People who aren’t country music fans think I care waaaaay too much about it; those that are consider me some sort of ivory towered, yankee doodle jackass. Either I’m blasted for knowing what the “Boot Scootin’ Boogie” is, or lambasted for not knowing it well enough. To appease neither crowd, this list features many artists that are decidedly not country musicians, a self-fulfilling prophecy to prove my own hypothesis about the influence of the No Depression movement. (Don’t worry: I’m not going to claim that Public Enemy is punk rock or anything. (#50))

Besides, much of what is considered “country music” is, to borrow its own vernacular, all hat and no cattle. For most of it, there’s the imagery of country music but none of the actuality. Tractors, beer, Texas, jingoism. Check, check, check and double check. Millionaires pretend to be everyday folk, and for some reason, those everyday folk continue to buy it up. Perhaps this explains why Middle America keeps voting Republican, perhaps not. Instead, I’m concerned with those songs and artists that worked in and around alternative country, as well as those artists that, even if momentarily, showed us that the influence of no depression music permeated into other genres.

100 Best Country* Songs from No Depression to 9/11

* = May include parts but not all of: alt-country, (some) pop, southern rock, folk, Nashville, neotraditional, Red Dirt, gospel, psychobilly, western swing, Americana, cowpunk, ballroom, rockabilly, Christian, outlaw, hillbilly, groove metal, honky tonk, Appalachian, Bakersfield and anything else even remotely “country-ish” (and some not so much). [Note: This list is purposefully largely inclusive. I considered making this list “the 100 Best Songs of the No Depression Era”, but that’s probably there job, not mine.] As a result, this list is guaranteed to piss of fans of not just the above-mentioned genres, but, in fact, fans of every genre of music imaginable. Why 9/11 as a cut-off date? Because since that date, country radio has largely been reduced to cheesy ballads in a contest to see who is more patriotic (or at least, who can capitalize off of it more).

100: “Man of Constant Sorrow” by the Soggy Bottom Boys (2000). Who cares if they’re not a “real” band? The song (and by extension, album) lit a fire for old timey music that inspired, among a slew of notable country acts, none other than Bob Dylan.

99: “Good to Be on the Road Back Home Again” by Cornershop w/ Paula Frazer (1997). Here’s our first example of a non-county act jumping on the country bandwagon, a specification that this list was created for. But let me get to that point later, because the only thing this song reminds me of is my Memere making up on the fly, and singing along with, her own lyrics (in French).

98: “Love Untold” by Paul Westerberg (1996). After the ‘Mats dissolved, Westerberg used his solo opportunities to create more subdued music. Fortunately for all involved, he never abandoned his trademark raspy howl, a trait tailor made for the Gen-X romantic comedies that came a dime a dozen in the mid-90s. (Yes, I know that was “Dyslexic Heart”.)

97: “Sexuality” by Billy Bragg (1991). Co-written by Johnny Marr, “Sexuality” is an anti-homophobia song – not exactly a perspective you’d expect to hear on country radio. It didn’t get much play on those outlets, of course, but it did chart fairly well in Bragg’s native UK and on college and modern rock radio stations in the US.

96: “The Outdoor Type” by the Lemonheads (1996). Not sure if this song is a legitimate reaction to the budding Earth-friendly awareness of the mid-90s or if it is mere coincidence, but the Tom Morgan-scribed “the Outdoor Type” takes successful shots at all the trendy recreational activities enjoyed by the Eastern Mountain Sports-types.

95: “Burn to Shine” by Ben Harper & the Innocent Criminals (1999). When not portraying himself as a free-lovin’ stoner, Ben Harper could actually bust out a pretty hard core blues riff or two, whether on his trademark (at least in the realm of alternative radio) Weissborn or, in the case of this song, on the plain old electric guitar.

94: “Easy Come, Easy Go” by George Strait (1993). Some other day I’ll fully dissert the actual cultural importance of King George. For the time being, let’s survey a song that, by simply reading its title, you already understand everything it has to say.

93: “Poison Love” by Buddy Miller (1997). Before settling in with his solo work, Buddy Miller was already a well-established song writer, session musician and country music producer. It wouldn’t be until the 2000’s when (now in his 50’s) he began reaching his high water marks, including being named as No Depression’s artist of the decade.

92: “Cowboys from Hell” by Pantera (1990). Hell, in this case, refers to Texas, an analogy I can certainly vouch for. But you’ve got to do more than namedrop the Lone Star State to make this list, and Pantera squeezes in thanks to an entire identity based around the idea that Texas is more than just queers and steers. Not until the late Dimebag Darrell & Co. did metal (or any kind of hard rock) truly become a viable career path for Texans.

91: “Lioness” by Songs: Ohia (2000). A rough, susceptible ode to tortured love, kind of like a mellow, un-Mexicanized “Conquest”. The star of the show is the slight guitar twang after each “I will swim to you” that brings me to count at least four genres of influence at once.

Songs: Ohia - "Lioness"

90: “Runaway Train” by Soul Asylum (1992). The second most unlikely un-ironed band from Minnesota to sign to a major label in the early nineties (that's foreshadowing, folks), Soul Asylums “runaway” (sorry) hit is just as famous for its socially conscious music video as anything pertaining to its musicality. My favorite part about it, from the ever-reliable Wikipedia: “After the video, in an ending also not regularly shown, Pirner says in front of the camera, "If you've seen one these kids, or you are one of them, please call this number," with the following screen showing a number one could contact. MTV cut this part out because they did not want to have the video confused with being a public service announcement.” Way to go, Viacom.

89: “Evangeline” by Angels of Light (2001). At the onset of his band Angels of Light, Michael Gira excelled at combining gospel-tinged country with unfolding post-rock. (He would later move into the nebulous realm of “indie rock.”) “Evangeline” walks slowly into the sunset before nicely disappearing behind a chorus of “ba-ba-bada-das” and Gira’s own, imprisoning baritone.

Angels of Light - "Evangeline"

88: “When We Sing Together” by Victoria Williams (1994). Maybe I was reading a lot of music magazines at the time (probably), but Victoria Williams’s Loose seemed to be absolutely everywhere when it came out. Williams recorded this lovely song with her soon-to-be husband (and Jawyhawk) Mark Olsen, and she would return the favor on his band’s Tomorrow the Green Grass.

87: “The Man Who Loved Beer” by Lambchop (1995). For all its free-wheelin’, fun-loving personae, Nashville is as elitist a town as you’ll find on the map, particularly for country artists. (Even the grandson of “the Singing Kid” can’t buy a ticket to the Gran Ole Opry, it seems.) So it’s no surprise that these Music City natives don’t even appear on the country music radar. To be honest, if not for the slack key guitar, swooping, Rogers and Hammerstein strings, and of course, songs about beer, Lambchop might be considered acoustic shoegaze (if such a term existed, that is).

86: “Big Little Baby” by Reverend Horton Heat (1993). If nothing else, the Rev. should at least be a foot note in the encyclopedias of rock’n’roll for his novel marketing approach: play country music at punk rock shows. Psychobilly never reached the audiences that, alas, the third generations of ska and swing did in the 1990s, but popularity shouldn’t overshadow Heat’s play-it-like-its-stolen style of guitar play.

85: “Lazarus Dies Again” by Darrell Scott (1999). By the time Scott set out to play and record his own music, he had already established a name for himself writing songs for the likes of Steve Earle, Garth Brooks, Emmylou Harris and a number of other artists not cool enough to make this list. As if a song about a guy who comes back from the dead isn’t spooky enough, the brogue-heavy backing vocal seals the deal.

84: “Faming Red” by Patty Griffin (1998). The title track off her second album could fit nicely alongside any number of grunge compilations, but by turning up the blues, Griffin and her band absolutely tear the notion to shreds.

83: “Greenville” by Lucinda Williams (1998). Metaphors aren't exactly country music's strongest suit, so when Lucinda Williams sings “go back to Greenville”, she might be referring to the actual city and not the idea. Extended significance can be attached to places, but sometimes the physical locations of places is more important.

82: “Neon Moon” by Brooks & Dunn (1991). They’re the most prolific hit making duo in country pop history, but this ode to swampy dive bar retribution is the one time where B&D’s total lack of irony won’t reduce your brain to mush.

81: "Screen Door” by Uncle Tupelo (1990). One of the few optimistic moments in the Uncle Tupelo canon, “Screen Door” is one banjo away from the freaky, preferring instead to wallow in its own house where even xenophobia has a certain relative charm.

80: "Hell’s Half Acre” by The Blood Oranges (1994). Even by alt. country standards, the Blood Oranges flew way under the radar. Never heard of them? Of course you haven’t; I just made them up. Kidding. But they do come from New York, which by alt. country standards might as well be the goddam moon.

79: “I Don’t Know” by Hank Williams III (1999). Combining the stoner/rebel, SEC fratboy/“are you ready for some football” route of his father, with the country crooner voice of granddad. And, as this track shows, III certainly can hold his own with an instrument in his hand.

78: “Cowboy in Flames” by the Waco Brothers (1997). Rising from the ashes of the Mekons, the Waco Brothers are at their best when they, as on this track, maintain some of the punk attitude and urgency of their genesis band.

77: “Strawberry Wine” by Deana Carter (1995). This song is the sweetest on Carter's playlist, but you know, in most states, that sort of thing is illegal.

76: “Too Drunk to Dream” by Whiskeytown (1996). The fate that eventually befell Whiskeytown is all too appropriate for an alternative country band: record label merges with other, larger record label, alt-country artist’s contract gets torn up, nearly-finished get put on a dusty shelf somewhere, becomes preternaturally legendary among hardcore fans. Before that happened to Whiskeytown, they released a terrific rocker of an album, Faithless Street, and “Too Drunk to Dream” is the best/most countryish of their catalogue.

75: “Smith and Jones Forever” by Silver Jews (1998). Rambling along like a ’78 Ford F-150 through a wooded back road in the middle of winter, and culminating in an impossible desperation at the songs closing lines, "Smith and Jones" is a highlight among highlights of Dave Berman's songwriting.

74: “Sugar Baby” by Bob Dylan (2001). SPIN named System of a Down’s Toxicity as the 2001 Album of the Year, and as such is there wont, it was for reasons completely unrelated to music. Their rationale stated that it was the number one album in the country on Tuesday morning, September 11. (Of all the 9/11 release date coincidences, none top the Moldy Peaches self-titled album that contained the song, “NYC’s Like a Graveyard.”) Dylan's Love and Theft is one of two albums on this list released that day (the other being Drive-By Truckers’ Southern Rock Opera), just making the cut. With the date in mind, I’m not sure what to make of the fact that this is Dylan’s most freewheelin’ album in almost forty years. “Sugar Baby” breaks pace, however, a drawn out, cyclical haunting track full of eerily appropriate pull quotes.

73: “We’re Just Friends” by Wilco (1999). Everybody’s been on some side of the old “we’ll still be friends” conversation, yet I don’t know anyone that's lived up to it. “If love's so easy, why's it hard?” Not sure if truer words have ever been spoken.

72: “We’re All Gonna Die Some Day” by Kasey Chambers (2000). Direct from the “eat, drink and be merry” market of country song writing, this one turns up the bitter considerably. What separates this track is the absolutely fractured feeling in the then 23 year-old’s voice. Not sure why country music is so popular in Australia. They do a lot of ranching over there? (Also recommended from this album: “The Captain.”)

71: “Wave That Flag” by the Bottle Rockets (1993). It’s easy to make fun of ass-backwards southerners when living in the north, but to call B.S. on the practice of flying the Confederate flag in person takes balls. The Bottle Rockets strength is with smirking anger, and here they showcase it poignantly well. Can't really credit the song, but in 2000, South Carolina removed the flag from their statehouse; Mississippi still has it on their state flag.

70: “Wrecking Ball” by Emmylou Harris (1995). Behind Harris’s ghostly voice there hums something… a Theremin? Electric harp? Steel guitar being played in an empty grain silo? Whatever it is, it sounds so distant from her voice, as though it’s its own organic thing in competition with Harris for the spotlight.

69: "That’s Right (You’re Not from Texas)” by Lyle Lovett (1996). It’s written somewhere in the bylaws of popular country music that every artist must make at least one (1) song exalting their place of origin. But most of them aren’t good enough to become the official song of the Texas state tourism board! Not sure if that’s why Lovett wrote this song, but being from the Lone Star State, he can’t really claim ignorance. Later in his career, Lyle would move further and further out of the spotlight, and he’s currently turning out his best work with his Large Band.

68: “A Chicken with Its Head Cut Off” by the Magnetic Fields (1999). There’s a hillbilly bass line that starts right with the opening lines and stays with the tune all the way through, but the voice that’s oceans deep is what carries this track along its bumpy road through one of the absolutely cornier similes ever put to song.

67: “Blue” by LeAnn Rimes (1996). Country music has long had it’s child stars rub shoulders on the charts with the adults, but when the then 14 year-old Rimes broke out her best Patsy Cline impression, she completely stripped the concept of its novelty.

66: “Surf Medley” by Junior Brown (1996). For a twelfth grade psychology project I chose Junior Brown as a representation of self-actualization in a poster of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs: and not because of his southern-fried Shakespearean approach to punnery. Brown is the heir-apparent to Dick Dale. “Highway Patrol” is the closest thing to a hit song in Brown’s repertoire, but “Medley” does a better job of showing off his unparalleled chops.

65: “Tender” by Blur (1999). After breaking up with Elastica frontwoman Justine Frischmann, Damon Albarn penned this tear jerker, and it’s the most American-southern thing done by someone with a British accent since Exile on Main Street.

64: "Outtasite (Outta Mind)” & “Outtamind (Outta Site)” by Wilco (1996). The former was Wilco’s biggest radio hit, the latter is the same exact song except it sounds like it is being performed by the people (Muppets?) who do the Sesame Street theme song.

63: “All You Fascists” by Billy Bragg & Wilco (2000). A rompin’, harmonica-laden good time that proves a song can be patriotic and protestive all at once. Does for the word “fascists” what Scarface did for the other f-word.

62: “Nobody’s Fault but My Own” by Beck (1998). It’s more than a little redundant of Beck to title one of his albums Mutations: each one of his releases showcases a Darwinian departure from the one that came before it (even if Mutations wasn’t (allegedly) intended to be an official release). “Fault” is all wandering atmosphere, perfect for absolutely nothing other than the self-loathing the title suggests.

61: “Transcendental Blues” by Steve Earle (2000). This is the second most known song in Earle’s repertoire to contain the word “Blues” in its title, the first being the John Walker Lindh one from 2002’s Jerusalem. Having already reintroduced the nation to bluegrass on his previous album, The Mountian, “Transcendental Blues” sees the pendulum swinging back to Earle’s roots rocker persona, with an emphasis on the second half of that descriptor.

60: “High Water (for Charley Patton)” by Bob Dylan (2001). A tribute song to the “Father of the Delta Blues”, “High Water” gets its name and subject matter from one of Patton’s most well-known songs: the 1927 Louisiana Flood. In the same way the Dylan largely stole material for his album Love and Theft (a fact he recognizes though the title), “HW(fCP)” has been co-opted for numerous television and YouTube clips depicting the effects hurricane Katrina had on that same region.

59: “Ingrid Bergman” by Billy Bragg & Wilco (1998). Clocking in at a svelte 1:50, “Ingrid Bergman” is the most charmingly quaint ode to stalking you’ll ever hear. It’s simple, really: voice, acoustic guitar. It’s just a little odd to picture Woody Guthrie singing this, that’s all.

Billy Bragg & Wilco - "Ingrid Bergman"

58: “Paradise” by Alejandro Escovedo (1992). No Depression’s 1990’s “Artist of the Decade” plays alt. country for people who liked Don Henley’s solo work and loved the last minute and a half of “Layla”. Neither one of those makes a very strong pitch, nor should either one take away from Escovedo’s two primary strengths: songwriting and guitar playing. “Paradise” is the first single from his first album, and it showcases his trademark ability to seamlessly integrate aggressive guitar tones with soft and sudden key changes. Also of note: he's Sheila E’s uncle.

57: 1. “It Only Hurts Me When I Cry” by Dwight Yoakam (1990). If there’s one thing to separate Yoakam from his contemporaries, it’s that he writes a majority of his own songs. Here he channels his inner Conway Twitty (every country crooner does that sooner or later) for a jostling rocker backed by sharp, jabbing strings.

56: “Joan Jett of Arc” by Clem Snide (2001). I think even the best of us have done this: meticulously labored over an eventually ill-fated mix tape that the recipient just didn’t really get. But how? Everything made such perfect, synchronized sense! Every song meant something! Don’t worry, everything did mean something – if only to you.

55: “So I Can Take My Rest” by Robert Earl Keen (1993). Fitting into none of the pre-organized categories of “country”, “bluegrass” or “alt”, Keen operates within all of them without belonging to any. This is quintessential REK, a song that slowly opens up to reveal itself like a rusted, mechanical flower.

54: "Blue Canoe” by Blue Mountain (1995). The Stirratt parents must have assigned bass guitar lessons the way my parents assigned chores, because John (of Wilco) and Laurie (of Blue Mountain) are two of the genre’s best. To be completely honest, she’s the better, and in “Blue Canoe” finds her simply showing off.

53: “Desperado” by The Langley Schools Music Project (Hans Fenger/Wix-Brown Elementary School, originaly 1977, released 2001). Some thirty-odd acts have professionally covered the one great Eagles song, to say nothing of the gazillion or so karaoke covers it’s christened with every weekend, but this version, voiced by nine year-old Shelia Behman, simply lays the lot to shame. Including the original.

52: “New Drink for an Old Drunk” by Crooked Fingers (2000). Eric Bachmann’s first post-Archers solo album is depressing and cautionary. Here is one of the few positive spots, albeit the optimism involves a reduction into a slobbering, pitiful mess. But hey, check out that banjo!

51: “Right in Time” by Lucinda Williams (1998). “Right in Time” is thiiiiiis close to being a cheesy, “you complete me” type of song. Instead, in the hands of the venerable Ms. Williams, it becomes an honest ode to long lost love without losing an ounce of self respect.

50: “Advice to the Graduate” by Silver Jews (1994). I’m trying to imagine a scenario where the “advice” found in this song would pass for good. It’s not “plastics”-level non sequitur, but nothing found in the lyrics is really all that helpful. “On the last day of your life/don’t forget to die” well, yeah. This is the most Pavement-sounding the Jews ever get, what with the prominent Malkmus vocals and signature Nastanovich drumming. Nothing preceding this sentence should be taken in any way as negative criticism.

49: “Summer Dress” by Red House Painters (1995). No matter the genre, “Summer Dress” is about as perfectly paced song as there can be. Not an instant is wasted, and not a second more utilized than necessary.

48: “Anyodyne” by Uncle Tupelo (1993). The title track of Uncle Tupelo’s final proper album begins with a lazy slide guitar, a sound unfamiliar to the band but well-known to country music fans. The familiarity breeds comfort: anodyne is drug that soothes pain by lessoning the effectiveness of the nervous system. It doesn’t necessarily have to be medicinal. For instance, a song or a cold beer can have a similar, desired effect. In each case, however, the user is attempting to find some external means to eliminate internal pain, and in each case, the result is usually temporary.

47: “The Immortal Dog and Pony Show” by For Squirrels (1995). Sadly, For Squirrels is best known for losing three of its five members in an auto accident only one month after the very stolid Example, the album that this song is taken from, was released. Even though the notion is impossible, it’s difficult to listen to the strained vocals on this album, and this track especially, and not imagine that lead vocalist Jack Vigliatura is singing about himself.

46: “Didn’t Leave Nobody but the Baby” by Emmylou Harris, Allison Krauss and Gillian Welch (2000). Harris’s voice dominates this track, but not to the point where Krauss and Welch can be ignored. There’s also a subtle stomping for rhythm and the slightest amount of what might be jaw harp and that’s it. It’s gospel music as minimalism.

45: “Try Not to Breath” by REM (1992). When people (critics, mostly) talk about R.E.M. as a southern rock band, this is what they usually have in mind, even though they’ve been making that sort of claim for eight years before this song ever came out. The “southern gothic” tag undoubtedly refers to the song’s subject matter, an elderly person’s self-imposed euthanasia.

44: “Catie Come Home” by Okkervil River (????). Here’s where I really obliterate what remains of my alleged credibility. I don’t know when this song came out. I don’t know what album it’s on. I don’t even know if this is the correct title. I do remember that it is completely dramatic in its cries for empathy and downright beautiful in its adolescent frailty.

43: 1. “Angels and Fuselage” by Drive-By Truckers (2001). A fitting end to DBT’s absolutely epic Southern Rock Opera, “Angels and Fuselage” maintains the objective personification of the south that is the backbone of the album. Most artists from the region regard their home region with sanctimonious mythology and a love usually reserved for a dog to its owner. Unlike, say, “Free Bird”, the Truckers’ opus never allows itself to become a battle of guitar soloing orgasms; instead, you get a complete breakdown.

42: “Ain’t That Lonely Yet” by Dwight Yoakam (1993). It’s telling that this is one of three songs from Yoakam’s fifth album to top out at #2 on the Billboard country charts. That sort of always-the-bridesmaid result perfectly fits Dwight, who is notoriously so self-conscious that the brim of his hat permanently hides at least part of his face. Those things considered, doesn’t it seem like this song would be another wonderful woe-is-me tale? Well, instead of that, we’re introduced with this other-deprecating starlet, “Now you keep calling me on the telephone/Telling me you're all alone/Well that's real sad.”

41: “The Ride, Pt II” by Calexico (1998). If Ennio Morricone where in an alt country band, this is what it would sound like. Most straightforward country music sounds like it comes from the American southeast, most alt-country sounds like it comes from Iowa, but only Calexico has a sound that comes from the southwest.

40: “Take Me With You (When You Go)” by the Jayhawks (1992). Among the first of the country rock “revivalists”, the Jayhawks hail from unlikely Minnesota, a fact emphasized on the cover of their major label debut Hollywood Town Hall. Snow is usually reserved for Christmas albums in country music land. Separating the Jayhawks even more from their peers is the sound of the album, which isn’t technically no depression/alt-country but certainly not pop country either. In favor of these obvious touchstones, “TMWY(WYG)” harkens back to the unilaterally harmonious International Submarine Band. And all this was a major label release in the ‘90s?

39: “Orphan Girl” by Gillian Welch (1996). Much more than merely the doe-eyed revivalist she was penned as when she released her debut Revival at the age of 28. Welch is classicist in the sense only that her foot remains firmly planted in the traditions. She isn’t afraid to bring the old into the new though, as evidenced by the fuzzed out slow fade near the end of this track.

38: “Euro-Trash Girl” by Cracker (1993). Rising from the ashes of Camper Van Beethoven, Cracker is best known for stoner anthems like “Teen Angst (What the World Needs Now)” and “Low.” Their best full album, Kerosene Hat, shows a heavy country music influence, something the band would later groom to fruition. While the juvenile name calling remains the band’s calling card, there’s no arguing with the feeling of pining for a girl who is waaaay out of your league. This might have charted higher, but the Leftover Salmon version is so much better country than the original. One more thing: who the hell numbered the tracks on the CD?

37: “Tonight I Think I’m Going to Go Downtown” by the Flatlanders (1990). Lubbock’s the Flatlanders are one of the more interesting stories in country music. The band originally formed in 1972, but a combination of commercial failure and bad luck put their recordings on the shelf until 1980, when they were released as scrappy, unfinished out-take versions. A decade later, the band re-emerged and the album was re-released as More a Legend Than a Band. The playfully coy musical saw and mariachi guitar combine to raise this song above mere Guthrie-worship into a territory all there own.

36: “Moment in the Sun” by Clem Snide (2001). This was as close as Clem Snide ever came to a hit, (Really!), but ultimately lost the Ed sweepstakes to the Foo Fighters. What’s really important is that this song contains one of the more insightful lyrics ever used in a country song: “laaa la laaa la la laaa la la laa la la laa la la laaa la laa la laaaaaa la la.”

35: “Hold On” by Tom Waits (1999). Thanks to Scarlett Johansson, there isn’t a more popular hobo laureate alive today than Tom Waits. “Hold On” contains his signature nervous guitar strum and vocals that sound like he gargles kerosene. The only shocking thing about this track is its optimism. But that familiarity is a good thing.

34: “Way Over Yonder in the Minor Key” by Billy Bragg & Wilco (1998). Natalie Merchant’s vocals have never sounded so beautifully confident, which is good because I’m not sure if Bragg has ever sounded so fragile. This is especially veridical in the closing lines, where Merchant lifts the song out of the funeral pyre and into the sky.

33: “Graveyard Shift” by Uncle Tupelo (1990). The seminal album’s opening track is the most ‘90s of any song in the Tupelo repertoire, from its (almost) grunge riffage to the cowbelled chill-out scene with a guitar crunch that predates “Creep” by a full two years. The influence of bands like Husker Du, R.E.M. and the Minute Men is evident, giving UT modern day touchstones to bounce off of their classic inspirations.

32: 1. “Oh My Sweet Carolina” by Ryan Adams (2000). Ryan Adams is known for about three things, none of which have anything to do with his music: dating Winona Rider, being mistaken for Bryan Adams and being a complete pompous ass in public. (I suppose “the frequency and spectacular disaster with which those last two characteristics meet up” would constitute number four.) But what most people don’t realize is that Adams does one hell of a Bruce Springsteen, a skill undoubtedly known to the man, given the accompanying video here. Truth is, “Oh My Sweet Carolina” could fit nicely along anything on Nebraska.

31: “Captain Badass” by Songs: Ohia (1999). It starts off with a slow bluegrass drum, bass creeps along and is then joined by a nearly slack-keyed guitar. Almost a minute goes by before Jason Molina’s fractured vocals kick in, and then it’s just those four instruments, simply played, for the next six plus. Ohia’s Captain is a fragile character, full of braggadocio signifying nothing. Unlike, say, the any number of lame MySpace pages that cop the moniker.

30: “Honk if You’re Lonely” by Silver Jews (1998). One of the more cringe-worthy aspects of modern country is the seemingly ubiquitous employment of jingoistic bumper stickers, but this song reminds us that not too long ago, the tails of pick-ups and SUVs were decorated with “I’d Rather Be Fishing” and “My Other Car is an American Quarter.” Here the punch line is much less politically overt, but at the same time, saying so much more.

29: “Rusty Cage” by Johnny Cash (1996). Already a very good and very known grunge song from when Soundgarden had first done it, Cash’s half acoustic/half plugged-in version surpasses the original in nearly all facets of the game. (Cornell & Co. still win the “most hair” category.) This comes from the second of Johnny Cash’s American recordings that are made up almost entirely of covers. While “American” is technically the name of the record company he was working under at the time, there was never a moment in the Man in Black’s discography where his music didn’t sound entirely, symbolically and literally, of this nation.

28: “Country Feedback” by REM (1991). R.E.M. has never been shy about giving their songs obvious titles, (Guess what instrument is featured on “E-Bow the Letter.”), even if their lyrics have balanced on the border of cryptic mystery and nonsensical gibberish. Taking both of those concept to the nth degree, “Country Feedback” is just that, a country song loaded with guitar feedback, with lyrics that were never really written, if legend is to be believed. Allegedly, lead singer Michael Stipe walked into the studio, sang what was on his mind, and the band added the recording to their much-lauded album Out of Time (the one with “Losing My Religion” on it). Maybe that organic personal connection is why Stipe claims this to be his favorite song in the band’s catalogue.

27: “Barrier Reef” by Old 97’s (1997). The most underrated country music act of all time is Jimmy Buffet. It’s not because people don’t know who he is (they do), not because he isn’t loved and respected (he is both), and not because he isn’t influential (he is). It’s because Buffet, due mostly to all his oceanic histrionics, isn’t largely recognized as a country musician. However, once you realize that “country” doesn’t necessarily mean “cowboy hat”, and you start to wonder why every Nashville artist from Kenny Chesney to Garth Brooks to Bonnie Raitt has tried their hand at a Caribbean-tinged song, Buffet’s importance becomes all too obvious. If you don’t like the fact that I shoe horned this little diatribe in based solely on this song’s title, focus instead your attention on the rockabilly tear that the band goes on at the 1:45 mark.

26: “Factory Belt” by Uncle Tupelo (1990). It’s the simple story of a blue collar worker who’s already disenfranchised by the men in suits he passes every day. Then it becomes a cautionary tale of assembly line safety (Maybe?). The whole thing starts off with an adrenaline rush of guitar, bass and drum, but there are key changes all over the place before the final bar, which descends into a mess of flesh and metal. For further reference, see, “Out, Out.”

25: "A Shot in the Arm” by Wilco (1999). The personification in this song’s opening lines is the perfect depiction of sleepless anticipation. For the rest of the track, Tweedy & Co. deconstruct the woman/instrument binary, reducing it to a series of “Human Abstract”-type echoes of anachronistic utterances.

24: “Not Dark Yet” by Bob Dylan (1997). Many people consider Bob Dylan to be among the great song writers in rock and roll history, but rarely do critics (who tend to do these sorts of things) point out how much better he is than everybody else. Who’s second place in this category? It’s a Secretariat at the Belmont situation. Case in point: “Not Dark Yet” conjecturally draws its influence from the John Keats poem “Ode to a Nightingale”, a poem written, appropriately I think, at a pub. (Christopher Ricks’s 2003 book Dylan’s Visions on Sins goes into this comparison extensively.)

23: “Drown” by Son Volt (1995). In the fall of 1995, the editors of No Depression must have been ridin’ pretty high. The cover boys of their first issue had a single, in all its cow bell glory, getting some serious radio play on college campuses across the country, and it really looked like this whole alternative country thing would be more than just a passing phase. They were right, of course, but for all the wrong reasons. It was either John Donne or Greil Marcus who said, “No genre of music is an island, entire of itself”, and upon closer inspection, what would be called “alt-country” is really just the next actualization of the country music we already knew.

22: “Friends in Low Places” by Garth Brooks (1990). Every country music list needs its token drinking song, and when it doubles as the “stickin’ it to the ex” song, all the better, right? But slow this one down, strip everything but the acoustic guitar, and you’ve got yourself a genuine D-I-V-O-R-C-E ballad. At their wedding, my sister-in-law dedicated this to all of my brother’s friends. Most saw this as a nice gesture, but I wasn’t buying: this was her way of saying, “All your scrub-ass friends have got to go.”

21: “Jack-Ass” by Beck (1996). A number of tracks off of Beck’s 1996 genre-insulting smash Odelay could surely consider themselves quote-unquote country songs (“Sissyneck”, “Lord Only Knows, for instance), but for sheer ten gallon, punk-ass broke, solitary walks down a desert road, “Jack-Ass” can’t be beat. As an added bonus, the Red Headed Stranger makes an appearance in the video, his only mention on this list.

20: “Goodbye Earl” by Dixie Chicks (1999). Is it still a cover if the original band never actually released the song in question? Never mind. Behind the peppiness and all the “nah-nah-nahs” lies the darkest song to ever to crack the Billboard country charts: Mary Anne and Wanda (whoever they are) murder the wife-beating titular character, wrap the fucker in a tarp, dispose of the body somehow and then open a fruit stand (of course). And after that, every single darn female country singer, (see: Carrie Underwood, Gretchen Wilson, Miranda Lambert, et al.) cuts her teeth with a beatin’ up the ole boyfriend song. The boots may be made for walkin’, but they sure come in pretty useful when digging a six foot ditch.

19: “Let’s Explode” by Clem Snide (2001). Clem Snide is, for all intents and purposes, the outlet of lead singer/songwriter/guitarist Eef Barzelay, but on The Ghost of Fashion, multi-instrumentalist Jason Glasser plays a heavier role, creating lush arrangements that reference pop, rock, mariachi and classical without dismissing the band’s neotraditionalist heart. “Let’s Explode” introduces the magnum opus with a call to arms for all the people on the less glamorous side of the camera.

18: “She’s a Jar” by Wilco (1999). The song unfolds like a paper crane, a familiar ode to love/lust with swooping, Rogers & Hammerstein strings and a couple of beautiful (if brief) harmonica solos. The last line, however, reveals the whole thing as a fronting, excuse-laden apology.

17: “72 (This Highway’s Mean)” by Drive-By Truckers (2001). [Respecting the wishes of "Numerology" writer Dave Klein, I’ll withhold my treatise on this song for a few months.]

16: “Range Life” by Pavement (1994). How perfectly country is this song? For starters, its appropriateness has absolutely nothing to do with its title and especially not with the urban placeholding of the lyrics themselves. No, this has everything to do with the roaming guitars that move across the entirety of the recording, conjuring up images from the backgrounds of Grant Wood paintings.

15: “Blue” by the Jayhawks (1995). Few genres play the “everything sucks but you make things somewhat less shitty” card better, or more often, then country. Similarly, there’s no other type of music seems more intent on completely destroying the “blue” metaphor. In either case, there is no better example of a song that does both better than this drunken-piano ode to the grass on this side of the fence.

14: “For the Captain” by Okkervil River (1999). Will Robinson’s Sheff voice is immediately disconcerting: a factor that undoubtedly led to a thousand and one bad jokes about his association with Audiogalaxy. But it’s that very growling instrument - imagine a sort of a sing-songy Tom Waits - that gives this track its enviable grit and charm. “Captain” gets polished up for 2005’s Black Sheep Boy Appendix EP , (renamed “Another Radio Song”), but the newer version sorely misses those rustic components.

13: “Women Without Whiskey” by Drive-By Truckers (2001). For a droopy sounding, bluesy, southern rock dragger, there’s a whole lot of joking going on. New Year’s resolution: quit drinking. Next year. When Mike Cooley (one of the group’s four singer/songwriters) gets to the “Take me piece by piece ‘til there ain’t nothing left worth taking away from me” it’s hard to tell which one of the two title characters (so to speak) is doing the taking. But by the time the closing lines kick in, there’s no doubt which one the narrator prefers.

12: "Papa Was a Rodeo” by the Magnetic Fields (1999). This is perfect ballroom country right from its initial, Casio-scored notes. There are classic themes bouncing all round this track, guy’s married to the road, etc., but the real magic is in the details. The “I see that kiss-me pucker forming/But maybe you should plug it with a beer” line is an all-time great. We even get to gator wrasslin’, presumably because it finishes the rhyme with “later.” And when Shirley Simms coos in with the mimic verse, well, that’s heaven right there.

11: “VIA Chicago” by Wilco (1999). This here song is a nightmare for English majors: other than Alanis Morissette’s “Ironic”, no other song bastardizes a word of our trade more than reviews that claim “VIA Chicago” “deconstructs” at its close. If anything, this song is slathered in irony, what with the soft guitar at the onset that is totally contradicted by the song’s opening line, “I dreamed about killing you again last night.” The beauty of the music belies the lyrics, from the spaced-out banjo plucking to its often-misnamed coup de grace: a complete falling apart over the final two minutes, the sound of a piano still being played as it’s thrown down the stairs.

10: “Random Rules” by Silver Jews (1998). “In 1984 I was hospitalized for approaching perfection” may be the funniest/best opening/pick-up line in the history of music, but it might not even be the best bar in this song. Sorry, but, “But before I go I've gotta ask you, dear, about the tan line on your ring finger,” simply has so much more sadness, so much more, well, country to it.

Silver Jews - "Random Rules"

9: “Car Wheels on a Gravel Road” by Lucinda Williams (1998). When an artist takes a long time in between releases they might be called un-prolific or a perfectionist, depending the quality of their output. It took Lucinda Williams six years to complete Car Wheels on a Gravel Road, and accepting the previous premise, it is (nearly) perfect. Thematically, the entire album is deeply rooted on the American south, specifically naming cities and locations throughout that region. (This one mentions Macon, Georgia.) There is a claustrophobic feeling the album as well, as if it’s the listener, not the singer/writer, who is trapped in the low country, stuck at the end of a long, winding, gravel road.

8: “Misunderstood” by Wilco (1996). Mixing in a little bit of pop and psychedelica into the usual alt-country formula, and even borrowing a verse from the late Pere Ubu guitarist Peter Laughner, Wilco leads off their sophomore (double) album with one hell of a bang. It’s a layered, partial masterpiece in the vein of “A Day in the Life”, a singular attempt that, up to this point, had largely gone untried in country music. Some obvious acts would follow in the band’s footsteps in this regard (Ryan Adams), as would some not so obvious, (like Godspeed You Black Emperor!). (The version on 2005’s live Kicking Television is technically shorter but sounds a lot longer because of the non-stop “nothings” at the end.)

7: “Bang the Drum Slowly” by Emmylou Harris (2000). On Red Dirt Girl, Harris blooms into the songwriter she only hinted at being on previous albums. Her voice has always been her primary weapon of choice, and on “Drum”, which was written for her father who passed away in 1993, she pulls double duty, shadowing her own trademark instrument with a haunting backing vocal. Right before the era to where writing about familial loss has become about schmaltziness and greeting cards, Harris ends the decade on a somber yet optimistic note that can always been taken serious, but perhaps even better, is a simply fantastic song.

6: “I Can Still Make Cheyenne” by George Strait (1996). The most God-honest tome about the life of a rodeo cowboy (ever!) has less to do with roping a steer than with dodging responsibility. Taken metaphorically (which country music never really should be), there comes a point where everyone tries to “Make Cheyenne”, has to choose between following their heart or their mind. It’s a theme consistent with many a country song, but it’s never been done better, before or since, than this.

5: “Make You Feel My Love” by Bob Dylan (1997). One of the simpler outings from the later stages of the 20th century troubadour’s career is just as masterful in its minimalism as some of his greater, similarly scored classics, like “Tangled Up in Blue.” Only here, accompanied only by piano, Dylan sounds more tired, more weathered than ever before. He was only (“only”) 56 when Time Out of Mind came out, but he sounds like a frickin’ hundred years old. Probably the most popular song off of Dylan’s best album in twenty-plus years is known for the number of cover versions it spawned, most notably the softrockification given to it by Billy Joel. Billy frickin’ Joel, people.

4: “I See a Darkness” by Bonnie “Prince” Billy (1999). The title track from the album with the greatest disparity between critical acclaim and commercial success (the exact opposite would be the Steve Miller Band, I think). The music here is murky and the lyrics obscure – the later referring to some unspecified fraternal relationship. More importantly, there is a brief moment of absolute beauty behind the sullen exterior, something private and damaging that comes through with perfect, revealing honesty in a way that only a true artist is capable of conveying.

Bonnie "Prince" Billy - "I See a Darkness"

3: “No Depression” by Uncle Tupelo (199). It would be easy enough to credit this song merely because it gave the era in question (and this list) its name. But to do so would ignore how very perfectly it epitomizes the genre – and not just its ‘90s incarnation. Thematically, musically and aesthetically, “No Depression” (and No Depression) harkens back to the Carter family, Hank Williams, the Seeger Family, Lead Belly, Woody Guthrie, Black Tuesday and the Great Depression, Cesar Chavez, anything written by John Steinbeck, painted by Norman Rockwell or Diego Rivera. This is not an outdated model. The more recent presidential elections in this country have focused on a new, impending depression, where American jobs are outsourced to foreign countries, and industrial cities like Cleveland, Pittsburgh, Syracuse and New Bedford are now dying shells of their once powerful selves. The themes might be ages old, but they haven’t gone away.

2: “Unknown Legend” by Neil Young (1992). At its inception, Harvest Moon was billed as the sequel to Young’s seminal Harvest, released twenty years before it. Like its predecessor, the later comes replete with an AM Gold backing choir. Linda Ronstadt, no stranger to the country rock song herself, guests on this, the albums opening track, where Neil longs for some unnamed, blond waitress, riding a Harley across the American desert that I imagine is somewhere in western Montana. The MVP of this track is the simple, California-country guitar strum that introduces the song.

1: “A Thousand Miles from Nowhere” by Dwight Yoakam (1993). This is not just the perfect alternative country song; this is the perfect country song, period. As the title suggests, the song’s narrator finds himself so far gone that even the middle of nowhere is a long ways away. Funny thing though, on his way out there, he seems to have become conflicted as to whether this seclusion is necessarily a bad thing. And that’s the embodiment of No Depression, I think, the idea that everything is always bad but it’s always kinda OK, too. Next time you’re driving across big sky country, put this baby on and it’ll all make perfect sense. Trust me.