Hello Operator
Jack White turned a children's clapping rhyme into a complaint about the phone company, cut in his own living room.
Jack White turned a children's clapping rhyme into a complaint about the phone company, cut in his own living room.
Mann and Weil wrote it about Gerry Goffin's drug problems, by Mann's account; the Raiders took it to number four.

A cough left in from the demo, a Motown-derived stomp, and a riff everyone insisted they had heard before.

Moretti woke to hear Casablancas inventing the melody in the bathroom, and it became the warmest song on Is This It.

Guitars pushed to sound like synthesizers, and a Roman Coppola video that borrows its neon from Tron.
The album's opening shot, cut with Cale at the Hit Factory, and Iggy making boredom sound like a threat.

Four feet of air between hi-hat and snare mic, and a drum machine sketch reborn as live New York rock.

Five hours on brand-new sixteen-track, with a vocal fed through an Ampeg amp's tremolo for that shimmering close.

Erickson wrote this kiss-off at fifteen, and Tommy Hall's electric jug gave Texas garage rock its strangest sound.
Ray Davies's publisher wanted to sue the Doors over the riff; Davies declined, and the snarl outlived the argument.

Ten minutes at the end of somebody else's session, and an ocarina solo standing in for a hand whistle.
Gardiner found the riff wandering under apple blossom, and Bowie sings behind Iggy at Hansa by the Wall.

A Vox Continental organ, a Michigan basement studio, a tiny local label, and somehow the number one record in America.
Pop lifted the title from a Time column on Vietnam, and Bowie's mix made Williamson's guitar a threat.
Recorded in Hollywood with Cale on piano, the rhythm pushing like a subway train under Reed's flat delivery.
Three chords, sleigh bells, and Cale leaning on a single piano note throughout. Punk starts here.

Built on the bones of Tom Petty's American Girl, which Petty confirmed without complaint, and recorded in Gordon Raphael's basement.
Dave Davies took a razor blade to his little Elpico amp's speaker cone, and distortion arrived on British radio.

A guitar pitched down to fake a bass, and the seven-note riff every stadium on earth now sings.