Eddie Cochran’s “Twenty Flight Rock” is a brisk, rhythmic treat. Cochran, who died at the impossibly young age of 21, was best known for “Summertime Blues.” Although his songs have been covered by the Who, the Stones, and even the Sex Pistols, Cochran is generally seen as having less depth, originality, irony and grace than the greats of his era. It’s true—he wasn’t the artist that Buddy Holly was, or the singer Elvis was, or the musical innovator that Chuck Berry was, but he was an excellent guitar player, having begun his career as a session player, and the man could sure as hell sing. His performance of “Twenty Flight Rock” in the Jayne Mansfield vehicle The Girl Can’t Help It (1956) launched him to his brief fame. In fact, a pre-Quarrymen Paul McCartney played “Twenty Flight Rock” for his future songwriting partner to impress him, which makes sense because the song requires a performer to be fleet of both tongue and fingers.

Had Eddie Cochran even made it to 27, the proper age to die a young rock star, there’s no telling what kind of songs he would have written. I have to disagree with harsh rock critic Dave Marsh’s assessment that “Eddie Cochran undoubtedly stands as the most overrated fifties rocker, benefiting enormously from that the fact that he looked the part more perfectly than anybody but Elvis, and from the circumstances of his death, which occurred not just in a traffic accident, but in a car crash while riding with Gene Vincent. In England, where Elvis himself never toured. Had he lived, it’s hard to believe that Cochran would be regarded as one of the handful of rockabilly greats.”

To which I say: A guy with genuine musical talent who, yeah, looks the part, and who goes out and makes it as a session guitarist (like Jimmy Page) before going off and doing his own thing, and who gives the world two classic singles in “Summertime Blues” and “C’Mon Everybody” by the ripe age of 21, deserves a far less damning appraisal than Marsh’s. Like Holly and Valens, Cochran was a real teenager, writing music for teenagers, about being a teenager. In the musical void that was the pre-Beatles ‘60s, the music industry was quick to invent its own stars and supply these “idols” with squeaky-clean material that wouldn’t offend anybody. But for a couple of years toward the end of the ‘50s, before Elvis joined the Army, before Chuck Berry was jailed for violating the Mann Act, before Little Richard found God and Jerry Lee Lewis disgraced himself, these people were creating the basic template for rock & roll, and Eddie Cochran made real contributions to that template, in addition to earning his place in the mythology of rock & roll through his tragic death.

On the numerical tip, working against 20FR is the fact that Eddie only says the number once, but in its defense, the song is otherwise chockfull of digits: “Well she lives on the 20th floor uptown/the elevator’s broken down/so I walk 1, 2 flight, 3 flight, 4/5, 6, 7 flight/8 flight more/up on the 12th I’m startin’ to drag/15th floor I’m a ready to sag/Get to the top/I’m too tired to rock.”

It’s worth noting that Television Personalities, this list’s 14-slot winners, reprised 20FR’s general lyrical sentiment about 20 years later. In the rudimentarily sublime “14th Floor,” a weary British youth laments his crappy job and the fact that he has to climb 14 floors just to get home. In contrast, Eddie Cochran’s prototypical broken elevator song is more a teenager’s exaggerated complaint than a cry of frustration and defeat. In Eddie’s version, although he has six more flights to climb, there’s always the possibility that, once he catches his breath, some rocking just might get done. Whereas in the TVP song, there is no silver lining; he’ll just have to do the same depressing thing tomorrow. Taken together, this pair of songs can be seen as an object lesson in how the bright-eyed optimism of the ‘50s gave way to ‘80s cynicism and ennui.

Eddie Cohran - "Twenty Flight Rock"

Random fact about Eddie Cochran: Shortly after his death in 1960, Eddie Cochran was lauded in a slightly creepy tribute song—“Just Like Eddie” by Heinz, produced by the eventually murderous producer Joe Meek—just as he himself had done for Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens and the Big Bopper three years earlier, with the definitely creepy “Three Stars.” Speaking of things macabre, the last line of “Twenty Flight Rock” is pretty creepy in light of Eddie’s violent demise: “They’ll find my corpse draped over a rail.”

A few years back the overlords of the rock press declared that “louche” was a pretty cool word, one that worked especially well in articles about Jarvis Cocker, Bryan Ferry, and Jim Morrison. So please bear with me when I describe “Twentieth Century Fox” as another of Jim’s louche love songs. I don’t think it’s blasphemy to say that the Doors’ ultimate psychedelic love song was “Light My Fire” and that later songs written about women never reached that same level of audaciousness. “Touch Me,” with its bombastic Vegas horns, has never done it for me, and “Twentieth Century Fox” strikes me as a clever enough pun but not exactly a genius turn of phrase. I’m not knocking it; there’s much to admire about the song. From that slow, hip-grinding blues lick and those Manzarek keys that signal you’re in Doorsland, it sports a powerful chorus, a fine set of handclaps, and at 2:30 it’s a model of concision for a band whose songs grew longer in tandem with its lead singer’s beard. I’ve always wondered though, why the “fashionably lean, fashionably late” fox in question, who has the world “locked up inside a plastic box,” will “never break a date.” Most foxes I’ve known have had a marked propensity for doing just that. But then again, I am a far cry from the Lizard King.

Marc Bolan is a much closer cry to the Lizard King. Look what they have in common: rock stardom, androgynous good looks, early deaths, and “20” songs. They’re practically the same person. In a head-to-head contest, T. Rex’s 20th Century Boy” easily takes “20th Century Fox,” and I’m going to say that it wins out over Eddie Cochran, by a nose, because this exuberant come-on has to rank among Mr. Bolan & Company’s finest moments. I’ve never seen a T. Rex best-of (and they are legion) that didn’t have it. It even inspired a crunchy 7-inch tribute by Edinburgh punkers the Thermometers (anyone? anyone?) on Fokker Records (hello?) called "20th Century Girl." It has handclaps too. In fact 20CB has just about everything a killer single is supposed to have. With a simple yet catchy melody given lush vocal treatment, the song is built around a pile-driving riff that would sound right in any era. It’s easy to imagine this kind of ballsy riff in the Nevermind era, on an industrial record or on something released last month. Here it is, in its once and future glory.

T- Rex - "20th Century Boy"

Numerology is our pal Dave's ill advised quest to find the definitive song for every number from one to a hundred. He'll probably coast on teen angst for awhile, but there are rough times ahead.

Previously: No. 1, 2-4, 5-7, 7 (counterpoint), 8, 9, 10/11, 12/13. 13 (counterpoint), 14/15, 16, 17, 18, 19