
Billie Jean
That bassline, mixed and remixed until it gleamed, and the four minutes that integrated MTV.

That bassline, mixed and remixed until it gleamed, and the four minutes that integrated MTV.
The record that proved hip hop could report and not just party, and the edge everyone's been close to since.

Van Halen dropped in, played the solo for free, and Jackson made rock and pop the same building.

Vincent Price cackling over a disco-funk groove, and a fourteen-minute video that turned pop into event television.
Byrne borrowed a preacher's cadence, Eno hummed the chorus melody, and the band looped its own jams like samplers.

Spike Lee asked for a defiant anthem, and the Bomb Squad answered with layered samples and Branford Marsalis's saxophone.

The title flips Captain and Tennille into its opposite, and the single arrived a month after Curtis's death.

Dre and Yella built it in a Torrance studio on almost no money, and Compton stopped being invisible.

Take four, April 1982, a Yamaha synth from Roy Bittan, and the most misheard chorus in American rock.

Slash was goofing through a warm-up he called a circus melody; an hour later the band had this.
Structured as a mock trial with Dre presiding, and it drew a warning letter from an FBI assistant director.

Johnson was told the Bon Scott tribute could not be morbid, so he wrote a celebration over Angus Young's riff.
A single voice and acoustic guitar close Uprising, with a line lifted from Marcus Garvey and Marley already ill.

Patrick Leonard co-wrote it, Prince played the intro guitar, and Pepsi pulled its five million dollar ad but paid anyway.

Slash's riff, McKagan's breakdown recycled from his old punk band, and roughly three hours from nothing to finished song.

Eno reckoned half the album's sessions went into it and nearly wiped the tape; the Edge's delay does the rest.

A die-cut sleeve modelled on a floppy disk, an Oberheim drum machine, and the best-selling twelve-inch single ever pressed.
Bowie lived near Mountain Studios, dropped in, and one evening's jam became a UK number one with a disputed bassline.

Jones thought nobody would play something so morbid; Sherrill spent eighteen months coaxing the vocal onto tape.
Marr faked the strings on an Emulator, credited them to the Hated Salford Ensemble, and Britain waited six years.
Bambaataa welded Kraftwerk's Trans-Europe Express to a Roland 808, and Tommy Boy paid Kraftwerk a dollar per record.

Sting woke at Fleming's Goldeneye with the melody; Summers cut that arpeggio in one take and made surveillance sound tender.
Marr's shudder came from four Fender Twins with their tremolos fighting, and Morrissey put a lonely man in a nightclub.
The Edge was sent a prototype Infinite Guitar by Michael Brook, and U2 had their first American number one.

Recorded on a secondhand eight-track in a Chalk Farm attic, and an American number one by September.

Marr stacked roughly fifteen guitar tracks and dropped a knife on the strings; Morrissey lifted a line from Sleuth.
Stevie Wonder's gear failed at the Mandela tribute, Chapman went on with a guitar, and the record went top ten.

Gaye programmed the TR-808 himself in a Belgian studio, and it finally won him the first Grammys of his career.

Written in a rental van home from San Francisco, and the final two minutes simply double the tempo.

Recorded at Compass Point in Nassau with Mutt Lange, Johnson's first single, and a riff that swings rather than pounds.

Padgham's talkback-microphone accident on Peter Gabriel's third album, a Roland CR-78 pattern, and pop's most anticipated drum entrance.

Smith traced it to a day at Beachy Head with Mary Poole; Williams sped the tempo, adding the opening fill.

Robert Hazard wrote it in 1979 from a man's point of view, and Lauper flipped it into female solidarity.

A Steinberg and Kelly demo Rodgers disliked at first, six weeks at number one, and a seventeen-foot wedding cake.

Deacon's bassline owes Chic, Michael Jackson talked them into releasing it, and Queen landed their biggest-selling single.

Nile Rodgers on rhythm guitar, an unknown Stevie Ray Vaughan on lead, and Bowie's biggest-selling single by a distance.

Two years in the making, with MacColl finally singing the woman's part, and it still stalled at number two.

Francis traced the lyric to a fish that followed him diving; Albini taped Deal's vocal in a bathroom.

Cliff Richard turned it down, Bucks Fizz shelved it, and Turner at forty-four took it to number one.

Oakey thought it the weakest thing on Dare; it became Britain's best-selling single of 1981 and Christmas number one.