All-Time Greatest Music

By K.D. Lang, She is a Canadian country and pop singer. “Constant Craving” is one of her best released in 1992.

Illustrator: Mark Gagnon.

I’ve always compared Roy Orbison to a tree: passive and beautiful yet extremely solid. He maintained a sense of humility and sensitivity and gentleness uncommon to his era. He wasn’t effeminate but extremely gentle. He was someone you felt entirely safe with, whether you were listening to his records or being around him. It wasn’t like Elvis: It wasn’t like your loins were on fire or anything like that. It’s more like Roy was a private place to go — a solace or a refuge.

He broke the mold of the Fifties tough-guy thing, and even the style of his music was a kind of fine art for somebody from Wink, Texas. It was cosmopolitan in a mysteriously soft and romantic way.

Roy Orbison was like a folk opera singer. I think he was influenced by Spanish opera in structure and in feel. He also loved to express his voice in this upper range, in falsetto. He was vulnerable and strong at the same time. He was extremely earnest in his voice and his appearance, and yet he had this veil of mystery to him.

In 1987, Roy and I recorded a version of “Crying” for a movie called Hiding Out. We ended up recording “Crying” in Vancouver, which is where I lived. I walked into the studio, and it was like staring at the huge image of the Marlboro Man on Sunset Boulevard — so immediately ominous and present. We were rehearsing the song in the studio with the band, and Roy and I happened to be sharing a mic. When we got to a part where we were singing at the same time, we both leaned into the mic and our cheeks touched. His cheek was so soft, and the energy was so amazing. Not sexual but totally explosive, like the chemistry of some sort of kinship. I’ll never forget what that felt like. I can hear that voice right in my ear. His vibrato was sort of fast and had a small waver within it, and that’s what gave him the vulnerable sound. That voice.

Roy Orbison’s greatest hits playlist:

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7CDhIOiZ7P4PhnPGTl6ki2?si=9HioL9v3T7WoN8D0w0PoSQ&pi=AQ2-bcIISOCWm

(Modonna is the seventh artist that started producing music in 1979 that made this Top100 list. Therefore, she was not a part of the 1950s or 60s generation).

By Britney Spears, Pop singer made famous with “Baby One More Time” released in 1999. Illustrator: Cynthia Von Buhler.

I’m sorry, but I’d rather meet Modanna than the president of the United States.

Madonna has this thing about her that you can’t explain — the thing that makes somebody a star. When she walks into the room, you just have to take notice. She’s so comfortable with herself, and she’s not afraid to live life to the fullest and to say whatever she feels, no matter what anyone thinks. There’s something kind of childlike about that; it’s a beautiful, amazing thing.

Madonna was the first female pop star to take control of every aspect of her career and to take responsibility for creating her image, no matter how much flak she might get. She’s proved that she can do so many different things — music and movies and being a parent, too. Her music has become iconic: Songs like “Holiday” or “Live to Tell” are timeless — not just disposable hits. They feel like home. She has her spells of being moody and vibey and spiritual, but her words are so easy to relate to. She’s a diva and does what she wants, but she’s a loving person.

Madonna’s greatest hits playlist:

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2aKWb0f6vZAsIrq4v1zwq2?si=9lTIzY7USIqEjAZUoY1MDQ&pi=P8yLNyGWRQ-B_

The first time I met her was when I flew to visit her at one of her shows in 2001. I walked into her dressing room, and her daughter, Lola, was there, and I felt really nervous. I said to Madonna, “Can I just hug you?” I was so stupid! But she was so nice about it. I would definitely not be here, doing what I’m doing, if it wasn’t for Madonna. I remember being eight or nine years old, running around my living room singing and dancing and wanting so much to be like her. All my girlfriends still listen to her stuff. We’re all mesmerized by her. Madonna’s stage presence has inspired so many artists. You can see her influence in the recent generations of artists who have picked up some of her moves and have been influenced by her style.

Madonna has done so much, and she’s been around so long, and the bitch still looks good! She’s spent years in the public eye, and that can be really hard for anyone to deal with. But she dug deep and started writing from her heart. Madonna has so much light inside her, and she’s so much more noticeable than all of the rest of us. She stuck to what she believed in and did what she felt. It’s part of her art — to just be herself.

By Antonio “L.A.” Reid, an American record company executive including with Arista, Def Jam Music Group and Epic. Illustrator: Tim O’Brien.

Michael Jackson was the world’s greatest entertainer. One of the most explosive performances I’ve ever witnessed was Jackson sliding across the stage at the Motown 25th-anniversary show. Just watching that made us all know: That’s what greatness is, and anything that doesn’t measure up to that is beneath greatness. Before him there were the Beatles and Elvis and Frank Sinatra; Michael Jackson takes his place right alongside those greats.

I was born around the same time as Michael, and I was one of the original fans. I first saw him at the Ohio State Fair, when I was very young; the Jackson 5 were performing with the Commodores. Michael came on, and that voice of his rang over the whole fairground. I was deeply touched by that voice from the very beginning.

“Billie Jean” is the most important record he made, not only because of its commercial success but because of the musical depth of the record. It has more hooks in it than anything I’ve ever heard. Everything in that song was catchy, and every instrument was playing a different hook. You could separate it into 12 different musical pieces and I think you’d have 12 different hits. Every day, I look for that kind of song.

Michael Jackson’s greatest hits playlist:

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2oKgQmWLlAgCqw0YD8SvEg?si=eDOD0kyWQWSJ6j_8cyZlXA&pi=NqEQIjTcRAaGC

Michael has influenced so many artists, some of whom are picking up on the grandeur and showmanship of his live performances. You can see his influence in his sister Janet, in Justin Timberlake, Usher, Britney Spears, and in Justin Bieber and so many others. You can see his influence in the dance moves — the syncopated choreography — that a lot of young artists use. And a lot of them have picked up his work ethic. When you look at a Justin Timberlake production or an Usher production, you really see that they took a page out of Michael’s book; they went to rehearsal, and they must’ve worked eight hours a day, because their shows are flawless, as Michael’s shows were flawless.

Late in his life, there were many, many people who thought of Michael as a spectacle, and it was sad. The world without Michael Jackson is a very, very different world. And I think we should all feel very blessed that an artist of that caliber came into our lives, because he enriched our lives.

By Flea, the bassist for The Red Hot Chili Peppers. Illustrator: Gerard Dubois.

There’s a rare contradiction in Neil Young’s work. He works so hard as a songwriter, and he’s written a phenomenal number of perfect songs. And, at the same time, he doesn’t give a f__k. That comes from caring about essence. There can be things out of tune and all wild-sounding and not recorded meticulously. And he doesn’t care. He’s made whole albums that aren’t great, and instead of going back to a formula that he knows works, he would rather represent where he is at the time. That’s what’s so awesome: watching his career wax and wane according to the truth of his character at the moment. It’s never phony. It’s always real. The truth is not always perfect.

I can’t say enough about how much I love Crazy Horse. The sound is so deep, the groove is so deep — even when they’re off, it still sounds great, because they feel it so much. I don’t usually go for that approach. I like Sly and the Family Stone, Miles Davis and Mingus. I like consummate steady musicianship. I grew up on jazz. I didn’t listen to rock music until I played in my first rock band when I was in high school. I went from progressive to Hendrix to funk to full-on L.A. punk. That’s when I had the realization that emotion and content, no matter how simple, were valuable. A great one-chord punk song became as important to me as a Coltrane solo, and I’ve had the same feeling about Neil Young. He changed the way I thought about rock music. As a bass player, I used to be into very boisterous, syncopated and rhythmically complex songs. After hearing Neil, I appreciated simplicity, the poignancy of “less is more.”

My favorite Neil album is Zuma, with “Pardon My Heart” and “Lookin’ for a Love”: “But I hope I treat her kind/And don’t mess with her mind/When she starts to see the darker side of me.” And “Tell Me Why,” on After the Gold Rush — when he says, “Is it hard to make arrangements with yourself/When you’re old enough to repay but young enough to sell?” it feels like me. I know I’m not alone. Tonight’s the Night is probably the greatest raw rock record ever made, on a level with the Stooges’ Fun House or any Hendrix album. It’s such a mess, with stuff recorded so loud that it distorts. The background vocals are completely out of tune. And I wouldn’t change a note. It’s the spirit of what rock music is, and it’s the reason to play rock music.

Neil Young’s greatest hits playlist:

https://open.spotify.com/album/2hNa7oWGatOqnKw9cmS4ao?si=hvvCwGImStaRnTM_ijxSqQ

Neil is the guy I look at when I think about getting older in a rock band and still having dignity and relevance and honesty. He’s never, ever sold out, and he’s never pretended to be anything other than what he is. The Chili Peppers get offers all the time to sell songs for commercials. Maybe we could whore ourselves out for the right price someday. But I always think, “Would Neil Young do this?” And the answer is no. Neil Young wouldn’t f_____n’ do it.

By Paul Simon. Illustrator: Dan Brown

The roots of the Everly Brothers are very, very deep in the soil of American culture. First of all, you should know that the Everly Brothers were child stars. They had a radio show with their family, and their father, Ike, was an influential country guitar player, so he attracted other significant musicians to the Everlys’ world — among them Merle Travis and Chet Atkins, who was instrumental in getting the Everlys on the Grand Ole Opry. Perhaps even more powerfully than Elvis Presley, the Everly Brothers melded country with the emerging sound of Fifties rock & roll. They were exposed to extraordinary country-roots music, and so they brought with them the legacy of the great brother groups like the Delmore Brothers and the Blue Sky Boys into the Fifties, where they mingled with the other early rock pioneers and made history in the process.

The Everly Brothers’ impact exceeds even their fame. They were a big influence on John Lennon and Paul McCartney — who called themselves the Foreverly Brothers early on — and, of course, on Simon and Garfunkel. When we were kids, Artie and I got our rock & roll chops from the Everlys. Later, as Simon and Garfunkel, we put “Bye Bye Love” on Bridge Over Troubled Water, and much later, Phil and Don both sang on the song “Graceland.”

The Everly Brothers greatest hits playlist:

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7qiz3f3JAvMPFllbkgWQ5H?si=Qd9xOFH3Qd2fMCwat8bemg&pi=WOpmMzVGRiymP

Before the Everly Brothers joined Artie and me on the road in 2003, Phil and Don had actually quietly retired three years earlier. They basically came out of retirement for us. I said, “Phil, look, if you’re going to retire, you might as well come out one more time and take a bow and let me at least say what it is that you meant to us and to the culture.”

You know, the Everlys have a long history of knocking each other down, as brothers can do. So in a certain sense, it was hilarious that the four of us were doing this tour, given our collective histories of squabbling. And it’s amazing, because they hadn’t seen each other in about three years. They met in the parking lot before the first gig. They unpacked their guitars — those famous black guitars — and they opened their mouths and started to sing. And after all those years, it was still that sound I fell in love with as a kid. It was still perfect.

By Bob Seger, rock and roll singer including “Against the Wind” in 1980. Illustrator: Rob Day

I used to go to the Motown revues, and the Miracles always closed the show. They were that good, and everybody knew it. Not flash at all. The Supremes had bigger hits. The Temptations had the better dance moves. The Miracles did it with pure music.

Back then the radio played the rougher stuff, like “Do You Love Me,” by the Contours, only at night. Smokey Robinson — they played him all day. Everybody loved his songs, and he had a leg up on all the other singers, with that slightly raspy, very high voice. Smokey was smoky. He could rasp in falsetto, which is hard to do and perfect for a sad ballad like “The Tears of a Clown” or “The Tracks of My Tears.”

Smokey wrote his own stuff, so he had an originality or individualism that maybe the other Motown greats didn’t. He was a lyric man as well as a melody man, a musicians’ musician. It’s kinda like Hollywood, where you have the star, and then you have the actors’ actor. Gene Hackman — when was the last time that guy gave a bad performance? Smokey was the Gene Hackman of Motown.

I grew up in the black neighborhoods of Ann Arbor, Michigan, so I didn’t think in terms of black music or white music. It was all just music to me. Smokey’s first hit, “Shop Around,” was one of the first records I bought. Later on, when my brother went into the service and I was the sole support of my mother, I was playing bars six nights a week, five 45-minute sets a night. This was ’63-’67, and I could make the most money playing in a trio. We had a medley of six Smokey songs that we played at least twice every night: “You’ve Really Got a Hold on Me,” “Shop Around,” “Bad Girl,” “Way Over There” and a couple of others. It was a survival move — the people demanded it. Also, if you were after a girl in the audience, it was always a good idea to do some Smokey.

Smokey Robinson and The Miracles greatest hits playlist:

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2tVhjY6pQS8NKbrvY7k2jl?si=iBw2TLA3R7aE4HMtFptRGA&pi=98rvCd5bRxGzl

Smokey was also known as the nicest guy at Motown, which you hear in his voice. I used to do a Canadian television show called Swingin’ Time, and everyone from Detroit would show up: the Supremes, Stevie Wonder, the Temptations. All of them nice people, but Smokey was particularly a gentleman. I saw him again around ’87 at an awards show. I was able to tell him how much I appreciated his writing, and all the money I made playing his songs in bars. I have great memories. Thank you, Smokey.

By Kris Kristofferson, as a member of The Highwaymen, released “Me and Bobby McGee” in 2010. Illustrator: Marc Burckhardt.

Johnny Cash was a biblical character. He was like some old preacher, one of those dangerous old wild ones. He was like a hero you’d see in a Western. He was a giant. And he never lost that stature. I don’t think we’ll see anyone like him again. Of course, the first thing he’ll be remembered for is the power and originality of his music. The first time I heard Johnny Cash was when he released “I Walk the Line” in 1956. It was unlike anything I’d ever heard. Elvis had had a lot of hits by that point, but “I Walk the Line” was completely different. It didn’t sound much like any of the country music that was popular at the time, either. There was always a kind of dark energy around John and his music. My first hero, when I was a kid, was Hank Williams, and he had a similar energy. You could tell they were both wild men.

As a songwriter, I’ve always loved his lyrics. At the beginning of his career, John released a bunch of powerful songs in a very short time. For me, the best one was always “Big River.” It’s so well-written, so unlike anything else. The lines don’t even seem to rhyme. “I met him accidentally in St. Paul, Minnesota/And it tore me up every time I heard his drawl.” His imagery was so powerful: “Then you took me to St. Louis later on, down the river/A freighter said he’s been here/But he’s gone, boy, he’s gone/I found his trail in Memphis/But he just walked up the bluff/he raised a few eyebrows, and then he went on down alone.”

The first time I saw John live, I was on leave from the Army, visiting Nashville. He was playing the Grand Ole Opry, and I was watching from backstage — and he was the most exciting performer I’d ever seen. At the time, he was skinnier than a snake, and he was just electric. He used to prowl the stage like a panther. He looked like he might explode up there. And in fact, there were times when he did. One night at the Opry, he knocked out all of the footlights. I think they banned him for a while after that. But they banned Hank Williams, too. They were a pretty conservative crowd.

The main thing about John, though — the thing that everybody could sense — was his integrity, the integrity of his relationship with his music, with his life and with other people. He stood up for Bob Dylan when everyone in the music business was criticizing Dylan for going electric. And he did the same for me, in the Eighties, when I was taking a lot of criticism for going down to Nicaragua. That’s the kind of guy he always was. He stood up for the underdog.

I thought that The Man Comes Around, one of the last albums John did, was terrific. His version of “Danny Boy” kills me every time.

Johnny Cash’s greatest hits playlist:

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0XoDr92gJT6CGzMiDIj3JV?si=qFDUGww2Sfy9B-WmROZPpQ&pi=AWdBty0zRZa8g

I think he’ll be remembered for the way he grew as a person and an artist. He went from being this guy who was as wild as Hank Williams to being almost as respected as one of the fathers of our country. He was friends with presidents and with Billy Graham. You felt like he should’ve had his face on Mount Rushmore.

(The sixth of 30 artists that began performing in 1987. Therefore, not a part of the 1950s or 60s generation.)

By Iggy Pop, Lead vocalist for The Stooges which he started in 1967. Illustrator: Tim O’Brien.

The first time I saw Nirvana was at the Pyramid Club, a rank, wonderful, anything-goes dive bar on Avenue A in New York. It wasn’t known for having live bands; it was known more for cross-dressing and bar dancing. I had a photographer friend, and he told me, “There’s a really hot band from Seattle you have to see. They’re gonna play the Pyramid, of all places!”

You could smell the talent on Kurt Cobain. He had this sort of elfin delivery, but it was not naval gazing. He was jumping around and throwing himself into every number. He’d sort of hunch over his guitar like an evil little troll, but you heard this throaty power in his voice. At the end of the set he tossed himself into the drums. It was one of maybe 15 performances I’ve seen where rock & roll is very, very good.

After that, I bought Bleach, and listened to it in Europe and Asia on tour. I still like this album very much, but there was one song, “About a Girl,” that’s not like the rest of the album. It sounded like someone gave Thorazine to the Beatles. And I thought, “If he puts out a record full of that, he’s gonna get really rich.” And sure enough …

Nirvana’s greatest hits playlist:

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5mbj8ERZDjdAT3DuwnPmqs?si=f1D4CMYJTeGzEv1adQrrLQ&pi=kknY98nkRZuTh

I met Kurt at a club in L.A. right before Nevermind came out. We took a picture and he said, “Come on, let’s give the finger!” So we did. I bought Nevermind and I thought, “This has really got it.” Nirvana genuinely achieved dynamics. They took you down, they took you up, and when they pressed a certain button, they took you over. They rocked without rushing and they managed melody without being insipid. It was emotional without sounding dated or corny or weak.

Some time later, Kurt reached out to me. I missed the call, but my wife took the message: “Kurt Cobain wants to go into the studio with you.” See, I’m 113 years old now; I was about 72 in the Nineties, so I was going to bed at, like, 10 p.m., and he was just getting going around 11. I did call him back a couple of times. The number was from the Four Seasons in L.A., and I would get these responses like, “Mr. Cobain has not left the room for three days” or “Mr. Cobain is under the bed.”

As for his legacy: He was Johnny B. Goode. He was the last example that I can think of within rock & roll where a poor kid with no family backup from a small, rural area effected a serious emotional explosion in a significant sector of world youth. It was not made in Hollywood. There were no chrome parts. It was very down-home at its root. Somebody who is truly nobody from nowhere reached out and touched the world. He may have touched it right on its wound.

By Eddie Vedder, the lead vocalist and guitarist for Pearl Jam. Illustrator: Josie Jammet

The Who began as spectacle. They became spectacular. Early on, the band was in pure demolition mode; later, on albums like Tommy and Quadrophenia, it coupled that raw energy with precision and desire to complete musical experiments on a grand scale. They asked, “What were the limits of rock & roll? Could the power of music actually change the way you feel?” Pete Townshend demanded that there be spiritual value in music. They were an incredible band whose main songwriter happened to be on a quest for reason and harmony in his life. He shared that journey with the listener, becoming an inspiration for others to seek out their own path. They did all this while also being in the Guinness Book of World Records as the world’s loudest band.

Presumptuously, I speak for all Who fans when I say being a fan of the Who has incalculably enriched my life. What disturbs me about the Who is the way they smashed through every door of rock & roll, leaving rubble and not much else for the rest of us to lay claim to. In the beginning they took on an arrogance when, as Pete says, “We were actually a very ordinary group.” As they became accomplished, this attitude stuck. Therein lies the thread to future punks. They wanted to be louder, so they had Jim Marshall invent the 100-watt amp. Needed more volume, so they began stacking them. It is said that some of the first guitar feedback ever to make it to record was on “Anyway, Anyhow, Anywhere,” in 1965. The Who told stories within the confines of a song and, over the course of an entire album, pushed boundaries. How big of a story could be told? And how would it transmit (pre-video screens, etc.) to a large crowd? Smash the instruments? Keith Moon said they wanted to grab the audience by the balls. Pete countered that like the German auto-destructive movement, where they made sculpture that would collapse and buildings that would explode, it was high art.

I was around nine when a baby sitter snuck Who’s Next onto the turntable. The parents were gone. The windows shook. The shelves were rattling. Rock & roll. That began an exploration into music that had soul, rebellion, aggression, affection. Destruction. And this was all Who music. There was the mid-Sixties maximum- R&B period, mini-operas, Woodstock, solo records. Imagine, as a kid, stumbling upon the locomotive that is Live at Leeds. “Hi, my name is Eddie. I’m 10 years old and I’m getting my fucking mind blown!” The Who on record were dynamic. Roger Daltrey’s delivery allowed vulnerability without weakness; doubt and confusion, but no plea for sympathy. (You should hear Roger’s vocal on a song called “Lubie [Come Back Home],” a bonus track from the reissue of their first album, The Who Sings My Generation. It’s top-gear.)

The Who’s greatest hits playlist:

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7hO2nFEtNV1xGRd32FzWhM?si=EtgdlvVTTN2ZgIwWxPUA7Q&pi=2PQKAIipR76Yk

The Who quite possibly remain the greatest live band ever. Even the list-driven punk legend and music historian Johnny Ramone agreed with me on this. You can’t explain Keith Moon or his playing. John Entwistle was an enigma unto himself, another virtuoso musical oddity. Roger turned his mic into a weapon, seemingly in self-defense. All the while, Pete was leaping into the rafters wielding a Seventies Gibson Les Paul, which happens to be a stunningly heavy guitar. As a live group, they created momentum, and they seemed to be released by the ritual of their playing. (Check out “A Quick One While He’s Away,” from the Rolling Stones’ Rock and Roll Circus.)

A few years ago in Chicago, I saw Pete wring notes out of his guitar like a mechanic squeezing oil from a rag. I watched as the guitar became a living being, one getting its body bashed and its neck strangled. As Pete set it down, I swear I sensed relief coming from that guitar. A Stratocaster with sweat on it. The guitar’s sweat.

John and Keith made the Who what they were. Roger was the rock. And at this point, Pete has been through and survived more than anyone in rock royalty. Perhaps even beyond Keith Richards, who was actually guiltyof most things he was accused of.

The songwriter-listener relationship grows deeper after all the years. Pete saw that a celebrity in rock is charged by the audience with a function, like, “You stand there and we will know ourselves.” Not “You stand there and we will pay you loads of money to keep us entertained as we eat our oysters.” He saw the connection could be profound. He also realized the audience may say, “When we’re finished with you, we’ll replace you with somebody else.” For myself and so many others (including shopkeepers, foremen, professionals, bellboys, gravediggers, directors, musicians), they won’t be replaced. Yes, Pete, it’s true, music can change you.

(This is the fifth of 28 artists that began playing in 1976 so not a part of the 1950s-60s generation)

By The Edge, Lead guitarist and vocalist for U2. Illustrator: Christian Clayton.

The Clash, more than any other group, kick-started a thousand garage bands across Ireland and the U.K. For U2 and other people of our generation, seeing them perform was a life-changing experience. There’s really no other way to describe it.

I can vividly remember when I first saw the Clash. It was in Dublin in October 1977. They were touring behind their first album, and they played a 1,200-capacity venue at Trinity College. Dublin had never seen anything like it. It really had a massive impact around here, and I still meet people who are in the music business today — maybe they are DJs, maybe they are in bands — because they saw that show.

U2 were a young band at the time, and it was a complete throw-down to us. It was like: Why are you in music? What the hell is music all about, anyway? The members of the Clash were not world-class musicians by any means, but the racket they made was undeniable — the pure, visceral energy and the anger and the commitment. They were raw in every sense, and they were not ashamed that they were about much more than playing with precision and making sure the guitars were in tune. This wasn’t just entertainment. It was a life-and-death thing. They made it possible for us to take our band seriously. I don’t think that we would have gone on to become the band we are if it wasn’t for that concert and that band. There it was. They showed us what you needed. And it was all about heart.

The Clash greatest hits playlist:

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1t7Y91TNASOKEGmEhbxSvq?si=QcTjONwARgeCm0AKzXfBeQ&pi=9wdhqur8Sl6bq

The social and political content of the songs was a huge inspiration, certainly for U2. It was the call to wake up, get wise, get angry, get political and get noisy about it. It’s interesting that the members were quite different characters. Paul Simonon had an art-school background, and Joe Strummer was the son of a diplomat. But you really sensed they were comrades in arms. They were completely in accord, railing against injustice, railing against a system they were just sick of. And they thought it had to go.

I saw them a couple of times after the Dublin show, and they always had something fresh going on. It’s a shame that they weren’t around longer. The music they made is timeless. It’s got so much fighting spirit, so much heart, that it just doesn’t age. You can still hear it in Green Day and No Doubt, Nirvana and the Pixies, certainly U2. They meant it, and you can hear it in their work.