This week, Billboard is publishing a series of lists and articles celebrating the music of 20 years ago. Our 2003 Week continues here with a dive into our picks for the best songs from that year that never made it to single release — but live on as essential cuts from the albums we most frequently return to.
There was no shortage of blockbuster albums to go around in 2003. File-sharing had started to cut into physical sales, but the CD still reigned supreme in the marketplace, and plenty of big-ticket releases put up massive numbers. Some of those were with debut sets, like 50 Cent finally making his long-awaited LP arrival after years of mixtape hype or Beyoncé confirming her solo superstar status outside of Destiny’s Child. Others were follow-ups to early-decade smashes, with Linkin Park and Alicia Keys proving they were no one-album wonders with their similarly successful sophomore sets. And a few were career culminations, as OutKast and Jay-Z released perhaps their most-anticipated albums yet — with industry hiatuses for both soon to follow.
But it wasn’t just the huge albums making a major impact in 2003. Internet word-of-mouth, spurred on by peer-to-peer networks, webboards and review publications like Pitchfork and Stylus Magazine, turned imagination-capturing releases by the Postal Service and Broken Social Scene into Little Albums That Could. Veteran alt-rock favorites Liz Phair and Fountains of Wayne glossed up their sounds a little and were rewarded with the biggest crossover successes of their careers. And cult-favorite LPs by artists like Songs: Ohia and Dizzee Rascal were likely never destined for the U.S. mainstream, but earned devoted followings that still persist 20 years later.
While a lot of these albums spun off big singles that continue to define them in the public consciousness, they all also had even greater treasures buried below their surfaces. Some of those are still celebrated today, and some of them — well, you kinda just had to be there. Here are our 40 favorite songs from albums released in the U.S. in 2003 that never became official singles.
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Lil Kim feat. Twista, “Thug Luv” (La Bella Mafia)
Lil Kim’s third LP La Bella Mafia helped usher in a new era of independence and feminine power for the iconic rapper. In “Thug Luv,” she and featured spitter Twista trade rapid-fire bars talking and owning their s–t. (“Do it like a hustla, gotta keep it gangsta/ Can’t no one collide with us,” rings the chorus.) While Twista’s explosive delivery over the scorching Scott Storch beat is unsurprising, the Queen Bee’s bold, brash bars prove her sting in the booth was just as lethal as ever. — J’NA JEFFERSON
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Bubba Sparxxx, “Comin’ Round” (Deliverance)
A standout on the country-rap crown jewel Deliverance, “Comin’ Round” is firmly planted in Bubba Sparxxx’s New South thanks to its twangy sample of bluegrass group Yonder Mountain String Band (“To See You Coming ’Round the Bend”) and its folky rhymes (“It makes the soul smile to see what I’ve accomplished/ I got up out the woods without a map or a compass”). But beyond honoring his roots, the LaGrange, Ga., rapper also looks ahead to his hip-hop-powered brighter future through Timbaland’s equal parts fiddle-and-808s production. Like Bubba says in the song: “Keep followin’ the fiddle, it’ll never steer you wrong.” – KATIE ATKINSON
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T.I., “Doin’ My Job” (Trap Muzik)
Before he became the King of the South and one of the biggest rappers of the world — and before his personal life started verging into truly disturbing territory — T.I. was just a working man, punching in and punching out on street life while recording his breakthrough sophomore set Trap Muzik. Though “Doin’ My Job” is given a majesty by producer Ye’s soaring Bloodstone sample, T.I.’s own neutral expression at his professional prospects never wavers: “We don’t like it no more than you that we live like this,” he testifies, but asks for your understanding, if not your approval: “Under 25, staying alive is hard work.” — ANDREW UNTERBERGER
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Basement Jaxx, “If I Ever Recover” (Kish Kash)
Even by Basement Jaxx standards, third LP Kish Kash was a busy, crowded, overstuffed album, so the rare moment where it takes a a moment to breathe hits as hard as any of the obvious bangers. “If I Ever Recover” also has its own energy and tension, but it also has a relaxed lushness to its warm synths and strings that makes it particularly satisfying, as its looped vocal just burrows deeper and deeper: “I left it all behind me/ And I’m aching baby to be through with you.” — A.U.
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Big Tymers feat. Lil Wayne, Ludacris & Jazze Pha, “Down South” (Big Money Heavyweight)
Birdman and Mannie Fresh only ever had a few big national hits in their eight years together as Big Tymers, but their albums frequently ran deep with non-singles that sounded like potential smashes. On 2003’s Big Money Heavyweight, one of those was inexplicably buried highlights was “Down South,” an ode to life below the Mason-Dixon featuring a pair of ’00s southern rap titans in Ludacris and Lil Wayne — though the real star of the show is the Mannie Fresh beat, a soulful piano-and-drums blend that could make a jam about Wilmington, Delaware sound instantly iconic. — A.U.
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Cat Power, “Half of You” (You Are Free)
On Chan Marshall’s spare, lonely and unsettling masterpiece You Are Free, a quiet, sweet song like “Half of You” feels like a small sip of spring air after a claustrophobic winter. Without the self-protecting irony that defined so much indie rock of the era, Cat Power tentatively opens herself up to romance — before the record segues back into the darker corners of a sad but resolute soul. — JOE LYNCH
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AFI, “This Celluloid Dream” (Sing the Sorrow)
You can enjoy “This Celluloid Dream,” one of the most stirring moments on AFI’s alt-emo opus Sing the Sorrow, as a frank meditation on the inevitability of death and the natural passage of time — Davey Havok compares us all to snow that will one day melt, and leaves that will of course fall and die — or you can simply holler along with the many cathartic call-and-response exchanges (the “All! Grey!” in the bridge still packs a wallop). No wrong answers here, just sweet, sweet raging against the dying of the light. — JASON LIPSHUTZ
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Mya, “Things Come and Go” (Moodring)
With an album title like Moodring, one would expect Mya to pull out all the thematic and musical stops. So she dug into her international bag for “Things Come and Go,” an Island-flavored jam with assistance from the (then) newly-crowned prince of the dancehall scene, Sean Paul, who provides a perfect feature. Both artists match the laid-back energy of the tune, but Mya’s stunning vocal layering befits the times — and would work today as well. — J.J.
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My Morning Jacket, “Golden” (It Still Moves)
While The Jacket’s ever-mighty It Still Moves is a largely face-melting affair, “Golden” is the album’s deep breath moment. But that doesn’t mean it’s a snooze: The etheric foot-stomper finds Jim James and company going mostly acoustic and fully twangy, leaning into their Kentucky roots. The song evokes The Allman Brothers at that group’s gentlest, and embodies both the lyric’s “golden shore” of heaven and the sound of sunshine itself. — KATIE BAIN
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The Black Eyed Peas, “The Boogie That Be” (Elephunk)
Elephunk is the album that thrust Black Eyed Peas onto the Billboard Hot 100, thanks to the addition of the MTV-ready Fergie on vocals and a high-profile single with Justin Timberlake. But “The Boogie That Be” is the song that most closely resembles what BEP had already been doing for nearly a decade, with its fun old-school beat and lyrics that call back to classics by A Tribe Called Quest and Audio Two. You can take the Peas out of the underground, but you can’t take the underground out of the Peas. – K.A.
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Yeah Yeah Yeahs, “Tick” (Fever to Tell)
You can feel the phrase Fever to Tell, the title of Yeah Yeah Yeahs’ 2003 debut album, in every crack and sinew of “Tick”: Karen O spends a little under two minutes with her voice in spastic motion — jittering through every lyrics like there’s an ache in her stomach that won’t stop until she spills her guts — while the guitar chimes and quivers beneath her. Fever to Tell is best known for housing the band’s stately breakthrough hit “Maps,” but YYYs were just as magnetic when songs like “Tick” caught them in house-on-fire mode. — J. Lipshutz
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Brand New, “Okay I Believe You, But My Tommy Gun Don’t” (Deja Entendu)
Two years after the group’s debut studio album, Brand New’s follow-up Deja Entendu became its first to chart on the Billboard 200, during the golden age of 2000s emo. Enunciating slowly and with purpose, frontman Jesse Lacey comes off arrogantly cool and strikingly self-aware throughout this almost six-minute-long standout track, while oozing condescension (“These are the words you wish you wrote down/ This is the way you wish your voice sounds/ Handsome and smart.”) Fan lore theorizes “Okay I Believe you…” is another dig at Taking Back Sunday in the back-and-forth of the frenemy saga, this time aimed directly at front man Adam Lazzara and his stutter (“We’re so c-c-c-c-c-controversial.”) The drama surrounding Brand New turned darker after the release of their Science Fiction comeback album in 2017, when Lacey was accused of sexual misconduct — which he apologized for while revealing a sex addiction in a note to fans, putting the band on semi-permanent hiatus. — BECKY KAMINSKY
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Brad Paisley, “Somebody Knows You Now” (Mud on the Tires)
Nobody 21st century country hitmaker does love songs with better detail than Brad Paisley. “Somebody Knows You Now,” from his multi-platinum Mud on the Tires, assures his beloved that — for better or worse — he knows her as well as she’s ever wanted to be known, even if that just means he can predict that “right now your hair’s up in a clip/ Your socks don’t quite match and you’re bitin’ your lip.” It’s not as mawkish or sentimental as radio country usually gets, but it’s a great thinking-couple’s wedding song. — A.U.
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The Wrens, “This Boy Is Exhausted” (The Meadowlands)
The best song on The Wrens’ towering 2003 album The Meadowlands is ostensibly about record labels making bands jump through hoops in order to mine hit singles that were never even there, but really, “This Boy Is Exhausted” could be an ode to any sort of emotional toll taken during a hair-pulling creative endeavor. “I can’t write, what I know/ It’s not worth writing,” Charles Bissell croaks, his energy zapped until some harmonies lift him back up again — the irony being that “Exhausted” is more thrilling than most early-’00s indie-rock anthems the Wrens were competing with at the time. — J. Lipshutz
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Liz Phair, “H.W.C.” (Liz Phair)
If you have to even ask what it stands for, chances are you missed out entirely on the most unpleasant critical discourse of 2003 — about Liz Phair’s self-titled album, and whether it’s acceptable for an indie-rock mom to sing catchy, well-produced and sporadically graphic pop songs about f–king. (Spoiler from 2023: Of course it is.) Beyond its headline-grabbing title and chorus, “H.W.C.” is one of the year’s most delightful pop-rock songs, a breezy ode to the restorative powers of great sex where even the non-explicit lyrics are plenty memorable: “I’m looking good and feeling nice/ Baby, you’re the best magazine advice.” — A.U.
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Kelis, “Protect My Heart” (Tasty)
It’s sad to know that if Kelis had to redo this one today, she’d probably make it about protecting her bank account — she’s accused The Neptunes of signing her to a predatory industry contract back when she was a young artist, casting an unfortunate pall over the work they did together. But that work still sparkles 20 years later: Among the era’s R&B stars, perhaps only Kelis has both the authority and the flexibility to corral the tight funk of Pharrell and Chad Hugo’s beat while still keeping the feeling loose, as she evaluates P’s come-ons and decides that — at least in this way — she’s gonna keep him at heart’s length. — A.U.
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Sufjan Stevens, “For the Widows in Paradise, For the Fatherless in Ypsilanti” (Michigan)
Sufjan Stevens pays musical tribute to his upbringing in Michigan on this album, but no more biblically than on this allegorical elegy. Some lyrics make it sound like it’s written from the perspective of Jesus (“Even if I come back, even if I die/ Is there some idea to replace my life?”), while Stevens has said the inspiration came from playing high school sports in Paradise, Mich., and “there was all these single mothers and women and grandmothers but there weren’t any men, and so I had sort of devised a story in my mind that they had all died in the war and that they were all widows.” Whatever the backstory, Stevens crafted an absolutely gorgeous, haunting song about facing mortality and answering life’s big questions, set to a plucking banjo and funereal trumpet. – K.A.
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Lucinda Williams, “Minneapolis” (World Without Tears)
Over a haunting vox organ and an acoustic guitar that sounds like it’s about to give up on life, Lucinda Williams’ gravely, resolute delivery is supplanted by a tremulous whimper as she fixates a former lover amidst the “bitter winter” of the Minnesota metropolis. Williams’ words are almost frighteningly vivid (“Let my blood flow red and thin… into the melting snow of Minneapolis”), but her candor in conjuring the gut-punch of loss and depression is ultimately as cathartic as it is unflinching. — J. Lynch
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Dizzee Rascal, “Brand New Day” (Boy in da Corner)
For an album whose bleakness is basically its signature (and an artist whose real-life story has become sadly brutal) “Brand New Day” actually registers as something close to life-affirming, despite verses about dead friends, abandoned young mothers and uncaring authorities laid over an eerie, woozy beat. Still, Dizzee Rascal takes comfort in knowing his fate still rests in his own hands, and plans to take advantage of the opportunities ahead of him — though he takes care to “put some [pay] away for an offkey day,” as he knows that even his brightest path forward will undoubtedly have some shadowy surprises laying in wait. — A.U.
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Radiohead, “A Punch Up at a Wedding” (Hail to the Thief)
Thom Yorke is annoyed as hell on “A Punch Up at a Wedding” — sneering at a critic that got under his skin, calling them “a bully in a China shop,” among other mixed metaphors — but that anger doesn’t rankle the looseness of this Hail to the Thief nod-along, which remains one of the more underrated jams in the band’s catalog. Whereas other moments on the album are purposely halting, “Punch Up” glides: for nearly five minutes, the band sinks into a creeping bass groove with some smashed piano notes above it. Even when Yorke accentuates an insult, the instrumentation coasts along in lock-step, untethered to the hurt. — J. Lipshutz
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The Shins, “Kissing the Lipless” (Chutes Too Narrow)
It got a promo release in 2004, but how this never became an official Chutes Too Narrow single is truly mystifying. The instantly recognizable opening handclaps and “woo!”; the first verse, with its vivid description of friendship ruined by attempted romance, a mini thesis in Shin-dom; the blast of a guitar riff, escalating into the plaintive yet cruel chorus; the return to acoustic guitar for the sigh of a denouement? It’s a perfectly constructed, perfect encapsulation of all things Shins — and, as its bizarre music video showed, would make for great figure skating music, too. — REBECCA MILZOFF
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P!nk, “Catch Me While I’m Sleeping” (Try This)
In November 2003, exactly 12 months after P!nk released the 5-times platinum Missundaztood,, Pink unveiled her third album, Try This, with Linda Perry writing and co-producing the towering highlight “Catch Me While I’m Sleeping.” Released as a promotional single, P!nk describes her dreams as a “lonely, lonely, lonely place “– but her R&B vocals make this song a sweet, slow, sultry and soulful delight. — THOM DUFFY
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Missy Elliott, “Let It Bump” (This Is Not a Test!)
Missy and her forever creative partner Timbaland tag-teamed to unleash another next-level moment on “Let It Bump,” a boombox-breaking, slept-on gem from This Is Not a Test! This time around, both musicians rap on the track, toasting to their successes together as one of hip-hop’s most dynamic duos. MC Lyte and Big Daddy Kane are given shoutouts in the song, showcasing Misdemeanor’s penchant for highlighting the great rappers whose own boundary-breaking careers allowed her to shine. — J.J.
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The Postal Service, “Clark Gable” (Give Up)
As effective any of the more famous singles from The Postal Service’s one and only album, “Clark Gable” amalgamates blog-era indie rock, peppy electronic production and Ben Gibbard’s world weary intellect into an extremely singable, borderline pop anthem about the IRL elusiveness of “a love that would look and sound like a movie.” As objective reality is further obfuscated by the digital facades we present to the world, the song’s most biting query — “I know you’re wise beyond your years/ But do you ever get the fear/That your perfect verse is just a lie/You tell yourself to help you get by?” — hits even harder now than it did 20 years ago. — K.B.
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Drive-By Truckers, “Decoration Day” (Decoration Day)
Four years before his first solo album, Jason Isbell flexed his storytelling muscles a member of the Drive-By Truckers, with this epic title track from the band’s 2003 album. Atop a swampy guitar line, Isbell’s lyric unspools the tale of a son’s struggle with a feud between the Hill and Lawson families that began before he was born. “I never knew how it all got started,” the song’s narrator confesses, while adding “I know the caliber in Daddy’s chest/ I know what Hollan Hill drives.” Isbell knows great songwriting is all in the details. — T.D.
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Fountains of Wayne, “Valley Winter Song” (Welcome Interstate Managers)
After an under-performing album and getting dropped by their label, Fountains of Wayne had a lot riding on third album Welcome Interstate Managers — and the result was a masterclass in pop songwriting with almost no skips. Among its collection of cleverly wordy melodic rockers are a couple downtempo gems, including “Valley Winter Song,” which deserved better than mere placement in an L.L. Bean commercial (and yes, it did get one). With its poetic one-liners (“the interstate is choking under salt and dirty sand/and it seems the sun is hiding from the moon”) and achingly pretty earworm of a chorus, it’s as close as FOW gets to writing a folk song, and it still sounds timeless. — R.M.
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Linkin Park, “Nobody’s Listening” (Meteora)
While Meteora mostly featured Linkin Park honing and expanding upon the nu-metal palette they established on 2000 debut album Hybrid Theory, the striking “Nobody’s Listening” followed more closely in the more hip-hop- and electronic-rooted footsteps of 2002 remix album Renaimation. With a quivering flute hook and slamming drums, the production provides a showcase for rapper Mike Shinoda’s venting on the verses (“I got a heart full of pain, head full of stress/ Handful of anger held in my chest”), but late singer Chester Bennington shows up in time for the riveting chorus, trading off with Shinoda: “Told you everything loud and clear/ But nobody’s listening.” — A.U.
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Ludacris, “Hip Hop Quotables” (Chicken-n-Beer)
Ludacris calling a song “Hip Hop Quotables” in 2003 is a little like Van Halen calling a song “Cool Guitar Riffs” in 1978 — like, well, yeah, obviously. But even by Christopher Bridges’ sky-high standards, “Quotables” bang-for-bar ratio is nuts; he’s so in the zone he doesn’t even waste time with a hook. I mean, throw a friggin’ dart: “I take a s–t on the equator, the size of a crater/ And make government officials breathe harder than Darth Vader,” “I’m as stiff as a board/ y’all more shook than maracas,” “So by the time you figure out why your record ain’t spinnin’/ I’m in the strip club smokin’ with President Clinton.” It’s Luda’s “Eruption,” and it sounds like he could keep flowing forever. — A.U.
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Songs: Ohia, “Farewell Transmission” (The Magnolia Electric Co.)
In July 2002, creative lightning struck Steve Albini’s Electrical Audio studio in Chicago. The seven-minute opener to Songs: Ohia’s The Magnolia Electric Co. is the type of existential, surrealist epic many artists spend careers trying – and failing – to create. “Farewell Transmission,” on the other hand, was recorded in one take, by a cast of musicians largely unfamiliar to band leader Jason Molina, who once described the session as “one of the most heroic recording moments of all-time.” As triumphant chords chug and a slide guitar wails, Molina delivers weathered lines like “The real truth about it is my kind of life’s no better off / If it’s got the map or if it’s lost” with resolute conviction. — ERIC RENNER BROWN
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Beyoncé feat. Missy Elliott, “Signs” (Dangerously in Love)
Given the present-day obsession with astrology, Missy Elliott was (once again) ahead of her time by writing “Signs” for frequent collaborator Beyoncé’s debut LP, Dangerously In Love. The snappy ballad runs down the emotional and physical qualities of each zodiac sign, as the new solo siren muses over which man she’ll give her heart to. Bey’s impressive vocal gymnastics (which has become more renowned in the decades since) is on full display here, while Missy’s pen and production prowess are so everlastingly addictive. — J.J.
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OutKast, “Happy Valentine’s Day” (Speakerboxxx/The Love Below)
There are a lot of left-field delights on OutKast’s double album Speakerboxxx/The Love Below, but only one of them imagines a world where holiday mascots like “leprechauns and groundhogs” reign supreme over Cupid. Singing and rapping from the perspective of sidelined love god who’s ready to let his arrows rip (“Could be an organ donor the way I give up my heart”), André 3000 taps a brittle funk riff that brings to mind Prince circa Lovesexy to spin a story about love’s complicated push and pull. — J. Lynch
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Britney Spears, “Showdown” (In the Zone)
As a key figure in early-’00s pop culture, Britney Spears’ career courted its fair share of headline-making tabloid moments. But third studio album In The Zone allowed Spears the opportunity to tell her own story for a change — one where she was allowed to be experimental and sexually unashamed on all fronts. Third track “Showdown” is about as official a foray into grown woman territory as she could have offered. Slinky, dancehall-inspired production from Swedish duo Bloodshy & Avant provide the perfect backdrop for Brit Brit’s not-so-innocent night. The song is one giant double-entendre, finding Spears singing softly through libidinous moans, nudging both her partner and the listener with straightforward offerings (“I don’t really wanna be a tease/ But would you undo my zipper please?” she asks in the second verse). Not only was she able to assert her sexuality on wax, she gave her fans unexpected sonic treats. — J.J.
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Death Cab for Cutie, “Transatlanticism” (Transatlanticism)
The title track to Death Cab for Cutie’s beloved Translanticism album starts off unassumingly enough, singer Ben Gibbard essentially singing about being lost at sea over sparse piano chords and a distant mechanical chug. But as the piano begins to intertwine with the song’s signature guitar riff, and Gibbard eventually arrives at the repeated refrain, “I need you so much closer,” “Transatlanticism” slowly gathers steam into one of the totemic anthems of all ’00s indie, a revelation that becomes a near-mantra, as the college-age cast of Six Feet Under discovered during one particularly memorable trip. “So, come on!” Gibbard concludes, by which point you’ll have ditched your lighter and be waving a whole flamethrower in the air. — A.U.
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The Diplomats, “I Really Mean It” (Diplomatic Immunity)
From playing Ma$e’s running mate in the late ‘90s to becoming the cornerstone of The Diplomats in the early 2000s, Cam’ron’s breakthrough moments came courtesy of 2002’s Come Home With Me and 2003’s Diplomatic Immunity. The latter consisted of indelible non-singles, which showcased not only Cam’s maturation as the group’s undisputed leader but his flair as an MC. With Just Blaze flipping Major Harris’ “I Got Over Love” for the album’s eternal “I Really Mean It,” Cam feasts on triumphant horns, while Jim Jones gives his best Paul Heyman impression during the song’s breaks. Even Cam’s Paid In Full co-star, Mekhi Phifer, isn’t safe — as the Harlem rapper serves him up on a platter on the closing verse (“You’ll get side swiped, look at my life / First movie ever, merked out Mekhi Phife”). — CARL LAMARRE
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Kelly Clarkson, “Beautiful Disaster”
Kelly Clarkson had shown how big she could go over the course of her winning American Idol run and first two huge hits, ballad showstopper “A Moment Like This” and powerhouse Minivan Rocker “Miss Independent.” But to know that she could nail nuanced mid-tempo just as well, we had to wait for Thankful‘s “Beautiful Disaster,” a pop-rock heartbreaker about a relationship that Clarkson knows she’d be at risk putting her heart on the line for (“If I try to save him/ My whole world could cave in”), but which she just can’t seem to resist the allure of. “If I could hold on/ Through the tears and the laughter/ Would it be beautiful/ Or just a beautiful disaster?” she asks over gorgeously sighing Matthew Wilder production — already knowing full well the answer, but still desperate for a second opinion. — A.U.
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Alicia Keys, “Heartburn” (The Diary of Alicia Keys)
No stranger to pulling out every stop in her repertoire, Alicia Keys’ sophomore album The Diary of Alicia Keys provided listeners with another look at her versatility as a full-fledged musician. And with sonic inspirations that span far and wide, the end result is unpredictable, but oh so welcome. Cue: “Heartburn,” the funky, Timbaland-produced tune that’s plucked straight from a ‘70s blaxploitation film, complete with a groovy hi-hat and a subtle (but downright foxy) wah-wah guitar. Throughout the song, which never loses steam, Keys croons about a lover that keeps the fire burning within her. Her passion and the intoxicating instrumentation prompts the listener to yearn for a love that “tastes so good [they] can’t resist.” Daaamn right. — J.J.
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50 Cent, “Many Men” (Get Rich or Die Tryin’)
While 50 Cent’s early hit-making prowess (“Wanksta,” In Da Club,” and “P.I.M.P”) solidified his stellar rookie campaign, it was his introspective cuts on Get Rich or Die Tryin’ that placed him in God Mode. His rumination on “Many Men” reminded listeners that he wasn’t always bulletproof, as he recalled the infamous 2001 shooting that pierced his body and mental. Despite the attacks on his life, 50’s valiant comeback and visceral hooks (“Lord, I don’t cry no more/ Don’t look to the sky no more”) left chills on even the toughest gangstas. — C.L.
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Broken Social Scene, “Anthems for a 17-Year-Old Girl” (You Forgot It in People)
There’s a magic throughout Broken Social Scene’s breakthrough album You Forgot It in People that’s entirely its own, but even with all the spectral moments found across the set, nothing really prepares you for “Anthems for a 17-Year-Old Girl.” The set’s jaw-dropping side one closer, it materializes from the windswept outro to jaunty instrumental “Pacific Theme” via some gentle banjo picking and scattered drums — not sounding like it’s gonna turn into much until singer Emily Haines’ stargazing entrance: “Used to be one of the rotten ones and I liked you for that.” Her elliptical lyrics and pitch-shifted vocals slowly rise in intensity as the strings crescendo, up to the song’s signature four-line refrain: “Park that car/ Drop that phone/ Sleep on the floor/ Dream about me.” Like most great rock anthems (especially for teenagers) it means nothing and everything — a worthy climax to a song conscious enough of its intent to put it right there in the title, yet one that still feels like a totally spontaneous miracle. — A.U.
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Jay-Z, “Public Service Announcement (Interlude)” (The Black Album)
“Change Clothes” was the flashy Neptunes-produced lead single, “Dirt Off Your Shoulder” was the can’t-miss radio killer and catchphrase-coiner and “99 Problems” was the throwback end-of-year list-sweeper. But if you’re looking for the song that endures today as the defining cut from Jay-Z 1.0’s final album, look no further than “Public Service Announcement,” the mid-album scorcher that’ll get played at every Brooklyn Nets game until the end of time. Jay navigates a top-shelf Just Blaze beat of swirling organs and crashing drums like a 60-point scorer barely even registering the defense’s presence: “Fresh out the frying pan into the fire/ I be the music biz’ No. 1 supplier/ Flier than a piece of paper bearing my name/ Got the hottest chick in the game wearing my chain.” There’s no hook; there’s even “Interlude” right there in the parenthetical — but when Hov released his first greatest hits compilation in 2010, guess what song was leading off, allowed to reintroduce the man’s entire career. — A.U.
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The White Stripes, “Ball and Biscuit” (Elephant)
Before “Ball and Biscuit,” The White Stripes had never put a song longer than four-and-a-half minutes on an album. But with the seven-plus-minute guitar pyrotechnics of this Elephant standout, Jack and Meg proved the intensity of their signature simplicity could live even when they abandoned brevity. While Jack’s solos on the song cemented him as a 21st century guitar hero and get much of the glory today, the track’s quintessential Stripes-ness made it a classic: Jack’s lyrics menace like a greaser outside a ’50s drive-in (“Read it in the newspaper – ask your girlfriends and see if they know”) as Meg unrelentingly thumps on the drum kit. The tension and release, from Jack’s haywire shredding to the song’s simmering verses, elevate it beyond mere guitar showcase into one of the duo’s defining cuts. — E.R.B.
