
A Day in the Life
Two unfinished songs bolted together, an orchestra climbing to nothing, and the last piano chord in pop.

Two unfinished songs bolted together, an orchestra climbing to nothing, and the last piano chord in pop.

Four chords, a mumble nobody could decipher, and the riff that ended one decade of rock and started another.

A folk flop until a producer secretly overdubbed electric guitars, and the duo heard their number one on the radio.
Byrne borrowed a preacher's cadence, Eno hummed the chorus melody, and the band looped its own jams like samplers.

A tranquilizer shot before a 1977 Philadelphia show gave Waters the lyric; Gilmour brought the chords and the solo.
Osbourne heard Iommi's riff and called it a big iron bloke walking; Butler built the science fiction around that.
Four sections in six minutes, named for Douglas Adams's depressed robot, cut in a sixteenth-century manor near Bath.

Greenwood meant those three dead notes before the chorus to wreck the song, and they are what makes it work.

Francis traced the lyric to a fish that followed him diving; Albini taped Deal's vocal in a bathroom.
Pop lifted the title from a Time column on Vietnam, and Bowie's mix made Williamson's guitar a threat.

Six and a half hours in Stephenson's house, a slide guitar loop, and a hook mocking Beck's own rapping.

A ballad first, written at art school, until Weymouth's French bridge and bassline turned it feral.

Radiohead opened Kid A with no guitars at all, just a Prophet-5 and Yorke's voice diced in Pro Tools.
Gardiner found the riff wandering under apple blossom, and Bowie sings behind Iggy at Hansa by the Wall.

Yorke came straight from a Jeff Buckley gig, sang three takes at RAK, then burst into tears.

Eleven minutes, one acoustic guitar, and Charlie McCoy improvising fills after Bob Johnston found him passing through New York.

Kumalo cut one descending bass measure, Halee reversed the tape for the break, and Chevy Chase mimed it on MTV.

By Numan's account a road-rage scare in London started it; a bass riff, a Polymoog, and a UK number one.
A Fred Neil song that flopped in 1968, until Schlesinger put it under Midnight Cowboy and Nilsson won a Grammy.

A twelve-string bass figure from Ament, a Texas newspaper item in Vedder's hands, and four VMAs in 1993.

Fourteen songs, one take, November 1993; Cobain plays Bowie through an amp and makes the song permanently his.

OutKast were booed at the 1995 Source Awards and answered with a title splicing Atlanta and aliens over echo-heavy dub.

Twelve weeks atop the modern rock chart, and Bennington turning somebody else's expectations into a chorus millions shouted back.

Ocasek produced it, Cuomo aimed for the Velvet Underground, and the party-chatter intro made a sad song sound hilarious.

Daniel wrote it late for Gimme Fiction, cut it first, and sang in a Prince falsetto over Eno's hi-hat.

Cut in September 1994 at bandmate Tony Lash's house, trumpet and harmonica stripped away until only guitar and dread remain.

Marching boots open the record, and a collapsed Jersey holiday sent the band to Berlin for their subject.

Five hours in a Los Angeles jingle studio, the demo kept as the master, its subject hidden in plain sight.

Number one in Australia, number two in Britain, built from Brown's memory of Long Island parents fearing metal records.
Newman wrote it for Eric Burdon in 1966, and Cory Wells sings the bewildered party guest straight to number one.

Smith recorded Either/Or in Portland friends' houses and mixed this one himself, a parade watched through sour eyes.

Seven and a half minutes, James Murphy at the desk, Haitian percussion, and Bowie volunteering his voice.

Capitol dropped them, so they paid for it themselves; that opening riff bought the whole gamble back.

A Mano Negra tune remade over a Black Uhuru groove, and the same melody resurfaces twice more on Clandestino.
Weiland called it the gap between kid and young man, and Brendan O'Brien's production leaves the voice bare.

Stipe found the word on a New York apartment door and gave the night shift its lullaby, post-Berry R.E.M.

Rob Thomas called it a song for people who feel alone; eighteen weeks at Adult Top 40 number one.

Lewis finished the words onstage in Biloxi with Fred Durst singing along, and that live take became the hit.