231. "One Angry Dwarf and 200 Solemn Faces" by Ben Folds Five

This song kicks off the greatest of the Ben Folds Five albums, Whatever and Ever Amen, an album of virtuoso songwriting, pizzazz musicianship, hyperactive vocals, and a kind of humor that many people have taken for shallow jesterism, when in fact the craft and completeness of the language in most of these lyrics belies great sobriety and consideration.

Take, for instance, the song "Cigarette," which has lyrics that are one single, unbroken sentence.

"One Angry Dwarf" is a little more in the stupid side, relying on the good old angry-little-guy-becomes-tyrant-boss trope, with a few silly grade-school vendettas thrown in, but for a fast-paced opening number on the album, it fits the bill.

What I desperately love about this song is everything in the music, the highly original piano attack, the way the fuzz bass is a high-flying, melodic backbone, and the consistently impressive drum imagination. 

Peak, energetic Ben Folds Five is all about the instrumental breakdowns, and "One Angry Dwarf" pulls out a beauty, a piano solo with propulsive bass/drum backing.

The bass playing is really so satisfying in most of Ben Folds Five, and the funk ghost notes in the instrumental are just one example. The piano hits only the main accents, leaving the bass to provide the real fun and movement. It's such a unique formula, but they really found their chemistry.

230. "One" by U2

Do you remember how last week I wept all over the place about the magnificent development in the middle bridge of U2's "Mysterious Ways"?

What's funny is that, in the full-throttle effort to complete that song, the band nearly broke up, doubting their very ability to write good music anymore. They were in completely uncharted territory and had no idea what to trust anymore. It turns out they were just giving birth to some of the greatest songwriting to ever come about. Understandable, I guess, if they just assumed they were falling apart.

What's mind-blowing is that at one point, the middle bridge of "Mysterious Ways" was possibly going to be what became the verse of another momentous song - "One." They had both options, couldn't decide. These guys, clawing for belief in themselves while on the clock recording an album, were actually sitting on two of the best musical sequences they ever put together, and had merely to pick one for the bridge of "Mysterious Ways" and bump the other out to be the germ of another unmitigated classic. It was staring them in the face, but they nearly missed it and let it all slip away. Breakthroughs are so very often waiting on the outskirts of breakdowns.

The disunity of the band at this stage contributed to the ideas in the lyrics. But there are greater resonances: The band was recording in Germany in 1990, just as West and East Germany were reunifying into the country we know today. Say what you will about 9/11; the end of the Cold War and the reunification of Germany are THE historical events defining our age and all of our lives every day.

But rather than writing some saccharine ballad about how everything was going to be hunky dory utopian from that point on, Bono decided to look at the more practical way most unities tend to function at any level: nation, band, marriage. It's not about perfect harmony, some blissful "oneness." It's about having a mature acknowledgement of differences, and a will to work beyond them to help each other.

"We're one, but we're not the same
We get to carry each other, carry each other"

Not "We GOT to carry each other," as some people mis-hear.

"We GET to carry each other." We are thrown into this world together. We will sink or swim together. This is what we get - it's not a question about our will to do it or not. Necessity tops will.

Like Al Green's "Let's Stay Together," this is not a "love" song. It's a "staying together" song. And I think there is a greater strength in the realism of this than in any heady momentary rushes you get latching onto the highs and dizzy flashes of infatuation. This song often gets played at weddings for very innocent reasons. But this song gains all its depth as the anniversaries pass by. It's a song of endurance, acknowledging that expecting perfection is not ideal - and loving the resolute, profound survival of your "one."

U2 simply stayed together through this creative process. This was no honeymoon for anyone. And look, they did their best work, something they can look back on and say they survived to create together. Now you can see them in concert for $25,000 a ticket. They win.

229. "On the Road Again" by Willie Nelson

I've never been a touring musician. But I've known plenty of them, and these people I know have gone all over this country and the world, and if there is one thing I've learned from hearing so many of their stories, it's that touring is extremely difficult work.

There are inter-band dynamics at play, maybe the egoes of certain members clashing. If multiple acts are traveling together, there can be corrosive philosophical differences between the groups. I've heard about all manner of equipment failure and equipment theft. Setting up and tearing down the gear every night is extremely time- and strength-consuming. Vehicle failure is a very real disaster.

I've spoken with musicians longing to be back with their girlfriends, boyfriends, spouses, and families - one who, each time he came through town, used to update me on what his wife and kids were up to, who would ask me where to find a wire service so he could send cash he'd just made back to his kids the next morning. Some take care of their actual remote job duties on laptops while sitting in their van between sound check and the show.

If someone gets sick, everyone gets sick eventually, and they have to just get up and perform right through it each night. I've heard of band members grinding out a 12-hour ride together, all with 100-degree fevers, sitting upright the whole way in their van because of course there was no room to recline.

Touring bands have slept on my floor countless times, as many people as can fit; the rest pile into their vehicles on the street. There's always one guy too paranoid about leaving the gear unguarded. They cultivate this image of conquering, partying destroyers. But by the time they are able to slow down at the end of the night, some are usually too tired to even make it through a movie on TV before falling asleep.

I learned Tai Chi movements from one over coffee on a windy morning, talked music, books, and films with many others - even lawn maintenance once. 

Have many of them remembered me? How many road stories of theirs have I subsequently been featured in? "Remember that guy who we stayed with who made us a giant kettle of spaghetti after the show? And pancakes in the morning? Oh, what a madman!" "His living room floor was so spacious! And extra blankets for everyone!"

I'm probably not that mythical crossroads that changed anybody's life in any way. I'm just another part of that world that they insist keeps turning their way.

Willie Nelson probably launched a million young musicians out onto the road with this song, for better or for worse. It's about as ideal a distillation of collective musical ambition as you can create.

And if Willie's touring life is actually as merry as the song makes it out to be, he is exceptional in that way too. It's often much more gritty and punishing than that. That's probably why people flocked to him back in the day, joined his "family" and never left. To create an environment of true camaraderie, family, and love of music out there across all those hard miles - that's a creative achievement to which even the plain, divine Tao lyrics and melodies of this song would fail to compare.

228. "Oh Pretty Woman" by Roy Orbison

This song has as many breaks of standard time signature and radical chord changes as a '70s progressive rock song, but it's an early '60s rock n roll song. Furthermore, Roy Orbison had absolutely no regard for ordinary pop song form (verse/chorus/verse, etc.), and instead wrote songs sounding remarkably organic, like he made them up as he recorded them. Listen to everything in this song after the succulent middle bridge: He vamps on this single chord, finding all kinds of things to sing, not intending to fade out or anything, just meditating, letting music emanate as it pleased. He was very kind to music. His control came in egging on musical energy, not confining it. It's an odd connection, but I envy Janelle Monáe for the same quality.

Roy Orbison was not good-looking, wore sunglasses out of fear, sang about beautiful women, with his handsome voice. He composed everything around that voice; it was his secret weapon, against everything.

227. "Oh Yoko!" by John Lennon

John loved his descending piano phrases, from "All You Need Is Love" to "Oh Yoko!"

I could use this space to contemplate the relationship of John Lennon and Yoko. It's their business. The Beatles were breaking up no matter what. By the late '60s, the incentive to stay together was diminishing because they all knew how to write and record songs on their own.

Or so they thought.

I wonder how much more "Oh Yoko!" could've been developed with Paul's ear for expanding root ideas of songs. (I also think much of Paul's solo work was over-expanded, to the point of coming completely untethered.) As it stands, "Oh Yoko!" has these pretty root verse and chorus ideas, with a cooing John vocal that I adore - and in fragmentary form, I still consider the result to be one of the great songs. The harmonica break at the end is a creative idea for an ending. But it still feels like there should be something more.

There is this interesting story I once read about John Lennon in this post-Beatles period. He came out with these few albums in the late '60s and early '70s, think of them what you want. 

Then his son Sean was born, and he completely retired from the entertainment business to raise Sean as a "house husband." That is an amazing, beautiful sacrifice, and he could surely afford to do it.

But that's not to say he wasn't still a musician in his soul.

In the story I read, John is spending time with Sean and a friend or two over to play. They go into the piano parlor of their New York City apartment, and John asks the kids to write a song with him. It's all a big joke just to get these kids to enjoy making some music.

So John is bashing around on the piano with them, coming up with silly things to play, all of them singing together and having a good time. And then he accidentally hits on something he truly likes. And he keeps playing it a little. He fixes the melody a bit. He starts improvising around, trying to find the next good change. He ruminates a moment. 

That's when the kids get bored and restless. They want to go play somewhere else. John growls as they pull him out of his trance. He follows them to the next activity.

He was a house husband now.

And there was no Paul.