“Divine Moments of Truth” by Shpongle (10:20)
Shpongle (led by Simon Posford) helped introduce America to psyche-trance, and continually creates one of the most multi-sensory live experiences worldwide with a set that almost certainly includes the viscerally epic “Divine Movements of Truth.” A tribute to the psychoactive drug Dimethyltryptamine (DMT), the track takes listeners on a trip no matter their state of consciousness. Off of Shpongle’s 1998 debut, Are You Shongled?, the song’s vocal reverb, bird calls, ambient tribal percussion, Tuvan throat singing and hypnotizing didgeridoo have been mesmerizing fans for nearly 15 years. If you have yet to be Shpongled, grab a few friends and let this track serve as your launching pad. – Derek Staples
“Ain’t No Mountain High Enough (Larry Levan Remix)” by Inner Life (10:43)
Inner Life’s cover of “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough,” the Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell classic, was given new life when remixed by disco pioneer and legend among legends Larry Levan. His extended remix turns a slender wisp of a song into an epic, passionate ode to love. Levan allows the track to build slowly, so that by the time the body-shaking timpani come in, they sound like the thundering heavens, paving the way for disco goddess and Inner Life’s lead singer Jocelyn Brown. Taking seriously the cutesy, playful lyrics of the original, written by Nickolas Ashford and Valerie Simpson, Brown turns the song into a desperate tribute to true love, the kind that utterly grips the afflicted like a sickness. When Brown sings, “I told you, you could always count on me,” her emphasis is literal, accentuating the word “always” as if uttering a true vow (“from that day on, I made a vow“). Midway through, Levan carves open the mix, creating a great sense of space with sweeping, charging strings and then wobbly synths. Summoning elemental forces as if at will, Levan creates the perfect foundation to Brown’s successful audition for pantheon status. – Trevor Link
“Three Days” by Jane’s Addiction (10:50)
Jane’s Addiction may think that “nothing’s shocking,” but the cover of their 1990 album Ritual de lo Habitual sure raised some eyebrows with its religio-porno artwork. “Three Days” serves as a skeleton key of sorts to the message within their imagery. Illustrated by a host of the dynamics common to epic songs (propulsive transitions, show-offy solo breaks, false endings), its strongest aspect is Perry Farrell’s interpretation of it as an ecstatic spell. And just like many things that might be considered borderline offensive, it arcs into strange beauty if you can let go far enough. – Stacey Pavlick
“Street Hassle” by Lou Reed (10:53)
Lou Reed has never been any easy one to pin down in terms of style (or anything else, for that matter), and the title track from his 1978 album, Street Hassle, is no change from that. It’s one of the longest songs in his discography and one of the most unexpectedly poignant and grand. Composed of three interlocking sections based on the same melody, it divides Reed into some of his most powerful voices: Reed the poetic deviant, Reed the streetwise trashtalker and Reed the lover. The first section, “Waltzing Matilda,” tells the story of a woman picking up a handsome male prostitute. “Street Hassle” is a flat toned overdose tragedy put in genial terms, and “Slipaway” is an aching paean to love and loss. While the melody and central riff stays nearly constant, the instrumentation shifts from orchestral grandeur to cello-driven starkness to a simple bass rhythm. It’s a truly epic song, one of the markers that you can never count Reed out, no matter what stage of his career he’s in. – Nathan Kamal
“This Corrosion” by the Sisters of Mercy (10:55)
If the nation of goth is all about beauteous excess, then it has no better anthem than “This Corrosion.” The centerpiece track from Floodland, the 1987 album by the Sisters of Mercy, “This Corrosion” begins with the New York Chorale Society singing ethereal tones that are finessed just enough to sound like an angel’s death rattle. Those instantly haunting sounds give way to strikingly rubbery guitar and synth lines as lead singer Andrew Eldritch snarls out jagged, abstracted poetry of betrayal and authority. There are few others through rock history who could make a pronouncement such as “Kill the king” sound like it was being delivered in the midst of the murderous act indicated. Unlike other songs of extended length, it doesn’t keep building but instead develops to a massive crest right away and floridly, wonderfully indulges in a towering ride straight into the moody blackness of night. – Dan Seeger
