
Like a Rolling Stone
A snare crack, a sneer, and Kooper's uninvited organ swirling through the song that split rock open.

A snare crack, a sneer, and Kooper's uninvited organ swirling through the song that split rock open.

Marr stacked roughly fifteen guitar tracks and dropped a knife on the strings; Morrissey lifted a line from Sleuth.

Tucker was pregnant, so Yule played bass and drums, and the bridge stayed missing from the mix for twenty-five years.
Cut twice, once for Bobby Orlando and again with Stephen Hague, Tennant half-rapping London class anxiety to number one.

Sixteen years old, the lyrics done in half an hour, the title from a 1976 photo of George Brett.
A white upright piano, a bout of illness, and Britain's supertax reimagined as a lounging aristocrat pleading poverty.

Townshend built it from a single word in "Tracks of My Tears", and American pressings rewrote the line about race.

Wonder was fifteen, his voice breaking, and Gordy feared he was finished; Sylvia Moy fed him lyrics line by line.

Hall wrote it about a fast-food heir, changed Rich Boy to Rich Girl, and took the duo to number one.

Davies wrote it after seeing his sister's house on an Australian housing estate, turning suburban comfort into a cage.

First video on YouTube to pass a billion views, built on a horse dance Psy worked out over thirty nights.

Joel chasing Frankie Valli's falsetto and the Four Seasons' bounce; five weeks at number one, his only UK chart-topper.

Rick Rubin produced it, the video was shot at the Playboy Mansion, and Cuomo swears the longing was sincere.