Counter-Culture: The Top 100 Songs of the ’60s

50. Horace Silver – “Song For My Father”
from Song for My Father (1965; Blue Note)

Accomplished and prolific hard bop pianist Horace Silver defied many of the jazz norms in the 1960s. For one, he actually left Art Blakey’s Jazz Messengers because he didn’t want any part of the heroin use that was taking place among other members of the band. For another, he became deeply invested in his own heritage, having spent time in Brazil and Cape Verde, deepening his fascination with the African and Portuguese backgrounds of his own parents. What came out of that deep dive into his own bloodline was his greatest anthem, “Song for my Father,” the namesake album of which featured Silver’s own pops on the cover. It’s samba rhythms are reflective of that Brazilian excursion, while the melody itself is one of jazz’s most unforgettable. While Coltrane that same year would explore his own spirituality through impassioned performance, Silver offered an accessible and soulful reflection on flesh and blood bonds, and how that makes us who we are. – JT

49. The 13th Floor Elevators – “You’re Gonna Miss Me”
from The Psychedelic World of the 13th Floor Elevators (1966; International Artists)

The debut single by Austin’s counterculture darlings, released in January 1966, saw them cover a number of the touchstone underground trends in the rock music of the day. They tampered with the hard R&B music that had morphed into garage rock, and infused it with the nascent LSD-inspired mindset that came to be identified as psychedelic rock (and, for good measure, they incorporated some good old-time jug band vibes, similar to those that were interesting Captain Beefheart during the same period).

The guttural squall of Roky Erickson’s vocals recall the primal histrionics of the likes of Little Richard and Screamin’ Jay Hawkins, and Tommy Hall’s amplified jug and Stacy Sutherland’s lead guitar combine to evoke that hazed, narcotic, hallucinogenic energy that was so crucial to their image. The band went on to greater indulgences, but the essence of The 13^th Floor Elevators can be found in this first recording. – MP

48. Shangri-Las – “I Can Never Go Home Anymore”
(1965; Red Bird)

Like many of the girl groups of the era, The Shangri-Las were teenagers in high school when they formed in 1963. Unlike many other girl groups, The Shangri-Las embodied a tough, streetwise image, complete with leather jackets. And in a way, the Shangri-Las had a punk ethos; they even influenced groups such as Blondie, the Ramones and The New York Dolls. (And The Jesus & Mary Chain…?). Beyond simple tales of teenage love, they wrote songs about death, loss, and depression. (Dee Snider of Twisted Sister even reflects that this obsession with death and motorcycles was very metal). One of their most famous songs that exemplifies this theme is the melancholy-sounding “I Can Never Go Home Anymore” (a no. 6 hit in the U.S.), with Mary Weiss speaking almost directly to the listener, warning them about adolescent impulsivity and infatuation. In her spoken-word, narrative delivery, she laments about a boy she left home for, “And you know something funny? I forgot that boy right away / Instead, I remember being tucked in bed and hearing my mama say, ‘Hush, little baby, don’t you cry, Mama won’t go away.’” Gosh, what happened to pop music? – BB

47. Otis Redding – “Try a Little Tenderness”
from Complete & Unbelievable: The Otis Redding Dictionary of Soul (1966; Volt)

While its (appropriate) enshrinement as one of the greatest songs of all time may make some think the “countercultural” credentials are dubious in this case, “Try A Little Tenderness” never reached higher than no. 25 on the Billboard charts. Otis Redding was every bit the against-the-grain musical icon that Bob Dylan and Jimi Hendrix were–he simply operated in a different context and didn’t necessarily wear politics on his sleeve. “Try A Little Tenderness,” like most Otis songs, is a love song on the surface, and a beautiful one at that, centered around one of musical history’s most natural vocalists. But it can easily be seen as a plea for unity among all people, one sadly ignored in the tumultuous decade of its release. – LG

46. Scott Walker – “The Old Man’s Back Again”
from Scott 4 (1969; Philips)

Given the feats of avant garde horror that Scott Walker would achieve in the post-millennial era, the artful peculiarities of his late ’60s masterpiece, Scott 4, seem like prologue for the mesmerizing symphonic terror he’d eventually perfect. Curiously released under his birth name, Noel Scott Engel, Scott 4 ended up being a commercial failure but a cult favorite of impossible cool. And of its 10 songs, “The Old Man’s Back Again (Dedicated to the neo-Stalinist Regime)” might be the coolest. It’s both political critique and ghost story, with the phantom of Josef Stalin haunting Prague after a Czech government takeover, “The Old Man’s Back Again” is funkier and contains far more swagger than its bizarre subject matter would suggest, complete with strings and ominous Russian choir. Serge Gainsbourg would use a similar blend of sounds on his 1971 album Histoire of Melody Nelson, but this ended up being Walker’s last rock ‘n’ roll strut before eventually embracing his new reign as Crooner of the Damned. – JT

45. Desmond Dekker & The Aces – “Israelites”
(1968; Pyramid)

For so-called “chosen people,” the biblical Israelites sure had a lot of everyday shit to deal with. Desmond Dekker and early Jamaican music godhead Leslie Kong saw the same conundrum among their fellow citizens—blessed with Rastafarian insight, faith and maybe even fate, yet cursed with being unable to work and earn enough for daily bread. We find a similar interesting contrast between Dekker’s light vocal touch and the bracing depths of both his Aces’ harmonic chorus and the oompah of their arrangement. The first ska song to crack charts anywhere, this was gospel hiding in island pop. – AB

44. Charles Mingus – “Part C: Group Dancers”
from The Black Saint and the Sinner Lady (1963; Impulse)

In the late ’50s and early ’60s, bassist and bandleader Charles Mingus set himself apart from the hard-bop crowd by embracing a boisterous and good humored take on jazz that infused a contemporary sound with gospel and burlesque hot jazz elements. Deeper into the decade, however, his attention turned to the compositional sophistication of third-stream, a sort of meeting place between jazz musicianship and classical arrangement. The boldest of these creations was 1963’s The Black Saint and the Sinner Lady, a breathtaking work that’s as much a best-of-genre piece as well as one that reinvents it. Its fiery standout, “Group Dancers,” is a delicate ballet and a frenetic improvisational romp, a Flamenco interlude and a noir theme at various points throughout its jaw-dropping seven minutes. The only thing greater than its beauty is the ambition behind it. – JT

43. ? and the Mysterians – “96 Tears”
from 96 Tears (1966; Cameo)

The gringos won’t play you so you turn your sobriquet into punctuation. You and your band play too fast, the organ sounds like a hymnal stutter step trying to fit into a secular hole; the lyrics feel a bit too spite filled to fuel catchy sing-alongs. If you’re “96 Tears,” there’s a reason for this.  You’re garage rock just a couple of years before it blows up, a variant of the signature sound of the Spencer Davis Band in the future delivered into your present, “Under My Thumb” before Mick starts half a centuries’ worth of pouting and preening, and some even say the seedlings of punk rock start with you and this 177-second kiss off. That’s the thing about the future: it’s uncontainable. – BR

42. Zombies – “Care of Cell 44”
from Odessey and Oracle (1968; CBS)

Originally recorded under the working title of “Prison Song,” The Zombies’ 1967 single “Care of Cell 44,” released on their magnum opus Odessey and Oracle, is an ironically cheery piece given the nature of the lyrics. The song follows a prisoner’s countdown to the day of their release, as they optimistically plan the events following their initial liberation. While the track transcends the melodic and production influence of both John Lennon and Brian Wilson alike, The Zombies construct an equally elaborate and compelling tune, adopting a melodically driving and upbeat bass, frequent key changes and bright, buoyant piano riffs, making the track one of the most archetypal tunes of the’ 60s. – PPi

41. The Meters – “Cissy Strut”
from The Meters (1969; Josie)

Somewhere between funk and jazz rest The Meters of New Orleans, and some time before their position as a go-to house band and backing band comes this, the opening salvo of their self-titled debut. It’s an understated instrumental vehicle, a brassy plucked guitar resting atop bandleader Art Neville’s sympathetic organ part and some killer drum syncopation. “Cissy Strut” saw modest success on Billboard’s pop and R&B charts, but it served better as a harbinger of tours, sessions and samples to come. – AB