The 96 Best Alternative Rock Songs of 1996
Undoubtedly, 1996 was the year of Weird Alternative. Representing the final period before underground rock’s post-grunge bubble totally burst, the hits of 1996 shook out like loose change. Veteran oddballs like Luscious Jackson and Butthole Surfers scored unlikely crossovers, while future cult favorites like Eels and Nada Surf enjoyed their sole brushes with the mainstream. The success of No Doubt, 311, and Sublime presaged ska’s stupefying breakout the following year, while the Prodigy and the Chemical Brothers primed big beat as the sound of the future (for about 18 months). Weezer, Stone Temple Pilots, and Pearl Jam all flopped gloriously trying to follow up ’94 blockbusters, while Oasis and Smashing Pumpkins threatened to expand their ’95 success into total world domination. It was utter chaos, and it was hilariously beautiful.
Like the similarly freewheeling MTV sequel channel that launched in ’96, alt-rock was destined to crash. Tellingly, the Alternative Nation music-video program was canceled in ’97, the same year that Puff Daddy and Will Smith brought hip-hop to unprecedented commercial heights, and Hanson, the Spice Girls, and Backstreet Boys kicked off the teen-pop explosion that would carry the music industry’s boom years into the 21st century. But if there were relatively few survivors from ’96 alt-rock, that just makes the year all the more special in retrospect, as the only time in history when even Primitive Radio Gods were allowed to become contemporary radio gods. Come get all mixed up with us one more time.
96. “Weird Al” Yankovic, “Alternative Polka”
Let the record show that ‘Weird Al’ Yankovic’s obligatory State-of-Pop polka medley off of 1996’s Bad Hair Day declined to cover anything but contemporaneous alt-rock — a fair indicator of the place the genre had in the culture at the time, and would never have again. Kicking off with Beck’s “Loser” was a clever move: Both men were renowned for smashing up pop culture and assembling mirrorballs from the fragments. (Hair goosed TLC, TMBG, and… Hilly Michaels?) With typical flair, Yankovic takes his 2/4 two-by-four to a host of alt luminaries, adding cute details like the rodentine gnawing during “Bullet With Butterfly Wings,” the yodel in “You Oughta Know,” and the Warner Bros.-style censoring of “Closer.” At the last minute, Weezer pulled permission for “Buddy Holly,” but he got ‘em ten years later. — BRAD SHOUP
95. Cake, “The Distance”
Respect Cake: It’s not every decade that a bunch of dry humorists who sound like no one else before or after manage one hit, much less several and a decade-past-due No. 1 album. How the internal logic of their bro-y backing vocals (“All alone!”), mariachi-trained trumpet, and Dr. Dre-trained synth squeal came together is less important than the fact that it did, and the world noticing is just icing on the… well, you know. — DAN WEISS
94. Sleeper, “Nice Guy Eddie”
Forgotten by (American) history, Camden hit factory Sleeper were something like the Blondie of the Britpop era, peaking with this swinging single about how frontwoman Louise Wener once had a love and it was a gas, but soon turned out the guy choked on a martini olive. And sure, let’s name it after a Reservoir Dogs character: Song’s a lot cooler than friggin’ “Scooby Snacks,” that’s for sure. — ANDREW UNTERBERGER
93. Tool, “Stinkfist”
Leading off what’s unquestionably the most scatological album to ever hit (what else?) No. 2 on the Billboard 200 Albums chart, this tabla-enhanced rager forced even Matt Pinfield to refer to it simply by waving his fist in front of his face on MTV. But the original follow-the-chemtrails grunge-prog purveyors pulled their heads out of their asses for “Stinkfist,” which made its riffy point in a lean-for-Tool five minutes. Why’d they have to go and make things so disgustipated? — D.W.
92. Sloan, “The Good in Everyone”
Even as alt-rock scaled the Hot 100, power-pop acts couldn’t find a foothold — not even a band with four top-notch songwriters, well on their way to icon status in their native Canada. After two Geffen efforts that failed to land, Sloan gathered their breath and dropped One Chord to Another on their own Murderecords label. “The Good in Everyone” is the first blast: a dense defensive pose studded with handclaps and a strangled solo. On the verses, Andrew Scott provides massive cymbal sustain; Patrick Pentland sings the title like he’s got his hands over his ears. — B.S.
91. Geggy Tah, “Whoever You Are”
Released on David Byrne’s Luaka Bop label, and you can trace the imprint of the old master on the soul-guitar turnarounds, the loopy drivetime melody, and especially the genially banal text — not since “Autobahn” had the charts seen such a placid ode to driving. A daydreaming drone cruises the highway for hours, waving at courteous motorists, listening to his band on the radio. This is alt-rock at its lowest stakes: suburban and self-involved and seemingly built for the ad placement. Two decades later, the keyboardist was writing for Adele. — B.S.
90. Failure, “Stuck on You”
Too stylish to be grunge, not histrionic enough to be emo, not doomy enough to be metal, too slick to be shoegaze. Failure were destined to be wards of the major-label state until “Stuck on You” became the alt-rock “There She Goes” — a shimmering ode to heroin mistakenly plopped on hundreds of blushing mixtapes. — IAN COHEN
89. Unwound, “Corpse Pose”
Unwound frontman Justin Trosper has said that the title of his post-hardcore crew’s 1996 effort Repetition is partly a cheeky nod to how hard it’d be for them to not tread on some of the same cimmerian soil they explored before. But single “Corpse Pose” proves that repetition need not be Sisyphean; its title not a reference to death or defeat, but to a yoga stance that’s more about restoration. Despite the band’s trademark asynchronous riffing and anxious chanting here, “Corpse Pose” sorta has the the same function: a moment of respite amid the strife and strain. — COLIN JOYCE
88. Red Hot Chili Peppers, “Love Rollercoaster”
Forget the murder-y urban myths surrounding the Ohio Players original — Red Hot Chili Peppers certainly have, too busy pumping the surreal ’70s party staple with crackling distortion and way-too-excited “AWWW S**T!!” hypespeak to worry about anything but the most naked interpretations. Featuring Beavis & Butt-Head on guest kazoo! — A.U.
87. Soul Coughing, “The Idiot Kings”
The highlight of 1996’s Irresistible Bliss is sexy without irony: Sebastian Steinberg’s walking upright bass fake-out intro, Yuval Gabay’s loop-like mastery of his kit, the uncharacteristically harmonized float of a guitar-or-keyboard over it all. Even the frontman’s own hmm-hmms give lines about his “reptile-lidded eyes” a mysterious bedroom currency. Still manages to crack a joke, though: “I could be condemned to hell for every sin but littering.” — D.W
86. Ani DiFranco, “Joyful Girl”
Narrowing a wordy, prolific icon to a couple of threadbare strums and a desolate tune that sounds anything but cheery, “Joyful Girl” nonetheless furthered the original DIY queen’s convincing ethos that “the world owes me nothing / And we owe each other the world.” And if you can’t relate to “I wonder if everything I do / I do instead of something I want to do more,” you might want to check your pulse. — D.W.
85. Henry’s Dress, “Target Practice”
Like Black Tambourine before them, this West Coast contingent of C86 disciples decided that indie pop might sound a little better run through a distortion pedal with a little lighter fluid tossed on top. “Target Practice”— from sole full-length Bust ‘Em Green — is one of Henry’s Dress’ most gloriously trashed tracks, burning through a whole host of searing riffs and singer Amy Linton’s fiery kiss-offs (“How I’d love to see you in springtime / And I’d kick you in the fall”) in just over 100 seconds before cutting to black. Unsurprisingly for such blazing stars, they’d break up just months after the album’s release. — C.J.
84. Seven Mary Three, “Cumbersome”
That riff is cumbersome, the original version of this song was a cumbersome six minutes long, the word cumbersome itself is cumbersome. And while “She calls me Goliath and I wear a David mask” is one of the most cumbersome opening lyrics to any song that managed heavy rotation, it nonetheless summarized an aesthetic of gruff, austere, and utterly sexless masculinity that would define the future of post-grunge: 3 Doors Down claimed they started out as a Seven Mary Three cover band. — I.C.
83. Jimmy Eat World, “Claire”
“The Middle” was Jimmy Eat World mouthpiece Jim Adkins’ pep talk to himself after an ill-fated first go-round as a major-label band. In 1996, Alternative Nation was more accepting of ska and Dishwalla than the anguished, heart-clutching sound of emo defined by “Claire” — a fan favorite which quietly established the missing link between Sunny Day Real Estate and KROQ a year before “Everlong” did. — I.C.
82. Lilys, “A Nanny in Manhattan”
Kurt Heasley’s Lilys project has always been a glorious exercise in swift shapeshifting, switching palates entirely from dream-pop swirl to British-Invasion bluster while most singer/songwriters would still be fretting about a sophomore slump. Better Can’t Make Your Life Better, and “A Nanny in Manhattan” in particular, marked his most winning reinvention yet, rearranging the divebombing guitar histrionics of his lovelorn shoegaze work into two minutes of spry ’60s guitar riffs, sunny sundae smiles, and sparked fires on the Village Green. — C.J.
81. Jewel, “Who Will Save Your Soul?”
When faced with tumultuous circumstances, people’s first response can be to seek comfort in security blankets like religion, sex, drugs, and other “cheap thrills,” as Jewel bemoans in the crisp, finger-picked opener to her debut record. In observing the hoi polloi — which the (former) folk-pop singer did while hitchhiking around Mexico at 16 — Jewel throatily offers a simple, if toilsome, solution to personal strife: finding redemption in yourself. — RACHEL BRODSKY
80. Fluffy, “I Wanna Be Your Lush”
Unjustly forgotten at the bottom of a ’96 rockpile they transcended in quality more than aesthetic, Fluffy resembled the Sex Pistols: They only made one record (Black Eye, worth the penny-plus-shipping), Amanda Rootes sneered like Johnny Rotten, and their songs were all sour candy. So suck on this lust anthem: “I wanna be your strawberry / Devour my flesh” is sincere, “For you I will be pure” is sarcastic, and like Rotten, Rootes’ next stop was (fittingly) proto-reality TV. — D.W.
79. Suede, “Trash”
After attempting a fashionably early exit from the Britpop forefront with 1994’s alientaing art-rock masterwork Dog Man Star, Suede came a-knocking again when the party was still going two years later. Coming Up lacked the innovation and excitement of the band’s best years, but the hooks and harmonies remained undeniable, and you couldn’t blame singer Brett Anderson for wanting back in with the headlining riff raff when he was the one who made such garbage glamorous in the first place. — A.U.
78. Porno for Pyros, “Tahitian Moon”
Perry Farrell’s long-overdue follow-up to Jane’s Addiction’s “Stop!,” another barnstorming intro riff in unnecessary search of a song to follow. Like Bodhi going out for that last wave, the song never really makes it back to shore, but ’90s alt-rock was all about embracing the drowning anyway. — A.U.
77. Guided By Voices, “Drag Days”
Alien Lanes was where Robert Pollard perfected his brand of ajar songplay, knocking off another tunelet before the one you’re humming is finished. So why not go legit? Under the Bushes, Under the Stars made strides toward the normal — though naturally, Pollard’s Britpop-cum-arena idea of normal often sounded like R.E.M. giving Murmur a shiny lo-fi overhaul, while aboveground, the Gin Blossoms mined the Scott Litt era. You could even call this epic three-minute anthem earnest; talk about the passion. — D.W.
76. Gravity Kills, “Guilty”
Gravity Kills were the stuff that post-Downward Spiral industrial dreams were made of: Hailing from the middle of nowhere (fine, St. Louis), streamlined with ’90s-futuristic production that made every single delectable and indistinguishable, and present on the track list to 60 percent of Sam Goody’s soundtrack sales rack. Of the debut album’s singles, “Guilty” gets the edge here over “Blame” because it was in Se7en and not Escape From L.A., and because “Be careful who you kill tonight” is so R.L. Stine at his most Young Adult. — A.U.
75. The Wrens, “Rest Your Head”
One of 20 sweet and stinging transmissions from the hornets’ nest that was sophomore Wrens album Secaucus, a scorching line-drive about powerlessness and aimlessness that wisely cedes control to the guitars at the end. Heartbreaking even before you consider how prophetic “It’s not supposed to turn out right” would be for the band’s career. — A.U.
74. Sebadoh, “Too Pure”
Of all the stoned layabouts to commandeer a four-track in the ‘90s, Lou Barlow always sounded the most serious, and on Harmacy’s gorgeous, Sunny Day Real Estate-worthy opus, he appears to examine why: “Is something missing in my touch? / A tension tugging at my smile?” Of course Barlow smiles less than Aubrey Plaza and Mr. T combined, and lines like “Nervous bug in my system keeps me edgy and ashamed” could be about addiction as hinted, or they could be the anti-“Cherub Rock,” an indie-rock hero struggling to come to terms with a string-section budget. — D.W.
73. Alice in Chains, “Over Now” (Unplugged)
A couple of decades removed from Alice in Chains’ MTV Unplugged performance, it’s hard not to read “Over Now” as a valediction. It’s the last song on the classic lineup’s self-titled finale, and it’s sung almost entirely by guitarist Jerry Cantrell, a fact that feels especially portentous in the wake of nominal frontman Layne Staley’s death. In the song’s Unplugged video, Staley mostly sits in quiet contemplation, hanging his head, closing his eyes, joining in only for the chorus. The climactic line is harmonized, dead-eyed, and depressed in the way that Cantrell and Staley perfected in their short time together: “We pay our debts sometimes.” — C.J.
72. Jars of Clay, “Flood”
The queen Amy Grant paved the way for CCM’s ‘90s crossover: This was a decade in which dc Talk, Kirk Franklin, Michael W. Smith, and Sixpence None the Richer all dented the pop charts. But Jars — a pack of Toad the Wet Sprocket fans from a Methodist college in Illinois — also nabbed some measure of MTV cred. The out-of-focus, rain-soaked video paired well with the group’s muddy acoustic rock, produced by King Crimson’s Adrian Belew. Their keening Noahic plaint made careful study of the current loud-quiet-loud dynamic: Call it “Smells Like Holy Spirit.” — B.S.
71. Blur, “Stereotypes”
When did this band become Gang of Four? That’s one abrasive, funky riff clashing with those faux-haunted-house organs. Also, Damon Albarn’s almost certainly using the term “stereotype” wrong — was it really an institutionalized assumption in mid-‘90s Britain that conservative suburbanites don’t have sex lives? No matter, he got wife-swapping and sex tapes on the radio: the latter two years before Pam and Tommy even hit the web. — D.W.
70. Lemonheads, “If I Could Talk I’d Tell You”
The Lemonheads built a career from an off-kilter marriage between sweet, innocent melodies and dark, depressing lyrics(often inspired by frontman Evan Dando’s struggles with drug addiction). “If I Could Talk I’d Tell You” represents the platonic ideal of this arrangement: a jovial, jangly singalong detailing love at its most passionate (and abusive) by way of references to Zoloft, the Khmer Rouge, and Mein Kampf, among other uplifting topics. — ZOE CAMP
69. Girls Against Boys, “Click Click”
Not post-rock, but post- rock — post-punk, post-hardcore, post-grunge, post-alt. Over the most incendiary guitar-harmonic grind since Big Black’s “Kerosene,” Scott McCloud is too subsumed in JAMC-borrowed narcissism to articulate more than is absolutely necessary: “Kiss cool / Cool kiss / I love it when they turn the bliss on.” — A.U.
68. Eels, “Novocaine for the Soul”
All you really need to know about ’96 alternative was that Eels had a No. 1 hit – one that began with the lyrics “Life is hard / And so am I,” no less. “Novocaine for the Soul” was about as inessential as rock gets, but it was perfectly representative of the kind of charming left-field cameo you found with stupefying regularity on mid-’90s rock radio, and it was a lot of fun for exactly two months before it sputtered out. — A.U.
67. Counting Crows, “A Long December”
Even more unlikely than Adam Duritz’s emergence as a sex symbol was what Recovering the Satellites half-power ballad “A Long December” managed to accomplish: a video starring one of the two female Friends leads linked to Duritz, which still managed to be stirring and melancholic enough to actually make you feel bad for him. — I.C.
66. Brainiac, “Nothing Ever Changes”
Maybe the least combustible of the frenetic scorchers found on Brainiac’s Hissing Sprigs in Static Couture, which isn’t saying much. The cracked machines of Dayton math rock still sound like a time-bomb on “Nothing Ever Changes,” just one in which the countdown clock is actually showing: “Scream if you wanna scream,” they warn in octave-separated harmony, but their guitars are already screeching enough for everyone. — A.U.
65. Pavement, “Give It a Day”
In the years surrounding Pavement’s 1995 stoner epic Wowee Zowee, Stephen Malkmus really cemented his gift for the gab. “Give It a Day,” from the criminally underheard Pacific Trim EP, is one of his knottiest tongue twisters. But this one’s more than just artful sibilance, using an abstract account of the Salem witch trials as an object lesson of societal tendencies toward xenophobia and slut-shaming. The tripped-out time-hopping feels like a heavy-lidded conversation with a history major pal in some dank dorm room — a reminder that Pavement were never really the “frat-boy types” that early press declared them to be. Don’t be deceived, they care a lot.— C.J.
64. Superdrag, “Sucked Out”
A raging case of Britpop envy from Knoxville, Tennessee’s (!!) finest Buzz Bin crashers, this fuzzed-up Pachelbel’s Canon was quick, exciting, and explosive enough to earn frontman John Davis his cash-lit cigarette at the end of the video. Would it bring somebody down if Superdrag never made a sound after “Sucked Out”? Maybe not, but don’t forget that “Destination Ursa Major” was pretty dope too. — A.U.
63. Sheryl Crow, “If It Makes You Happy”
Following the success of 1993’s collectively written debut Tuesday Night Music Club and its cheery hit “All I Wanna Do,” Sheryl Crow took a grungy turn, shaping ’96’s dark, eponymous sophomore LP almost entirely on her own. Appropriately, obsidian crown jewel “If It Makes You Happy” sees the singer at her most vulnerable, as well as her most confident: a brittle kiss-off which, however bitter, ultimately scans as a steadfast take-it-or-leave-it. — Z.C.
62. Goo Goo Dolls, “Naked”
The last moment when Johnny Rzeznik and Paul Westerberg could plausibly be mentioned in the same sentence, and as much a template for James Alex’s musical destiny as anything off of Pleased to Meet Me. — A.U.
61. Presidents of the United States of America, “Peaches”
Love makes you do silly things — like singing about your favorite fruit with the snarling conviction of 120 Minutes-era Eddie Vedder or Chris Cornell. Yes, really: Lead Presidents singer Chris Ballew wrote “Peaches” because a girl he had a crush on had a peach tree in her yard. It’s not particularly deep (unlike that hole Ballew pokes “for ants to hide”), but “Mov-in’ to the count-treeee, gonna eat a lot of peach-es” sure makes for a satisfying, Beavis and Butt-Head-baiting chorus. — R.B.
60. Tori Amos, “Caught a Light Sneeze”
So many boys, so little immunity! Amos finds reverie in sickness on this, the first single from her first self-produced album, Boys for Pele. (It’s also, reputedly, the first single released as a download.) The rumor mill cranked up for the Pretty Hate Machine reference: In an interview with SPIN, Trent Reznor acknowledged a rift — precipitated, he claimed, by Courtney Love. But there’s very little reproach here: Amos’ probing harpsichord leads her to lovers and authority figures, while the au courant drum loop drags its foot. The real salvo was “Professional Widow,” whose “starf**ker” reference caught a certain industrial auteur’s ear. — B.S.
59. Bikini Kill, “Capri Pants”
Forget for a moment that they were rhetorical legends, as their least-revolutionary album, Reject All American, implores you. Then note how their attempts at power-pop and glam and songwriting — there’s almost a middle eight here — still roar out of the gate. This nugget’s riff is stickier than early fans could believe, the drumming tighter, and there’s no way around calling “Cause I like you / But baby it’s all wrong” a hook. — D.W.
58. Nerf Herder, “Van Halen”
Steadfastly holding it down for nerd rock over two decades of Weezer flirting with mainstream acceptance and/or outright psychosis, “Van Halen” remains Nerf Herder’s most gratifying fanboy indulgence. The fawning over the titular band’s Roth-era winning streak is comprehensive and exhilarating, and the betrayal at the Sammy Hagar switchover is heartbreaking and too-relatable. It’s been 30 years since 5150 though, guys, maybe it’s time to give “Why Can’t This Be Love” another chance. — A.U.
57. Archers of Loaf, “Chumming the Ocean”
Regardless of All the Nations Airports single “Scenic Pastures” and its hilarious similarity to “Gold Soundz,” stop comparing them to Pavement. Then skip a few tracks down to this wondrously rendered (and croaked) Waits-ian ballad about a diver in a cage who gets devoured by sharks. Over empty-saloon piano, lines like “The deep is in riot, the coastline is quiet” sum up the fear of an unheard S.O.S. on a far smaller budget than Open Water. — D.W.
56. Republica, “Ready to Go”
The Alternative Nation’s greatest foray into 2 Unlimited territory, Republica frontwoman Saffron scaling to the tops of the highest buildings to broadcast her preparedness over zooming guitars that tripled down on the song’s thesis. The WNBA’s inaugural season couldn’t have asked for a better tip-off anthem. — A.U.
55. The Wallflowers, “6th Avenue Heartache”
Prior to being blinded by the Wallflowers’ massive ’97 radio hit “One Headlight,” you might’ve lifted a lighter to Bringing Down the Horse’s first single, the sighing “6th Avenue Heartache.” Jakob Dylan wrote the ballad when he was just 18 and living in New York, observing a homeless man who sat outside his window playing the same songs every day — until he disappeared. Further bolstering its decade-specific cred was Counting Crows’ Adam Duritz harmonizing in the background, a nice trump card for your next round of ‘90s music trivia. — R.B.
54. Local H, “Bound for the Floor”
More commonly known as “the ‘copacetic’ song,” “Bound For the Floor” is basically The Simpsons’ “Are you being sarcastic, dude?” exchange in musical form. It got Local H unfairly dismissed as a cynical Nirvana ripoff — “unfairly” because those who immediately rushed As Good As Dead to a used CD store missed out on “High Fivin’ MF” and “Eddie Vedder,” proving that Local H were cynical about everything. — I.C.
53. Soundgarden, “Burden in My Hand”
Most of Soundgarden’s best songs reside in a sonic space mired in darkness, but not “Burden In My Hand” — this raucous murder ballad is firmly set in the blazing sun, more Spaghetti Western than Seattle grunge. And if a high-noon showdown MC’ed by Chris Cornell doesn’t sound epic to you, I can’t imagine what would. — Z.C.
52. Stabbing Westward, “What Do I Have to Do?”
Trent Reznor would rather die than give you control and wanted to f**k you like an animal. Stabbing Westward was begging (in low-register croon, no less) to know what they had to do to make you want them. So with all due respect — and respect is due — to God Lives Underwater, Gravity Kills, and Machines of Loving Grace, this spot is reserved for the thirstiest of the alt-industrial bandwagon hoppers. — I.C.
51. Fiona Apple, “Shadowboxer”
Few could articulate the emotional Russian Roulette of staying pals with an ex as well as the perennially brooding Fiona Apple. “Once my lover, now my friend,” she growls over thundering piano on her debut single, before astutely pointing out what few have the courage to acknowledge in this scenario: “What a cunning way to condescend.” The unpredictability of this “relationship” has rightly rendered her tense and furious, but Apple’s not going down without a fight. — R.B.
50. Marilyn Manson, “The Beautiful People”
In retrospect, perhaps Manson’s most transgressive act was nicking Gary Glitter’s rhythm. Co-producer Trent Reznor helps keep things crispy: Twiggy Ramirez’s sneering-rhino riffing, Ginger Fish’s bone-spider stickwork, and Mr. Manson’s curdled croak. His morbid ohhaaahhhhs are the glammy scaffolding on a towering pop-metal edifice, one that drew enough supplicants to be a minor denomination unto itself. If his nihilism was a little on the nose, well, so is a sucker punch. — B.S.
49. Imperial Teen, “You’re One”
“You kiss me like a man, boy / You take it like a man, boy,” was released to radio in May 1996. Korn hedged on “All day I dream about sex” until March 1997. But why did they even bother? A cheery quartet of pop-circuitous women and gay men were making alt-rock quietly bolder than anyone in extremis could comprehend. — D.W.
48. The Promise Ring, “A Picture Postcard”
Nothing Feels Good is literally the book on emo. “A Picture Postbook” is simply archetypal emo in 1996, refusing to abide by cadence, key, and production values lest it rob “Don’t forget to kiss me if you’re really going to leave / Couldn’t you take the second bus home?” of the nervy, overwhelming urgency it deserves. “I’ve never wrote in perfect lines?” Like hell you haven’t, Davey. — I.C.
47. The Refreshments, “Banditos”
“I got the pistols, so I’ll keep the pesos / Yeah, that seems fair,” was just one more fantasy of f**king the world over in the ‘90s. Why? Because it’s full of stupid people, of course. The Refreshments’ one perfect moment of post-“Interstate Love Song” power-pop resulted in a classic that some people definitely still think was by the Replacements. They sugar-tanked the sheriff, and they did in fact tire-slash the deputy. — D.W.
46. Goldfinger, “Here in Your Bedroom”
Goldfinger’s debut single was also their most successful song, inspired by lead singer John Feldmann’s romantic entanglement with a department store clerk — more specifically, those glorious, innocent days before the first hookup, and the inevitable downfall after. The track cloaks love’s uncertainty (“Will you still feel the same?”) in upbeat poptimism, imbuing love’s guess-work with some much-needed glee. — Z.C.
45. Stereolab, “Tomorrow Is Already Here”
Stereolab had already titled a song “John Cage Bubblegum” and already wrote their destiny: to be the poppiest experimental band of all time. Whether by inspirational budget or band peaking naturally, capitalist label Elektra and their Marxist signees achieved a mutual dream — one in which rickety beauty wound up like a Jack-in-the-box juxtaposed with the guileless repetition foisted on us by both Neu! and the Spice Girls. Follow the bouncing ball: “Originally this setup was to serve society / Now the roles have been reversed / That want society to serve the institutions.” — D.W.
44. Foundations of Wayne, “Radiation Vibe”
Seven years before their Rachel Hunter and Ridgemont High fantasies brought them to the Top 40, “Radiation Vibe” established Fountains of Wayne as modern rock’s most skilled purveyors of obtuse-angled power-pop. The group would dive into Kinksy third-person class commentary soon enough, but in the perennially warm-weather mid-’90s, the major-chord wavelength they were grooving on was still too sun-soaked for such grey-skied concerns. — A.U.
43. Neutral Milk Hotel, “Song Against Sex”
Before Jeff Mangum took to writing surrealist historical fiction, he was a twentysomething singer-songwriter writing about sex and suicide. Despite the puritanical suggestions in the title of Neutral Milk Hotel’s first LP’s opener, what made Mangum’s work special from the start was the way his art loudly echoed the cacophony of youth: In under four minutes, “Song Against Sex” has oblique references to Biblical miracles, queer desire, escapist drug use, and the teenage assumption that any action you take can bring the world around you crumbling down. There’s no chorus, because a refrain like that would help you make sense of the whole messy enterprise. The whole point of “Song Against Sex” is that the world’s not that easy.— C.J.
42. Ash, “Goldfinger”
Ash were the pop-punk band with the Midas touch in the mid-’90s, proving with “Goldfinger” that they could take a song about listening to the rain while waiting for your girlfriend to sneak over and make it sound downright generational. Still teenagers when recording debut LP 1977, the Irish trio took a characteristically impatient approach to the quiet-loud dynamic that ruled the day, not even waiting until the second line of “Goldfinger” to interject with their full-band wallop, leaving the song sounding as restless and over-stimulated as being 17 actually feels. — A.U.
41. Orbital, “The Box”
U.K. concept-house duo Orbital’s most Amp-ready moment, a radioactive music box of a single that married the queasiness of jungle to the violence of big beat and the fragility of trip-hop. The stop-motion video was the missing ingredient, a time-lapsed nightmare that brilliantly illustrated pre-millennial paranoia, even before the clip’s chilling climactic pronouncement: MONSTERS EXIST. Just imagine how scary the entire package would be in 2016. — A.U.
40. Gin Blossoms, “Follow You Down”
The gentlest peddlers of ‘90s pop-rock, Gin Blossoms no doubt soundtracked a lot of stolen glances with this harmonica-propelled jam. There’s no resisting “Follow You Down,” with its easy melody and singer Jesse Valenzuela’s amorous promises, but lest you write them off as total pushovers, the Blossoms show some thorn with a gnarling bridge solo and a chorus hedge: “I’ll follow you down — but not that far.” — R.B.
39. Tracy Bonham, “Mother Mother”
It’s every parent’s worst nightmare: the beloved daughter checking in from afar, asking perfunctory questions (“How’s the weather? How’s my father?”) to distract from the turmoil they (correctly) imagine is transpiring on the other end (“I’m hungry / I’m dirty / I’m losing my mind / EVERYTHING’S FINE!!”). Powerlessness is inherent in every facet of the song’s construction — its barely-there chord progression teetering on the edge of insanity, as well as Bonham’s throat-shredding “reassurances” — and yet, in owning up to her own failures, Bonham manages to attain control, however fleetingly. Not that it’ll help her parents sleep at night. — Z.C.
38. Tortoise, “Djed”
Despite helping midwife “post-rock” into existence, Tortoise weren’t a particularly interesting band. Ideas boiled under their surface, but that surface was always fogged up; few compositions sounded like a final edit. So the 20-minute yowza “Djed” feels like a send-up of that very notion: a suite of intros and codas, dubby grooves and Krautrock photo negatives, with plenty of fleeting thoughts that could’ve been expanded into something far less absorbing. “You think what we do is a sketchbook?” Tortoise tease on the Millions Now Living Will Never Die opener. “Well, here it is, page by page.” — D.W.
37. Cibo Matto, “Sugar Water”
The enigmatic highlight of debut album Viva! La Woman, Cibo Matto’s hypnotic “Sugar Water” was versatile enough to be used both as MTV bumper music and the live accompaniment to the all-time sexiest Buffy scene — not to mention the soundtrack to its own splitscreen mindf**k of a music video. This camel-paced creeper allowed you to dictate your own level of immersion: You could fully transport to the duo’s dimension of buildings changing into coconut trees, or you could just clap along to the year’s catchiest “La, la, la” chorus. — A.U.
36. Bush, “Swallowed”
Bush hired Steve Albini for the cred, Albini did it for the check, or at least to prove just how principled he is about Electric Audio being equal opportunity. Either way, everything about “Swallowed” — its title, its “warm sun, feed me up” opening lyrics, its fashionably trashy video treatment — rubbed your nose in the foul odor of unwholesome quid pro quo, fitting for alt-rock’s most shamelessly slutty band. — I.C.
35. The Wonders, “That Thing You Do”
The GOAT of fictional songs, the Beatles-mining “That Thing You Do” found audiences well beyond its titular film, which shouldn’t be much of a surprise — it was authored by Fountains of Wayne pop savant Adam Schlesinger. Though it never reached the level of ubiquity its movie portrayed, “That Thing You Do” would go on to peak at No. 41 on the Hot 100 and inspire covers from actual boy band ‘NSYNC and pop-punk foremen New Found Glory, allowing the Wonders a legacy most IRL ’96 rock bands would break the fourth wall for. — R.B.
34. Lush, “Ladykillers”
Once awash in a sea of Cocteau reverb and falsetto, Lush had stripped to near-Elastican efficiency by 1996’s Lovelife, proving the costume change a wise one with the blistering bird-flip “Ladykillers.” Inspired by some combination of Liam Gallagher, Anthony Kiedis, and Weezer bassist Matt Sharp — hey, at least they eluded Ed Roland’s clutches — “Ladykillers” excoriates the unchecked narcissism of rock-band dudes while exposing their predatoriness (“I’m weak and he was so persistent / He only had to have me ’cause I put up a fight”). But once bitten, twice shy: “Hey girls, he’s such a ladykiller / But we know where he’s coming from, and we know the score.” — A.U.
33. Modest Mouse, “Dramamine”
Two decades ago, a local Washington state band with a penchant for cryptic lyrics and woozy melodies released their first record. Its opening track took chances with the audience’s attention, clocking in at almost six minutes and spending more time developing a gorgeously anxious guitar line and impatient-sounding percussion than its verses, which singer Isaac Brock spat out in queasy chunks. For a track named for a motion-sickness pill, it certainly didn’t sound like the drugs were doing their job. — R.B.
32. Pulp, “Something Changed”
The fifth A-side pulled from Different Class, “Something Changed” might’ve been Jarvis Cocker’s all-time finest lyric, a sliding-doors ballad in which its protagonist is momentarily stricken with paranoia over how close he came to having never met the love of his life. What would be a smotheringly schmaltzy lyrical conceit in anyone else’s hands is delivered by Cocker with the true anxiety of anyone that’s ever found real happiness in another person, and spent the rest of their life waiting for the curtain to be lifted on all of it. “Where would I be now if we’d never met? / Would I be singing this song to someone else instead?” None of us know, and all we can do is hope we never have to. — A.U.
31. Manic Street Preachers, “A Design for Life”
The Manic Street Preachers were undoubtedly told that this was the end after the tragic disappearance of lyricist and spokesperson Richey James Edwards in 1995. But the remaining trio regrouped around solidarity and strings with 1996’s triumphant Everything Must Go and its signature torch song, “A Design For Life,” the most anthemic song ever to begin with the word “libraries.” The cinematic waltz was worlds removed from the U.K. Guns N’ Roses aspirations of the group’s 4 REAL days, but “Design” achieved a stature and power beyond what even Edwards could’ve imagined, by staring down legitimate oblivion and finding the strength to keep preaching. — A.U.
30. Pearl Jam, “Off He Goes”
No Code was no more experimental than Tiny Music… From the Vatican Gift Shop. Which is to say, post-Cobain alt-rock was trying to figure out what it was supposed to be all-around: Imitators became the real deal, and the real deal was imitating Neil Young. This may have been a bad thing in the eyes of Ticketmaster, but for the 1990s’ greatest balladeers, it was another leaf to turn over. Centerpiece “Off He Goes,” which radio respectfully passed on, is Pearl Jam’s “New Slang.” It’s the beauty and grace of stillness, and a couple of chords deployed for the bare minimum of drift. It’s a model of restraint from an era when anything went. Today, it doesn’t sound like it’s from any era at all. — D.W.
29. Luscious Jackson, “Naked Eye”
An unlikely — well, in most years — Top 40 hit from these Beastie-approved genre stir-fryers, this circuital jam of overlapping hooks and disappearing grooves somehow ended up passing for mid-’90s mall music. The song was nonsensical but irresistible, the absurd tension of its half-rapped verses soothingly eased with a cooed “And it feeeeels allriiiiight…” and a drum fill taking off into its soaring chorus. The airport-set video, which starts off like a noir heist but ends like Almost Famous with an identity crisis, seems as good a metaphor for the alt-rock ’90s as any. — A.U.
28. R.E.M., “How the West Was Won and Where It Got Us”
With Automatic for the People, R.E.M. achieved a grandeur that seemed unthinkable as recently as “Stand,” and they followed it up with the glam-trash tsunami Monster just in case we got the wrong idea. But on New Adventures in Hi-Fi, their last great album, they harnessed both impulses in one place, with the stately “How the West Was Won and Where It Got Us” ushering in “The Wake-Up Bomb” without breaking a sweat. “West” was more than that, though: possibly their greatest opening track, and definitely their most elegant, a beast of depression with Stipe’s deadened delivery offering grayscale poetry like “the canary got trapped in the uranium mine.” The comforting piano riff and unsettling, hearing-test sax-synths give it a light touch — like a distant thunderstorm before the drummer quits and the economy collapses. — D.W.
27. Björk, “Possibly Maybe”
Part of Björk’s brilliance as a songwriter over the years is the readiness with which she’s delved into confused feelings and muddled headspaces. Sonically, “Possibly Maybe” may be one of Post’s more straightforward songs, but its emotional scope is ambitious, compressing the brain-scrambling feelings experienced over the whole course of a relationship into a tidy five minutes. To borrow one of her own metaphors, she’s always been singularly adept at mapping the topography of complex emotional landscapes, and here she obliquely admits it; when she sings “uncertainty excites me,” she’s talking about the feelings of boundless possibility in a new relationship, but it’s also shorthand for everything she’s embraced throughout her catalog, the constant newness and reinvention. — C.J.
26. Alanis Morissette, “Head Over Feet”
Living in 2016 as denizens of the Tinder Age, it’s easy to forget that romance isn’t completely dead — just go back 20 years, to Alanis Morissette’s tear-jerking “Head Over Feet.” It’s the story of a downtrodden, jaded woman who slowly learns to let down her guard and surrender her heart — but importantly, not her autonomy — to genuine, good love. If only more of us had her luck, or her harmonica skills. — Z.C.
25. Wilco, “Misunderstood”
Being There’s leadoff cut begins as a sympathetic portrait of a never-was who stomps back home with his songs. Jay Bennett’s organ cuts the small-town night; Jeff Tweedy pops up in the reflection of a compact disc and invites the guy to a house party. By the end, though, he’s hollering insults over a lurching full-band attack. What was tender is now tenderizing: “I’d like to thank you all for nothing at all,” Tweedy shouts, while the guitars flatten everything in sight. The shambolic bile later spread in “Via Chicago” and “I Am Trying to Break Your Heart” begins here. — B.S.
24. Stone Temple Pilots, “Big Bang Baby”
Especially after the tragedy of Scott Weiland’s death, it’s easy to look back at Stone Temple Pilots and only see their darker moments. But the drug ballads are far outweighed in their catalog by moments like “Big Bang Baby” — which turns a potentially heavy meditation on the perils of having the world’s eyes trained upon you into a sort of cheap-seats-scorching glam-rock strut and a video that casts them as low-budget TigerBeat heartthrobs. They never were and they know it; just four dudes from San Diego who somehow got famous as f**k and feel a little weird about it. That can be a dark thing, but “Big Bang Baby” finds them treating it like the joy that it can be — or, to quote Weiland riffing on Mick Jagger, as “a laugh, laugh, laugh.” — C.J.
23. Afghan Whigs, “Faded”
The greatest slide-guitar power ballad this side of “Layla,” wherein alt-rock’s Soul Brother Number One climbs Honky’s Ladder to heaven and bids the angry dog-collared boys of grunge au revoir. — I.C.
22. Sleater-Kinney, “I Wanna Be Your Joey Ramone”
Sleater-Kinney snarled at success just as they prepared to indulge in it. “Pictures of me on your bedroom wall” feels like a quaint bar for success now, but it was honest hero worship — then “Invite you back after the show / I’m the queen of rock’n’roll” mocked that reverence. Carrie Brownstein and Corin Tucker battled for onomatopoeic supremacy in the chorus. And that last line, “It’s fine ‘cause it’s all mine,” shot Courtney Love a look. Semi-fame, here they came. — D.W.
21. 311, “All Mixed Up”
On the spectrum of white dudes appropriating Jamaican textures, Fugazi claims one pole. The other belongs to Fugazi’s onetime opening act: 311, the pride of Omaha. Thin reggae strokes alternate with headcold riffage; the dog’s breakfast of rap/ragga vocals culminates in very burnt toasting. So of course it’s a jam: an airless, posi pop-rock planet — produced by Ron Saint Germain, of I Against I fame — around which 311 lofted many moons. — B.S.
20. Foo Fighters, “Big Me”
This brief highlight from Foo Fighters’ debut, which successfully jumpstarted Dave Grohl’s post-Nirvana career, fell on the softer side of the band’s trademark quiet-loud repertoire. But that didn’t stop midtempo charmer “Big Me” from ringing out: With the viral success of its happy-go-lucky Mentos-parodying music video, Nirvana’s cuddlier cousins were forced to stop playing “Big Me” live because audience members would literally pelt them with the mint candy. Disappointed fans hoping to hear the song could just go home and turn on MTV for 15 minutes. — R.B.
19. Nada Surf, “Popular”
Three important rules for Buzz Bin success: Make sure you start with a discordant guitar riff. It should be piercing, intriguing, jarring, but not alienating. Build on it with verses that imply social commentary and feel like a reference to something from pop-culture history without being totally clear as to what with either. You don’t need to let people know exactly what you’re doing, just make clear that you’re doing it. Then cap it with a chorus that feels cathartic, yet soothing, loud, but hollow. And if you want to pair it with an over-dramatic high-school video with a lot of making out and possible homoerotic undertones, YOU CAN DO THAT TOO! EVERYONE WILL LIKE IT!! IF YOU JUST LISTEN TO MY PLAN: THE MID-’90S GUIDE TO ALT-ROCK POPULARITY!!!! —A.U.
18. Underworld, “Born Slippy .NUXX”
The original Born Slippy was a greyhound whose race paid off. The original “Born Slippy” was a propulsive, baroque techno single. This “Born Slippy” bears no relation: It’s a pep talk paired with a panic attack, a one-man recap of a night spent sinking too many pints and missing too many chances. Beatific echoing synths yield to relentless, hollow thud: the club as haunt. Karl Hyde oozes quick-cut imagery; every time he spits “boy” it lacerates a little more. Danny Boyle sowed its salt into Trainspotting’s final scene, which gave the one-time B-side its sweaty afterlife. — B.S.
17. Sublime, “What I Got”
Sublime had already spent years as ska-punk-funk misfits by the time they released their 1996 album Sublime, but in less than three minutes they’d cement their place as all-is-full-of-love vibe vendors for generations of stoned teens to come. “What I Got” is he most winning variation of the sort of good feelings the band pushed throughout their career — made tragically poignant by the sudden loss of frontman Bradley Nowell to a heroin overdose in the months leading up to its release as a single. Looking back, it feels like a song about blindly pressing forward and failing, while managing to sound like the way Venice Beach smells in the summertime (like the Ocean, bodybuilder sweat, and California’s finest medical-grade stuff). Spin it again, it’s okay if you get a few tears in your bongwater. — C.J.
16. Green Day, “Brain Stew”/”Jaded”
What does insomnia-fueled insanity sound like? Is it a tortured scream? The roar of static? A fevered drum beat? For Green Day, the madness is actually pretty mundane — a slow, mechanical guitar riff gradually lurching into the void in an unyielding arc, before Billie Joe is woken up by a 90-second panic attack. — Z.C.
15. Primitive Radio Gods, “Standing Outside a Broken Phone Booth With Money in My Hand”
Riding high on an air-traffic controller’s salary, Chris O’Connor made a record. He credited it to a fake act; it went nowhere, but he mailed a spare copy to the Cure’s label, which flipped. This flukiest of alt-rock hits is a downcast take on Lou Reed’s similarly fluky “Walk on the Wild Side,” with a clanging hip-hop drum track, a bedroom piano solo, and a nervy B.B. King vocal sample, all slightly inhabited by O’Connor’s 3:00 a.m. philosophizing. It’s still a high point for American trip-hop, and a glowing precursor to Moby’s downtempo breakthrough. — B.S.
14. Radiohead, “Just”
The seventh track on Radiohead’s sophomore album is a hallmark for anyone who favors the U.K. titans’ six-string beginnings. It was guitarist Jonny Greenwood’s time to shine — his searing arrangements nearly drown out Thom Yorke’s trembling vocals entirely. And that doesn’t even include the stuff near the end: The last thirty seconds of “Just” are all Greenwood’s, as he wraps with a twitching, glass-shattering solo loud enough to rival Doc Brown’s super-amp. — R.B.
13. Belle and Sebastian, “Get Me Away From Here, I’m Dying”
Twee titans Belle and Sebastian had an enviable ’96, releasing both their debut Tigermilk and its classic follow-up, If You’re Feeling Sinister. “Expectations” and “The State I Am In” are darling, but if you’re going to pick just one for the books, it has to be from Sinister. “Get Me Away From Here, I’m Dying” is the sound of a heart bleeding onto the page, and its literary motif is a clever way into the cherished indie-pop desire to escape someplace soft and secret, if only in one’s imagination. It all wells up with Stuart Murdoch’s heart-wrenching chestnut about pens and swords: “I could kill you, sure / But I could only make you cry with these words.” Tell us about it. — ANNA GACA
12. Spacehog, “In the Meantime”
Spacehog may not have achieved massive success following their 1995 debut, Resident Alien, but they did proffer up ’96’s glammiest moment — and what a triumphant victory cry it is. Between the soaring falsetto hook, the limber soft-funk verses, and the leaden crunch of the guitars throughout, the Britpop-bypassing U.K. quartet managed to balance Queen’s bombast with Radiohead’s taut alternative rock, bridging British rock’s past and present, achieving all-too-temporal international success in the process. — Z.C.
11. The Chemical Brothers, “Setting Sun”
A time-jump of a big-beat single, neurons firing between Tom Rowlands and Ed Simons until the thing collapses from epileptic shock halfway through. Noel Gallagher shows up to add an air of epoch-making, but he doesn’t anchor the thing as much as provide an unreliable narrator for the hallucinogenic voyage. Siren flares stream across the sky, drums speak in tongues, and tomorrow still ain’t got a f**king clue. — A.U.
10. Butthole Surfers, “Pepper”
Even as Butthole Surfers moved over the years toward the pop limelight — or at least as much as a psychedelics-obsessed wrecking crew of Texas weirdos can — they kept the terrifying strangeness inherent in their long history of body-horror noise rock. Case in point: the cover of their 1996 album Electriclarryland, which features a No. 2 pencil buried to the hilt in some poor sap’s eardrum. That album also included their unlikely crossover moment, “Pepper,” which paired another of frontman Gibby Haynes’ deranged rants about death with a dust-coated slide-guitar croak and post-“Loser” drum shuffle. The track plays out like a sort of Final Destination story for Texas kids, as the song’s cast of characters are plucked off one by one by the perils of youth. This being a Butthole Surfers song, there’s little reason or redemption, just a fury of guitar grime and gritted teeth. — C.J.
9. The Cardigans, “Lovefool”
A band out of time was a band right on time in 1996, the perfect year for a bunch of blonde Swedes who put the ABBA in Sabbath to score a hit big and beautiful enough to make Beyoncé swoon. “Lovefool,” a disco song with zero flaws disguised as alt-rock novelty, didn’t spark a mirrorball resurgence, even as it loomed over so many revivals with much less to show for them (neo-lounge!). But it justifiably conquered radio, thanks to an un-programmed funk that mostly went away again until Daft Punk’s “Get Lucky.” The song’s title neatly, literally sums up its sweet ‘n’ sour hook. It’s a good thing that Nina Persson’s timbre is best likened to a nice, post-coital sigh; “Pretend that you love me” might crush us all to death if not. — D.W.
8. The Prodigy, “Firestarter”
“Incendiary” was one of the last words you’d use to describe the majority of alt-rock in ’96, the golden age for rock stars who looked and sounded about as ambitious and impassioned as the Guy on the Couch. But then the Prodigy and their demon-haired face-of-the-franchise jumped the Atlantic, and suddenly aggro had a future in rock again. “Firestarter” did as promised, striking a match underneath American rock radio with its filleted Breeders sample, borrowed Art of Noise shrieking, and shrapnel-shooting breakbeat, forming the mold followed by action-movie trailers and X Games soundtracks for the rest of the decade. It could’ve made the Prodigy the Sex Pistols of the ’90s, but Keith Flint wasn’t really the Antichrist or even an anarchist, just a smartly dressed puppet filling a deep void of punking instigation. — A.U.
7. No Doubt, “Just a Girl”
So singular and goofy is the whiz-bang new-wave riff from No Doubt’s first big single that I still remember my first time hearing it. I was 13, I’d just gotten my first period, and I’d never been more uncomfortable or terrified in my life. There was no one I could talk to; fortunately, Gwen Stefani was speaking to me. Don’t you think I know exactly where I stand? Her words plugged pride into frustration, and the result was enough irresistible jump-around power to fuel dozens of bedroom dance parties. “Just a Girl” spoke to the suburban teen girl as well as anything ever has — it’s in the opening scene of Clueless, for God’s sake. Twenty years on, Stefani has never needed any other introduction. — A.G.
6. Weezer, “El Scorcho”
“El Scorcho” is the song that Harvard built. When you’re a grizzled geek with several years on the other freshmen — hobbling around the Yard with a steel brace on your leg, natch — confidence doesn’t come easily; hence, the song’s central unwieldy, wandering guitar riff, as endearingly awkward as a former goody-goody double-fisting 40’s at their first college party. To Cuomo, love is pain — so when he does manage to muster up the courage to ask the cello-playing object of his affections to a Green Day concert, only to be shot down with a quipped “never heard of them,” he slips further into the existential void with relish. Listening to Cuomo spill his guts certainly qualifies as schadenfreude (or at the very least, secondhand embarrassment), but then again, who hasn’t been the victim of doomed schoolyard infatuation? Ultimately, the universal wincing/weeping of “El Scorcho” is what keeps it current: Braces come off, students graduate, but young love’s wounds remain. At least they inspire great songs. — Z.C.
5. Garbage, “Stupid Girl”
Don’t let its name or chiding chorus fool you — “Stupid Girl” is one of the strongest, most pervasive anthems of empowerment of the 20th century. Musically, Garbage’s Top 40 entrée obscured their eventual reputation as a studio entity rooted in productional heft; its martial arrangement comprises little more than a chiming guitar riff, limber bass line, and of course, that instantly recognizable, snare-heavy drum beat, plucked from the Clash’s “Train in Vain.” But lyrically, “Stupid Girl” represents the alpha and omega of Garbage’s thematic mission: an extended, unflinching confrontation with sadness, superficiality, and the patriarchal status quo, equally damaging to both men and women. Consider Manson’s sighs on the choruses (“All you had you wasted,” “Can’t believe you fake it”), laments aimed at society at large. “We could have called it ‘Stupid Guy,’” Manson later told People. “But we thought another song about a strident female dissing a guy would be tedious.” — Z.C.
4. Rage Against the Machine, “Bulls on Parade”
“Bulls on Parade” did not deescelate the arms race; in fact, it gave Paul Ryan bigger guns. Rage Against the Machine did not inspire immigration reform. They gave us alt-rock’s “Immigrant Song.” You gotta ask: Were Rage Against the Machine a failure? The fact is, 2016 does not need Rage, let alone the off-brand cover version of itself: Everyone is very aware of prisons-for-profit, crumbling urban infrastructures, endless warmongering. But think of 1996, a time of relative peace, prosperity, rock bands going platinum for no reason, and social media essentially consisting of AOL chatrooms. Yeah, if you really break it down, half of this song is a battle rap and half is whammy-pedal guitar soloing, but to get any kind of political message on the airwaves, it needed to hit with the subtlety of a five-sided fistagon to the forehead. Rage Against the Machine were woke, just too early for their own good. — I.C.
3. Oasis, “Champagne Supernova”
A Britpop opus like Oasis’ (What’s the Story) Morning Glory? needs a colossal ending, and the brothers Gallagher found one in this caterwauling seven-minute epic. It needn’t matter what “Champagne Supernova” was about — even lead architect Noel Gallagher doesn’t appear to know — but the words are just plain fun to say, the vocal melody soars like a vanishing balloon, and the dueling guitars tend to fill in the rest. Oasis’ gift for tear-inducing group singalongs remains unparalleled, and there was no place more exciting in ’96 then wherever the Gallaghers were getting high. — R.B.
2. Beck, “Where It’s At”
“I got two turntables and a microphone” was a lyric that even your dad knew in 1996, but what did it mean, really? Beck Hansen was less an ambassador — for hip-hop or otherwise — than an Olympic-level proponent of the view that cultural appropriation equaled appreciation. Maybe those who dubbed him a slacker didn’t think he cared about his sources — was that snippet about AC/DCs intended to be as mocking as the repurposed “Sex for Teens (Where It’s At)” instructional record the song gets its title from? But Beck brought ‘90s alternative into its second phase, ironic or not: everything but the sampled and looped kitchen sink.
By 1996, randomness over beats was de rigueur, with disciples like Cake, eels, and Soul Coughing fluking onto Modern Rock stations. Family Guy-esque cutaways for out-of-nowhere dialogue would enter charting hits like “Tubthumping” the next year. And the overall zeitgeist in the air found relatively normal bands like Harvey Danger and Eve 6 making hay of culture-jamming and wordplay, respectively, through the rest of the decade. Who’s to thank? Maybe the “loser” who parlayed his gimmicks into patchworks as vivid as DJ Shadow’s and catchy enough for Grammys. Maybe the guy who figured out rap could just be cool-sounding nonsense like “jamboree handouts” and “elevator bones.” Or that alternative rock could be. Turns out jigsaw jazz is a thing. Oh, you didn’t know? Stop being such a slacker. — D.W.
1. Smashing Pumpkins, “1979”
The best song from any genre in 1996 too often tends to get mistaken for retro-fitted nostalgia. It’s understandable: The lyrics are past-tensed and hazy with the fog of overly fond remembrance. The music video feels like the Bicentennial throwback Dazed and Confused as imagined by the cast of Empire Records. The song has never been written about without New Order being mentioned at least once. The title is literally from a generation earlier. Just about everything about it suggests a period piece; when in fact, “1979” was contemporary to the point of ultimately being timeless. Buried on the second disc and released as the second single off of the Smashing Pumpkins’ exploded-brain opus Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness, Billy Corgan’s masterpiece unfurls like no alt-rock song before it, matching a Feelies-taut riff with Robert Smith’s sigh-pop melodic sensibilities and spidery lyrics, tied together with “Mutt” Lange levels of stereo precision.
Even with those ’80s rock signifiers — which no one but Corgan had ever pined for simultaneously — it could only have properly impacted in 1996, after Trent Reznor had raised the bar for sonic depth on alt-rock radio, after Noel Gallagher had made it okay to feel excited about being young again, and after Kurt Cobain’s departure left everyone unsure of what the future held. The time it’s really nostalgic for is right now, because it’s imbued with the sense that the best years of your life don’t have many calendar pages left to turn. “Faster than we thought we’d go,” the Great Pumpkin rhapsodizes on the song’s racing-pulse bridge, and he may as well be talking about ’90s rock itself: By 1996, the Alternative Nation had totally splintered, and as early as ’97, even “post-grunge” felt antiquated as a term — the aimless commercialism of Matchbox 20 and the McG rock of Sugar Ray and Smash Mouth felt closer in lineage to Rick Springfield and the Go-Go’s than they did to Nirvana and Pearl Jam.
The dream may have been over, but if “1979” was its apex, dayenu — the song built on the possibilities originally promised by Seattle’s early-’90s breakthrough, but warp-sped past them into one of the most spellbindingly structured, deeply felt, and magically realized songs of the decade. People don’t compare it to New Order because it sounds like New Order or even because it feels like New Order, but because it’s as good as New Order; it’s the first ’90s alt-rock song that trounced pop at its own game. Those of us who grew up with the song and its video as the platonic ideal of the ’90s teen experience are impossibly lucky to have it to look back fondly on 20 years later. — A.U.
