Note: For an index of all articles in this second “Favorite Songs” series, click here. For a summary of all artists covered in the original series, click here.

Who They Are: Australia’s finest hard rock export, with a star, a bullet, two hands’ worth of devil’s horns, and a big scoop of stoopit atop a steaming pile of crunchy bits. For most of the group’s long and fruitful career, guitar-slinging brothers Angus (he of schoolboy outfit fame) and Malcolm Young were the songwriting and instrumental heart of the group, until Malcolm’s early onset dementia disabled and then eventually killed him. The Young brothers’ nephew, Stevie, stepped up in Malcolm’s place, and the group have issued a pair of killer albums so reconfigured, missing nary a beat along the way. The group’s second singer, Bon Scott, was at the microphone as their international stock first soared (original vocalist Dave Evans only managed to get one single released during his tenure), and it seemed like they should and would have been finished when Scott succumbed to alcohol-related rock star misfortune in 1980. Remarkably enough, though, the group recruited Geordie (the band, not the Northeastern English cultural community) front-man Brian Johnson, and blew their way to true international superstardom with the Back in Black album, mere months after Brian joined the group. Acca Dacca’s rhythm section has experienced a fair amount of flux over the decades, but the seminal (and current) version of their back-line features drummer Phil Rudd and bassist Cliff Williams, who are aces at anchoring the low end (along with rhythm guitar champ Malcolm, and then Stevie), while Angus and Brian top the whole shebang with all the shrieking and soloing that AC/DC’s style of crowd-pleasing rock requires, and in many ways, probably define.

When I First Heard Them: In 1979, just after the release of Bon Scott’s last album, Highway to Hell. I’ve mentioned elsewhere on my website that my parents experienced a profound born-again Christian experience around ’79, changing most everything about our family’s life in confusing and perverse ways. A big part of that conversion experience was the subsequent laser-like focus on cultural, artistic and musical material that might be corrupting to young-ish minds like mine, and the destruction and/or banning of the same. The biggest musical targets among the fundamentalist Christian community at the time were KISS (“Knights in Satan’s Service,” y’know), Black Sabbath, and AC/DC’s Highway to Hell, the sneering, sacrilegious cover of which just seemed to incite religious folks in its open embrace of everything they held vile and dangerous. Of course, because my parents and their church colleagues deemed that album to be a pinnacle of the Devil’s work, I just absolutely, positively had to have it. The album lived up to its bad reputation, I must say, and its basic wrongness was certainly cemented by Bon Scott’s subsequent and unfortunate rock star follies photo finish. I then very vividly, and distinctly, remember when Back in Black hit record stores and radio airwaves a year later; it took everything I loved about Highway, and amped it up in ways that were shockingly popular and populist, creating a truly global experience of hard rock solidarity, shocking audiences and critics alike through its epic strengths in the face of deep, dark adversity. The group’s quality, line-ups, and fortunes have ebbed and flowed in the subsequent decades, but I always give every one of AC/DC’s albums an open, fair shake upon release, and am usually more pleased than disappointed; their last three studio albums have actually marked something of a career high point, happily enough. I don’t know how much more Angus has to give to us all, or how much longer he’ll choose to give it, but if there’s another studio disc to come out there at some point, then super duper, I can’t wait to hear it, and if not, well, the AC/DC back catalog has got more than enough epic rock riffs to keep me screaming and playing air guitar and cranking up the car stereo for as much time as I myself have left before me, and then some. It’s good to know that a few precious things are constant and predictable in confusing times like these, and AC/DC are certainly among my life’s happiest verities, rock without end, amen.

Why I Love Them: I often think that AC/DC are the best litmus test for judging whether someone’s going to like hard rock or not. They offer all of the genre’s trademarks (high volume, shrieking vocals, reductive lyrics, lock-step moshable rhythms punctuated by widdly guitar solos, etc.), and they do it with smirks and smiles that let you know that they understand how dumb their idiom can be, and how smart they are at exploiting it to its maximum return on investment, for band members and audiences alike. If you like ’em, then there’s a world of rock out there waiting to thrill you. If you don’t like ’em, then, well, I’ll not likely be seeing you at your next Katy Perry, Lady Gaga, Dave Matthews Band or Nickleback concert. Have a good time, though. Every single one of AC/DC’s albums, even the very weakest ones, contain at least one or two epic, singalong, ear-worm quality rock songs, and regardless of which singer was fronting the group at the time of each recording, all of those albums and singles are undeniably, and immediately, identifiable as AC/DC, so good are they at what they do, and so consistent are they in their delivery of the goods. Sometime in the late ’80s or early ’90s, I remember being deeply amused and impressed when I read an interview with Angus Young that included this quote: “I’m sick to death of people saying we’ve made 11 albums that sounds exactly the same, In fact, we’ve made 12 albums that sound exactly the same.” Yes, they have. Plus another half dozen since then. The hobgoblin of consistency notwithstanding, I always respond to AC/DC’s auditory stimuli, habitually, with happy head-banging and volume knob twiddling, bring it on, more more more! I’ve only seen the group live once, in 1996, and it was one of the best shows I’ve ever seen, and certainly, without question, the loudest. Here’s my review of that gig, for additional “why do I love them” perspective. The key quote, then and now: “So was there a point to the whole thing when it was all done? Nahhh . . . it was like Brian Johnson sang: ‘Rock and roll ain’t noise pollution — it’s just rock and roll, that’s all.’ When rock and roll is done as well as AC/DC do it, that’s all you need.”

#10. “Rock or Bust,” from Rock or Bust (2014)

#9. “Who Made Who,” from Who Made Who (1986)

#8. “It’s A Long Way to the Top (If You Want to Rock n’ Roll),” from T.N.T (1975)

#7. “You Shook Me All Night Long,” from Back in Black (1980)

#6. “Shot in the Dark,” from Power Up (2020)

#5. “Highway to Hell,” from Highway to Hell (1979)

#4. “For Those About to Rock (We Salute You),” from For Those About to Rock (We Salute You) (1981)

#3. “Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap,” from Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap (1976)

#2. “Back in Black,” from Back in Black (1980)

#1. “Thunderstruck,” from The Razors Edge (1990)

Note: For an index of all articles in this second “Favorite Songs” series, click here. For a summary of all artists covered in the original series, click here.

Who They Are: Arising from the Mod scene in mid-’60s England, The Who have gone on to basically serve as the type specimen for many-to-most of rock n’ roll’s most truly defining tropes. Four strikingly original personalities? Check. Problematic public aspects to all of those personalities? Most certainly. Incredible stage presence? Yes. An epic run of albums, including the obligatory concept albums? They did that, before many others did. Classic rock radio staple singles? Yep, they had those by the bucketfuls. A long, lingering afterlife beyond the demise of their initial line-up? Sure, though in the case of The Who, some of those latter-day recordings and tours were actually quite creatively powerful in their own rights, rather than serving as wan codas to their glory days. The group’s classic line-up (Roger Daltrey, Pete Townsend, John Entwistle, Keith Moon) began fragmenting with Moon’s death from misadventure in 1978, with former Faces drummer Kenney Jones stepping up in Moon the Loon’s place; Jones has somehow become a bad guy in The Who’s story, though I think that’s unjust, and I quite like his work, different though it was from Keith’s approach to his battery. Entwistle was the next to succumb to excess, surrounded by cocaine and prostitutes when he died at the Hard Rock Hotel in Las Vegas in 2002, on the eve of a major tour. Pete and Roger have soldiered on since then, issuing an incredibly good album called WHO in 2019. Marcia and I had tickets to see them in Las Vegas on the tour behind that album, but then COVID had other ideas, and they remain one of the most significant ’60s to ’70s rock titans who I’ve still not yet seen on stage. Fingers crossed I have the opportunity to do so at some point in the years remaining in their performing careers.

When I First Heard Them: I’m pretty certain that the first Who song I would have known and loved was “Pinball Wizard,” on pop and rock radio in the early ’70s, and then again in the cover version by Elton John from Ken Russell’s 1975 film adaptation of the group’s game-changing rock opera, Tommy. When I moved to Long Island in 1976, among the kids my age, there was a weird dynamic in play where the rock-loving community was essentially divided along the lines of whether one considered The Who or Led Zeppelin to be the greatest band of the era. Them was fighting words and positions, for sure and serious. I joined Team Who at the time, and while I’ve grown to appreciate the Zep a bit more more over the years, I’d still make that Who-centric pick without thinking very much about it if forced to declare my allegiance to one or the other in 2021. Who Are You (1978)  was the first Who album that I acquired and loved in its original release cycle, and I’ve landed every studio product they’ve pumped out since then, always willing to give them a fair crack, even though there’s a lot of dross mixed in with the gems in the post-Moony era.

Why I Love Them: As noted above, I never experienced the original Who line-up in concert (alas), but by the recorded and filmed evidence, I’m strongly in allegiance with the camp that declares them to have been the greatest live rock band ever. All four members were incredibly good at their respective roles, though every one of them tended to define and execute those roles in ways that didn’t quite align with the ways that their numerous peers played their parts. Pete Townsend was and remains a brilliant conceptualist and songwriter, and he had an able wing-man in John Entwistle, whose occasional, often bawdy contributions to the group’s canon and catalog were always notable and attention-getting in their amusing contrast to Pete’s more spiritual and  serious fare. Moon played drums chaotically, like nobody before or since him, Entwistle took the bass guitar into powerful and melodic places where it had no business being, Townsend’s equipment destruction and signature windmill strums set templates for countless imitators over the years, and his pioneering work with sequencers and synths make the group’s recorded peak songs sound as fresh and innovative today as they did upon their release. Daltrey, for his part, essentially defined the ways that Rock God Singers are supposed to look, act, move, emote and sing, and it’s a glorious joy to watch him work his stuff, finding some weird sweet spot between pugilistic thug and messianic shaman. Bonus points for Entwistle and Townsend both being strong harmony and lead vocalists themselves, and even Moon’s occasional vocal turns were at least amusing, most of the time. The cerebral and thematic weirdness of the group’s various completed (e.g. Tommy and Quadrophenia) and fragmented/partial (e.g. Who’s Next, Sell Out and A Quick One) concept albums meant that there has always plenty of thought-provoking stuff for smart young seekers to use as soundtracks for their own individual amazing journeys, locking the group’s words, riffs and melodies into influential positions of permanent play, ensuing fads, fashions, and foibles be damned. (Note: Given the brilliance and importance of the group’s on-stage work, I’ve offered live clips of my favorite songs below, when they’re available in good quality).

#10. “Pinball Wizard,” from Tommy (1969)

#9. “Real Good Looking Boy,” from Then And Now (2004)

#8. “Relay,” from “Relay/Waspman” single (1972)

#7. “Won’t Get Fooled Again,” from Who’s Next (1971)

#6. “Love, Reign O’er Me,” from Quadrophenia (1973)

#5. “Street Song,” from WHO (2019)

#4. “5:15,” from Quadrophenia (1973)

#3. “Long Live Rock,” from Odds and Sods (1974)

#2. “Baba O’Riley,” from Who’s Next (1971)

#1. “Join Together,” from “Join Together/Baby Don’t You Do It” single (1972)

Note: For an index of all articles in this second “Favorite Songs” series, click here. For a summary of all artists covered in the original series, click here.

Who They Are: A quartet of singer-actors originally brought together by television producers Bob Rafelson and Bert Schneider, with music supervised by producer Don Kirschner, and supported by the songwriting team of Tommy Boyce and Bobby Hart. Micky Dolenz and Davey Jones were both child actors in their pre-Monkees days, while Peter Tork and Mike Nesmith emerged from the folk/rock singer-songwriter world, developing their acting chops in front of the camera. Their television show, appropriately named The Monkees, was a huge hit during its original run from 1966 to 1968, living on as a syndicated favorite for decades thereafter. The group’s recordings were even more successful, with their first four albums topping the American charts, and scoring nearly as highly in Canada, the United Kingdom and elsewhere; their fifth album approached those levels of commercial success without quite reaching them, followed by a long, slow decline through the group’s original run, which ended in 1971, after Tork and Nesmith had already fled the group. The Monkees were ostensibly assembled to offer an American alternative to The Beatles (also film and radio stars, with recognizably quirky on-screen personalities and talents), leading them to be unfortunately and unfairly dubbed “The Pre-Fab Four,” with a strong media backlash about their alleged shortcomings for not penning and playing all of the instruments on their (many) hit songs. But that’s a bogus critical position, especially in those times. Can’t abide performers who don’t write their own songs? Okay, then Elvis Presley, Linda Ronstadt, and Frank Sinatra are verboten. And can’t handle groups whose studio recordings were fleshed out with session player support, usually from the acclaimed Wrecking Crew team? Well, then The Beach Boys, The Righteous Brothers, The Mamas and the Papas, Simon and Garkunkel, and The Byrds should all fall under the lens of your opprobrium. The Monkees were talented, engaging performers, at bottom line, producing an extraordinary body of work, under the rules and rubrics for record-making that were normal at and in their time. While they spent the better part of two decades in something of a cultural doghouse, saner minds infused with warm nostalgia eventually prevailed, and various combinations of the quartet began touring and recording together in the ’90s, a practice that continues to this day, even after the deaths of Jones and Tork. As it turns out, the first (post?)-COVID-era concert that I’ll be seeing will be Nesmith and Dolenz together in Phoenix next month, and Micky’s recent album Dolenz Sings Nesmith (arranged and produced by Mike’s son, Christian Nesmith) is easily among 2021’s finest records to date.

When I First Heard Them: As a child of the ’60s, I would have first been exposed to them via their wonderfully a-kilter and akimbo television show, and their hit singles were mostly ubiquitous and unmissable on radio in the years after their release. Marcia and I had the chance to see Mike Nesmith with his latest incarnation of the highly-influential country-rock First National Band (now featuring Christian as on-stage band leader) while we lived in Chicago, and it was an utterly wonderful show, filled with Mike’s delightful songs, arranged sweetly and strongly within the twangy modern musical paradigm that owes a deep debt of gratitude to Mike’s albums from the 1970s. I can’t wait to see what he and Micky do together next month in Phoenix, and I regret not having had the chance to see them with Peter and Davey.

Why I Love Them: The Monkees made and make, together or apart, beautiful pop music, gorgeously arranged, finely sung, with ear-worm melodies that most artists would kill to have a chance to record and release. Despite their “pre-fab” origins, they worked hard over the years to establish themselves as a legitimately creative collective that made great music on their own terms, and I believe they achieved that goal. Yes, as a general rule, I do tend to like it when artists sing their own songs (which they did, sometimes, with Nesmith as a particularly strong songwriter), but I also deeply appreciate the role of the world’s “song stylists,” who can take words and melodies crafted by others, and make them transcendent. The Monkees have often been damned in critical circles for not living up to standards set by The Beatles, but (a) who the hell else lives up to those standards, and (b) it’s important to note that The Beatles loved The Monkees, with John Lennon declaring his American counterparts to be “the greatest comedy team since the Marx Brothers.” Which is fine and deserved praise, as the group were as good on screen as they were on record, creating a collective persona that’s been enduring and endearing for over half-a-century now. How many other acts can claim such acclaim and fame for so long? A: Not many. (Note: Since the visual aspects of the group’s heyday were such an important part of the full experience, I’ve used television or film clips in my links below, when available, instead of just posting the straight studio recordings).

#10. “I Believe You,” from Justus (1996)

#9. “Randy Scouse Git,” from Headquarters (1967)

#8. “Last Train to Clarksville,” from The Monkees (1966)

#7. “Wasn’t Born to Follow,” from Good Times (2016)

#6. “Listen to the Band,” from The Monkees Present (1969)

#5. “What Am I Doing Hangin’ Round,” from Pisces, Aquarius, Capricorn & Jones (1967)

#4. “For Pete’s Sake,” from Headquarters (1967)

#3. “Circle Sky,” from Head (1968)

#2. “You Just May Be The One,” from Headquarters (1967)

#1. “Me and Magdalena (Version Two),” from Good Times (2016)