12/03/2007
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It’s become almost cliché for rock bands to name songs after girls. I mean, a large percentage of musicians start bands at the prospect that it’s going to draw attention from the female population. Still, the inspiration from women is usually powerful, and here we take another look at songs with female names as their titles.
Ari Hest writes the kind of hooks that hit you in the stomach and give you goose bumps. And he does that in the chorus of this song with some sweet chord changes. But you feel bad for the guy, because Anne Marie seems to be out of his league. I hope the song helped his cause.
When he wants to, Butch Walker can brood like nobody’s business. And he does it really well here, in a haunting piano ballad about a woman who committed suicide.
For my money, the first two Counting Crows records are two of the greatest in rock history. Whether or not you agree, you have to concur that this is a really pretty, almost hypnotic anthem.
The Cure, and in particular singer Robert Smith, are about as instantly recognizable as any band out there. I’m no expert at dissecting lyrics, but I think ol’ Robbie cheated on poor Elise.
Nashville singer/songwriter Dave Barnes has a breezy ‘70s quality about his music. And this one is so good, it rivals anything Hall & Oates released back in the day.
One of the best under-the-radar albums of the ‘90s. And man, you really feel for poor Freedy, who had to bear the brunt of Evie’s waterworks every night.
Released in 2005, I can almost guarantee that if this edgy melodic rock band broke out in the early to mid-‘90s, they would have been huge.
I interviewed this guy for Bullz-Eye before he was signed. Anyway, when a woman messes with a guy’s head and that guy is a songwriter, a great song like this is usually the end result.
Henry Lee Summer is a blond-haired raspy singer/songwriter, but the comparisons to Michael Bolton should stop there. And he sure had the hots for this Danielle.
This band didn’t hide the fact that the best songs come from breakups, hence the title of their debut, and only, album. And what simple but poignant lyrics: “I won’t call you baby / Anymoooooore / Eleanor.”
Remember the name of this New York City-based rock band with Ramones-ish punk influences. I can’t figure out if this is a perverted Peeping Tom fantasy or not, but either way, the song flat out rocks.
At the mention of the name Claire, tell me how many of you think of Claire Danes. Eighty, maybe 90% of you? I know I do.
Here’s a fun idea for a drinking game. Put this song on and drink up whenever Mick Jagger sings the word “Angie.” You’ll be wasted before two minutes of the song have played.
Sounds to me like Josephine was the neighborhood slut, but Teitur sure tried to beg her to stop sleeping around and settle down. Mr. Teitur, you can’t teach an old dog…oh, forget it.
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