Top 10 Songs

Music, pens, papers, and Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder are some of my favorite pastimes. I've taken to choosing a band or artist, writing down a few dozen favorites, and coming up with Top 10s. Whether it's cool or cringey, I then snap a picture and post it to an Instagram/ Facebook story. They're gone in 24 hours. Then it's on to the next Top 10... eventually. 

Here's what I've figured out so far (although no one should take the words "figured out" too seriously here, especially not me). The Top 10 Beck, for instance, already needs a revision. I've always been intrigued by new ways to try and fail in the name of love. 

Nick Again Lists His Favorite Albums

Where introductions are concerned, I am a writer of few words.

...

All right, then.

15.Jimi Hendrix—Are You Experienced? (1967): Judging by the plethora of singles that bolster this album, you'd think it breaks my rule of excluding Greatest Hits collections. Incredibly, though, “Purple Haze,” “Fire,” “The Wind Cries Mary,” “Hey Joe,” “Foxy Lady,” and “Manic Depression” are all included on the Jimi Hendrix Experience's debut. Hendrix was so talented that he could provoke baffled accusations of cheating from rock-and-roll mortals, and more than 40 years later, it's still stunning to consider the abundance of great songs that resulted from his first recording session with the Experience. Hendrix would later release Axis: Bold as Love and Electricladyland before his untimely death in 1970. Not even the Beatles accomplished so much in such a limited window of time. He wasn't cheating, but it sure seemed that way.

Hendrix announces his presence at the party during rock's golden age with the psychedelic strut of “Purple Haze.” He wonders if he is “happy or in misery,” considers it a moot point either way, and translates to his listeners the spell his muse puts on him. Within the span of the incantation, images are conjured: tire tracks smeared across the backs of loose groupies who play hard-to-get, jealous lovers with blood on their hands fleeing for the border with embattled resolve, traffic lights about to turn the color of loneliness—all told by a weird gypsy who straddles an ignited Stratocaster as he charms and beckons the flames. Hendrix captivated with searing riffs without resorting to as much macho fluff as Jimmy Page. At times, he was as poetically engaging as Dylan or Lennon, and his feats of virtuosity on the guitar were of course unrivaled by either one.

He was such an extraordinary talent that it seemed like he was cheating, but in reality, that was never the case. Jimi Hendrix just set his own rules to play by.

14. The White Stripes—Elephant (2003): Judging by the album cover, which portrays two strikingly pale indie-rockers sitting on an amplifier, both stricken with despair, the White Stripes did not seem especially plussed by the widespread buzz wrought by 2001's White Blood Cells. Such trepidation may have been valid on some level, but Elephant, the duo's follow-up to the hype they generated for the garage-rock revival scene, marks a bold claim of their presence as an upper-echelon band in popular music. Elephant is less a salute to well-crafted trashiness, more indicative of the group's fondness for Led Zeppelin as opposed to Iggy and the Stooges, a stunning achievement of mainstream acclaim that never compromises Jack and Meg's core goal of maximizing the potential of minimalism.

The first track, “Seven Nation Army,” is the most duly overplayed single since “Smells Like Teen Spirit.” The 14th and final track is a cloying debacle. Aside from those extremes, Elephant leaves nothing to complain about. Among others, “Black Math,” “Girl, You Have No Faith in Medicine,” and “Hypnotize” scintillate with the Stripes' straightforward and biting approach. “I Want to be the Boy to Warm Your Mother's Heart” and “You've Got Her in Your Pocket” showcase Jack's nearly outdated pangs of sincerity. “Ball and Biscuit” is a bluesy odyssey of snide self-empowerment that finds a great guitarist who tends to favor simpler chords in the mood to puff out his chest and rip a few mesmerizing solos. In “The Hardest Button to Button,” Jack tartly makes amends with childhood squalor, as though he'd like to flaunt his middle finger to the whole world with the flippancy of fellow Detroit native Eminem...if only he wasn't such a gentleman.

Jack admits that he doesn't consider himself a genius in “The Air Near My Fingers.” Fair enough, but he sure is brilliant, and he chose a worthy sidekick (plus I'm a fan of her hooters). Brilliant minds still get bored sometimes—as he indicates earlier on the same track—but the notion that said boredom has to translate to the audience is as misleading as, say, an album cover that portrays two seemingly distraught indie-rockers who really didn't mind the spotlight all that much. The White Stripes told an occasional fib.

13. Weezer (the blue album) (1994): “What's with these homeys dissing my girl/ Why do they gotta front?” Front-man Rivers Cuomo begs this question at the start of his band's splendid breakthrough single. Similarly, there is no cause for derision of Weezer's debut because of the letdowns Cuomo and Co. have released for much of the past decade-plus. Chuck Klosterman, a more accredited writer on rock music, contends that Cuomo's songwriting skills have not diminished; rather, his persistent earnestness has become incompatible with the counterculture's increased longings for irony. I disagree. I never want anything to do with Dungeons & Dragaons, but when Rivers Cuomo began to favor his KISS poster “In the Garage” to his 12-sided die, Weezer's sound suffered. It's okay to blend KISS-like, pop-metal hooks with gnashing, Pixies and Nirvana-inspired angst; that is, in fact, what made Weezer such an appealing band in the mid-90s. The backlash against Weezer started when Cuomo—the Harvard graduate with horn-rimmed specs, an accidental founder of the Emo scene—adopted the overly simplified lyrical approach of KISS. The horribly embellished “Weezer Problem” has little to do with irony and much to do with wasted intellect.

That stated, the blue album stands as the first album I bought—on cassette, which would have presented the tedious issue of having to fast-forward (rather than skip) a track not worth the listen. Thankfully, the blue album is without a second of filler material; from the power-pop wallop of “My Name Is Jonas” to the extended, brooding trance of “Only in Dreams,” the geek-rockers find an exquisite balance of alternative sounds light on self-loathing and radio-friendly sing-alongs that are actually thoughtful. Cuomo somehow charms as a jealous and controlling boyfriend in “No One Else.” He convinces his listeners of the plausible nature of riding a surfboard to work. More candidly, he offers a quiet/ loud indictment of drunken stepfathers that serves as a generation's go-to anthem for the children of divorced parents; “Say It Ain't So” probably surpasses even Nirvana's “Serve the Servants” in that regard.

Which is saying something, when you consider that Cobain is remembered by many as the premier songwriter to emerge in the '90s. And who cares about all those post-Pinkerton letdowns?* Make Believe they were only nightmares, for “Only in dreams, we see what it means.”


12.The Strokes—Is This It (2001): An electric guitar mimics the sound of short-circuitry, drums thump a lax tempo, and then—with the conviction of a weary malcontent—Julian Casablancas pleads, “Can't you see I'm trying?/ I don't even like it.” Fittingly, the Strokes' rise to fame seemed nonchalant, as though they were resigned to ambition, already burned-out by partying and groupies in their early-20s yet doggedly set on going through the motions of stardom. Their debut LP garnered glowing reviews, inspired rock critics to employ the metaphor about “lightning caught in a bottle” ad nauseam, spelled the demise of goatee metal-rap, and redefined something obscurely known as the “cultural zeitgeist.” The Manhattan quintet foretold their response to such hype in their debut's opening/ title track: “Is this it?”

This album yielded three terrific singles. As is the case in “Last Nite,” the raucously tuneful strums of dual guitarists Albert Hammond Jr. and Nick Valensi interlace and build dynamics until the former exclaims with a solo perhaps too trashy for arena-rock but at least befitting of a much larger garage. “Someday” finds Casablancas longing for freedom via childhood nostalgia and subverting the Pink Floyd principle: “Together we stand/ Divided we fall.” (“Alone we stand/ Together we fall apart.”) “Hard to Explain” envisions space-rock without the hippies and relays a conversation between an adoring boyfriend and a skeptical father.

“The Modern Age” is a flourishing jaunt for slackers that verges on questioning if all relationships are doomed. “Barely Legal” comes across as a sloppy nod to surf-rock re-envisioned with NYC grit. And with lyrics such as, “I should have worked much harder/ I should have just not bothered,” it's easy to see that the Strokes are not easily appeased. Which hardly matters; their appeal lies in upbeat and unkempt musings on eternal dissatisfaction. The human condition has rarely sounded so infectious.

11.Led Zeppelin—Houses of the Holy (1973): Disregard the album cover. Dwelling on it inspires reactions such as, “Artistic, I guess...but mostly REALLY creepy” and “That avant-garde pederast really had a VISION.” If the whim strikes you, feel free to skip past “No Quarter,” a compelling but mismatched dirge that has Led to countless acid-induced horror shows. It is then feasible to regard Houses of the Holy as Zeppelin's finest, and less equivocally, their most vibrant. Houses then qualifies as my most-treasured album when I'm in the mood to appreciate life. Zeppelin's fifth offering finds the hobbits returning home safely from the darkest depths of Mordor. With the glowing support of their families and community, the group rejoices and gets down to mending the levee that broke at the conclusion of IV, rebuilding it with wizened minds and abler hands.

The musical chops of Page, Bonham, and Jones are unmatched by pretty much any other band you can think of. Robert Plant is not one of my favorite singer-songwriters, but the man undoubtedly 1.) has awesome pipes,** 2.) OWNED his role in the spotlight of the biggest band of the 1970s, and 3.) should in no way be denounced as a liability. Bonus: He sounds decidedly less sleazy, not as easily parodied on Houses.

“D'yer Mak'er” is the Zeppelin tune I catch the most guff for loving. In the ensuing sentences I will be defending my opinion in transposed pro/ con fashion. Con: The words “mad,” “bad,” and “sad” are perhaps rhymed gratuitously. Pro: “D'yer Mak'er” delivers an eargasm. Con: It's an eargasm induced by a blatantly simple groove that serves as Zeppelin's answer to the missionary position. Pro: Missionary can still deliver an eargasm, so shut your ugly face, naysayer. Get yourself a blog so you can tell me how much "D'yer Mak'er" sucks. I dare you!

ELSEWHERE, the rickety structure of “The Crunge” hints that the same blokes responsible for “Stairway to Heaven” have a penchant for farce and levity, too. “Over the Hills and Far Away” and “The Ocean” are jubilant blasts of arena-rock that even fussy cynics can embrace. If you take into account the “No Quarter” exception I mentioned before, the most somber sentiment on this glorious LP can be heard in “The Rain Song.” “Upon us all, a little rain must fall.” Just a little rain? I can live with that. 

*I will allow that 2002's Maladroit is a fine album.
** It's a good thing I pluralized "pipe." I was one Freudian misspelling away from raving about Robert Plant's "awesome pipe."

Nick Lists His Favorite Video Games

The primary reason why I'm opting to write a piece that presents my Obsessive-Compulsive love of video games is because I need a simpler alternative to an essay I'm working on about my friend's fear of snakes. The essay also deals with ideas such as Original Sin, the consciences of humorists as compared to moralists, and Indiana Jones. I am having trouble piecing the whole thing together, but eventually the kidney stone that has become “Fear of Snakes” will pass. Until then, I offer this less thought-provoking & more arcane piece and vow to go down swinging under the weight of the geeky gravity of it all.

It's obvious that at some point I was going to do this—given that I tend to write so much about myself, admit to playing video games with great regularity, and have displayed a penchant for perhaps reading too much into obscure topics. This is a Top 28 list because I will soon be turning that age. While some may insist that I'm too old to squander my efforts on a sophomoric list of video games, my rebuttal is that at least I didn't wait until my twilight years to vent such a silly list. I'd hate to one day bore kids in my senile stupor with tales of entering the Konami code to gain 30 extra lives in the original Contra. Aging for so long only to jabber neurotic madness like that to dumbstruck children would almost certainly get me locked up in one of the crooked nursing homes featured on 60 Minutes.*

So. Please don't complain that I'm too old to do what I'm about to do. Rejoice, instead, the fact that I got it out of my system before it was too late.

Honorable Yet Spiteful Mentions

My list of favorite video games wouldn't be complete without a list of titles that almost made the list due to reasons ranging from “I wasn't any good at it” to “I wasn't any good at it, acknowledge its (relative) importance, but still despise it with even the most compassionate cells in my body.”

Battletoads: In the early 90s, kids were driven into a greedy consumer frenzy that their parents paid for by anthropomorphic amphibians who went on wild adventures involving the clobbering of evildoers. Every lunch-box, action figure, beach towel, Halloween costume, t-shirt, or video game that featured an ass-kicking amphibian who acted human was in high-demand. The brunt of the buzz was generated by the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, but the appeal of said amphibians was so expansive that a knock-off of the absurdly fantastical Ninja Turtles somehow became not merely a luxury but a NECESSITY to needy children hoarding in on mom and dad's disposable income.

Battletoads was the Kick citrus drink to the Jolt Cola offered first by the Ninja Turtles. Whether or not that analogy makes any sense to you is almost irrelevant; just know that all four had the same effect on nerves and brain cells.

The problem with Battletoads for the Nintendo Entertainment System was that completion of the 3rd level was far too difficult. The game is outstanding until the toad on-two-feet under your control gets behind the wheel of a hovercraft in a cavern of cell membranes. Of the roughly ten people I have talked to about this level, only one has conquered it. Kudos to Mike for jumping over every last one of the cement barriers that stood in his path and then somehow making that obscenely long jump at the very end. You're a National Treasure, buddy.

Not many were blessed with Mike's prowess playing Battletoads. The rest of us petty mortals met our demise at the end of level 3 and grew up to be the callow degenerates we are today.


Dr. Mario: Oh, man...you were such a cool upgrade of Tetris and your soundtrack was terrifically catchy. Why did you have to make me feel like such a dunce?

Bionic Commando: There were only two main action buttons, A and B, for most every Nintendo game. In Bionic Commando, one button triggered a grapple hook, while the other shot a bazooka. It cannot be overstated how bad-ass I thought that was in 1989. With that cutting edge virtue of maximizing the potential of minimalism, BC is the 8-bit equivalent to the White Stripes—though I'm not sure if Meg on drums represents the grapple hook or the bazooka.

Guitar Hero: I have embodied the essence of Human Failure every time I have tried my hands at this “innovation of gaming.” I struggle with precisely timing that moment of synchronization between the guitar-button** and the colorful land mines on the neck of the guitar AD NAUSEAM.

But that hardly matters. I despise the very IDEA of Guitar Hero. In short, if you want to listen to music, put on a record or CD or start up an I-pod. If you want to play a video game, grab a normal controller and use it to move your character and cause him to run, jump, shoot, and so forth. If you want to play music, grab hold of a real instrument. There is no cause for a cheap compromise of the three to defile music, video games, and instruments.

Fuck Rock Band, too. It likewise causes far too many people to feel good about themselves for no good reason.

And These Gems Got Snubbed Because I Came Up with This Idea Now and Not When I Turned 38...

X-Men 2: Clone Wars
Arch Rivals
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: The Manhattan Project
Double Dragon II
Lethal Enforcers (Came with a plastic gun that was sweeter than original Zapper and paved the way for Time Crisis.)
Uniracers
Contra III: The Alien Wars
Starfox 64
Die Hard Trilogy 
Wii Sports

Roll-Playing Games To Make the Countdown...
None. Honestly, what in the hell is a Chrono Trigger, anyway? A robotic clitoris? And how many times have you been told the latest one will really be the FINAL Fantasy, only to be lied to yet again?

The Real Top 28

28. Streets of Rage 2 for Sega: It makes sense to start with this side-scrolling beat-'em-up for two reasons. First off, this is the only Sega game on my list. For sheer volume of stellar cartridges, Super Nintendo owned Sega. When the truly great ones were counted at year's end, SNES always dominated. Picture a happily soused Mario dunking that flea-ridden hedgehog's head into a toilet to celebrate every New Year from 1989 to 1994. That's a fitting visual to summarize the idea.

Streets of Rage 2 is a rare exception to the trend. From the 16-bit era, it's the most satisfying game of the genre that was all about walking from left to right through a seedy ghetto and pummeling the shit out of ugly henchmen. SNES titles such as Final Fight, Brawl Brothers, and even Batman Returns, a game I really enjoyed, can't quite compete with Streets of Rage 2.

Secondly, this video game establishes a recurring theme in the ensuing list: I like to kick some ass. Seriously. But only when the violence is entirely make-believe.

27. Castlevania for NES: From what I gather, the Grim Reaper and Dracula, the final 2 bosses in Castlevania, are no pushovers, but I have never ascended so steeply up that rotten bloodsucker's castle. That stated, I still had a blast whipping oncoming ghouls and heaving axes at the large bat that blocked entry to level 2.

Castlevania also established that Vids with elements of horror can be widely appealing.

I made it all the way to level 4 on the arcade version on just 2 quarters. This happened at a cousin's wedding reception at the banquet hall in Mt. Calvary, WI. I was too old to gulp down kiddy cocktails before baseball-sliding across the dance floor, too young to chug beer and gamble on the March Madness match-up on TV, bored and caught in adolescent limbo...and Simon Belmont showed up and whipped a somewhat dismal time into shape.

26. Blades of Steel for NES: Over 20 years after its release, Blades still stands as my favorite hockey Vid. It boasts a nearly perfect balance between arcade and simulation styles in a sports game. The goalie control feature was tricky at first, but added the perk of personally stonewalling your buddy's slap-shot if you devoted enough time to Blades. The passing is crisp, the body-checks lead to wild howling, and the brawls provide ten intense seconds of bliss (as long as you weren't the chump who got flogged and sent to the penalty box).

25. Twisted Metal 2 for PS1: Even though the controls were a bit shaky and the Moscow level was designed with a stifling lack of imagination, the notion of a wide array of rival vehicles equipped with machine guns, missile launchers, and flame throwers was pretty damn cool. The high-speed duels between Cadillac, ice-cream truck, bulldozer, dune-buggy, etc. were enough to leave your eyeballs puking and begging for more.

It is worth noting that, aside from those Snubbed, this is the 1st game to make the list that I have actually conquered. Suck on that, Dark Tooth.

24. Silent Hill for PS1: Not only is Silent Hill the most frightening Vid I've ever played—far scarier than any Resident Evil title—it is also more frightening than 90% of the horror movies I have seen. In Resident Evil, a virus of the T variety is unleashed that leads to zombies running amok inside a well-lit mansion. In Silent Hill, an entire town is engulfed by the nefarious power of Paranormal Activity, transforming the town's populace into demons that lurk in darkness. On the fear scale: Demons outrank zombies, especially when the zombies are easily spotted while the demons are made visible only by the meager beam of a flashlight.

Controlling the poor geek of a protagonist can be frustrating; sometimes the pitiable dad charges and smacks into a wall before stumbling backward in a hapless impression of Gomer Pile. Excluding the vivid cut-scenes, the graphics left something to be desired, too; everything you trained your flashlight on had a look of grainy murkiness to it.

But Silent Hill isn't about tight controls or pristine graphics. Its “defects” only added to the panic, suspense, and horror of the dreary crusade. The game's intent is to spook the bejesus out of you—for REAL, and it succeeds.

23. Call of Duty: Black Ops for PS3: This marks the only Playstation 3 Vid to make the list, but the system itself is not to blame for that. Nope. A matter of Insufficient Funds has precluded me from indulging much in the likes of the most recent installments of God of War and Metal Gear.

I have played CoDBO for perhaps a total of 4 hours at a friend's house—exclusively the 6-on-6 team death-matches on-line. It's a thrill to prowl the landscape of what looks like the estate of a Columbian cocaine mogul with an assault rifle and notch a long-distance head-shot on some acne-ridden stranger who just got home from school.

I try to fulfill the role of a quality 6th man on a playoff-bound NBA team when I play CoDBO. I almost certainly won't rack up 20+ points/ kills. There is always a Kobe Bryant to contribute that on any victorious CoDBO squad—and it sure as hell isn't me. But I have been known to chip in with a solid 10-6 or 12-10 kill-death ratio. Like Ron Artest of the defending Champion Lakers, I'm just happy when I don't sabotage the success of the team.

22. The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time for N64: Nine times out of ten when I spit at the mirror in disgust, it is because I am recalling that I have never conquered a single title in the Zelda franchise. I came the closest in Ocarina, completed the first 24 or so miles of the sprawling marathon, but never quite made that final stride to step on the throat of Gannon.

From what I remember, the underwater castle that adult Link ventures into marked the point where not even a tell-all player's guide could save me. That is where the puzzles became too vexing and a shrewd and frantic replica of Link cut me down again and again.

I nonetheless squeezed dozens of hours of enjoyment out of Ocarina. Concerning looks, it's one to marvel at for the 64. Achievements were made when key weapons and items were hoisted triumphantly out of treasure chests. Swords, shields, bombs, boomerangs, bows, potions, and grapple hooks needed to be upgraded along the journey in order to conquer the most recent/ daunting in a seemingly endless succession of castles and dungeons.

With its slow and quiet buildup into an epic work of intrigue that abounds with themes of transformation, and childhood nostalgia, I may not be entirely loopy when I claim that this is the video game equivalent to Pink Floyd's “Shine on You Crazy Diamond.”

21. Mortal Kombat II for SNES: The original didn't include enough playable characters. The third installment didn't provide the player with enough time to execute a post-win Fatality and some other stuff was wrong with it, too. MKII is definitely the best of the three, and the main reason this game is on the list instead of worthier titles like Soul Caliber and maybe even Super Street Fighter Turbo is because its controversial and gaudy brutality has always tickled me.

Along with Doom, MKII was criticized by conservatives who fretted that 12-year-olds should not bare witness to the gory sight of a ninja with a razor-brimmed hat slicing a Jean Claude Van Damm lookalike in half with one mighty swipe. Transforming into a huge dragon before chomping off Sub-Zero's torso and decapitating Raiden were also frowned upon by stuffy moralists.

Just as Itchy & Scratchy made advancements for cartoon violence, MKII likewise answered the question “How bloody can video games be?” with a brash “Much bloodier.” In this analogy, I embody the killer mouse while my friend Mike and his frenzy of jump-kicks fulfills the role of the perpetually butchered cat.

I am now pressing the pause button on the Top 28. The rest of the list will be completed soon. In the meantime, the suspense promises to be middling.

*I know I swiped the last part of this sentence from an episode of The Simpsons! I'm vacillating between trying and mailing it in on this one.

** The very coupling of the words “guitar” and “button” that Guitar Hero is responsible for indicates the dumb fraudulence of the game itself. At best, guitars don't have buttons. At worst, guitars shouldn't have buttons.