theatrical flair.
One Love/People Get Ready – Bob Marley & The Wailers
Carlton “Carly” Barrett, the originator of the “One Drop” rhythm, gives this song its iconic reggae heartbeat, where the accent is on the third beat of the measure.
Footprints – The Miles Davis Quintet
At just 20 years old, Tony Williams redefined jazz drumming with his explosive and interactive playing, shattering old conventions and pushing the entire band to new heights.
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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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One of the best ways to understand a song’s true strength is to hear it played by someone else. When a song can be lifted from its original context, performed by a different artist in a new style, and still resonate, you know the writers built it on a solid foundation. Looking at the sheer breadth of artists who have successfully interpreted the songs of Mick Jagger and Keith Richards, it becomes clear that their songwriting partnership created something remarkably durable. While their own recordings as The Rolling Stones are iconic, it’s the cover versions that reveal the fundamental power of the compositions themselves.
The playlist immediately highlights how deeply their writing is rooted in the American soul and R&B they revered. It’s one thing to be influenced by a genre; it’s another to write songs that the masters of that genre can inhabit as their own. When you hear Aretha Franklin transform “Jumpin’ Jack Flash” into a gospel-fueled force of nature, or Ike & Tina Turner inject “Honky Tonk Women” with their signature high-octane energy, you realize the songs contain an authentic rhythmic and emotional core. This goes even deeper with Solomon Burke’s take on “I Got the Blues” or Bettye LaVette’s searing, world-weary version of “Salt of the Earth.” These aren’t just covers; they are reclamations, demonstrating that the blueprints Jagger and Richards created were so solid that they could hold the weight of the most powerful voices in soul music.
What’s also remarkable is the structural flexibility of their work. A great Jagger/Richards song often has a distinct personality, yet its core components—melody, lyrical theme, and chordal movement—are adaptable enough to thrive in entirely new environments. The post-punk angularity of Devo’s “(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction” strips away the blues swagger to expose the lyric’s timeless complaint of modern alienation. The Sundays reimagine the country-tinged “Wild Horses” as a piece of shimmering, ethereal dream pop, proving the song’s beautiful melody is its true anchor. Even more extreme, the Ramones boil “Out of Time” down to its raw essentials, recasting the shuffling pop song as a driving, three-chord punk declaration, while Ituana finds a relaxed, bossa nova groove in the epic “You Can’t Always Get What You Want.” The songs don’t just survive these transformations; they reveal different facets of their character.
Ultimately, this collection of performances underscores that the Jagger/Richards catalog is more than a collection of iconic riffs and rock and roll attitude. These are fundamentally well-crafted songs. They can be country laments in the hands of Johnny Cash (“No Expectations”) or Steve Earle (“Dead Flowers”). They can be theatrical pop statements for David Bowie (“Let’s Spend The Night Together”) or Bryan Ferry (“Sympathy for the Devil”). They can even be played for laughs by “Weird Al” and The Folksmen precisely because the source material is so instantly recognizable. The Rolling Stones’ versions will always be definitive, but these interpretations from other artists give us a clearer view of the writers’ craft, proving the songs stand on their own, ready for anyone to find a piece of their own story within them.
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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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