Flak Magazine: They Don't Love You Like We Do, Tracks 16-20, 02.03.04

Best Motor City Motorik. "Dog Days" is bubbly electro-funk as conceived by a Michigander imitating Germans imitating older Germans imitating still older Michiganders, which covers the reflexivity of great pop pretty damn well. And great pop is exactly what "Dog Days" is: pulsing tones, combustible beats, high-hat thwacks and Matthew Dear's delicate vocals encircling the wavering, "Superstition"-reminiscent synthesizer riff, giving its elongating orbit ample space to shift without warning. (That it doesn't is immaterial — it very well might on your next listen. That's how untethered it is.) The lyrics repeat the phrase "tell another story" with slight alterations (contemporary dance music nutshelled), making it that rare shaggy dog story that's sadly finite. "Dog Days" falls under the microhouse umbrella — a particularly melodic, claustrophobic brand of German house that few Americans have had the wunsch to attempt — which only matters to you because Leave Luck to Heaven, Dear's stunning debut, might be hard to find in your increasingly compartmentalized record store. (— Yancey Strickler)

17. "Hey Ya!" | OutKast | Speakerboxxx/The Love Below | Arista | 4:10

Best Top 10 Pixies Song Since "Smells Like Teen Spirit." Endless rotation across the radio dial, the presence of its signature bounce in commercials and local-news bumper music, the introduction of "shake it like a Polaroid picture" to the vernacular as an annoying non-sequitur... Well, you get the picture: Andre 3000's plea for, um, sugar is damned by ubiquity.

But let's celebrate all the things that made "Hey Ya" irresistible in the first place: the wide-eyed exuberance of Dre's vocal performance; that percolating low-end synth that overtakes the more well-mannered eighth-note bass when the chorus kicks in; that extra half-measure before the chord progression goes minor; "shake it like a Polaroid picture" ("but you said..." "Shaddup!"); that tinkly keyboard intrusion that winks at the Cure; the sly lyrical structure, wherein Dre's ruminations on the nature of love are tossed aside with a casual, "y'all don't wanna hear me, you just wanna dance," to segue into the call-and-response/chantalong hookathon.

QED: You can give in to your jaded side, but really, as the man says, "You know what to do." (— Wayne Lewis)

18. "Don't Be Scared" | A.R.E. Weapons | A.R.E. Weapons | Rough Trade | 4:07

Petition for the Abolishment of the Word "Hipster." Hipster is the new fascist — you heard it here third. Just as '60s hippies labeled any enemies (real or imaginary) "fascists," "hipster" has become the new cultural bogeyman, always there wherever you turn ('cuz they get into all the cool parties before you, natch). And of course even if you are a hipster you don't know it and if you call someone a hipster then you probably are one and if you get called a hipster then you're definitely one and if you ever laughed at "Losing My Edge" then you're absolutely one and if you got that line then you're absolutely definitely maybe certainly one. So can we stop this bullshit now? A.R.E. Weapons, contrary to uninformed rock crit, aren't hipsters, they're just really goddamned cool and they want you to be cool with them and you gonna fucking argue with that, lamester? Right. Over glam-trash-synth-rap-classless-classical-classic rock bar chords, strings and beats, frontman Brain F. McPeck yelps, "Don't be scared/ Be cool." The whole point of the band's massively misunderstood self-titled debut isn't to get laid, it's to get you laid. It's an open call to the poor, the posh, the lame, the cool, the who-the-fuck-ever wants to party to just be. They're uniters, not dividers, and fuck all y'all who say otherwise. (— Yancey Strickler)

19. "My Crew" | Jean Grae | Bootleg of the Bootleg EP | Babygrande/Orchestral | 3:51

Best Dis of One's Art Form. An enterprising, slightly cynical DJ could put together an entire set of cuts wherein underground artists bitch and moan about how hip-hop or rap is too watered down, played out, mediocre, being ruined by money, dying or dead. Why hip-hop — and not, say, punk rock — favors this theme (as well as its attendant implication that the artist is somehow above whatever it is that's causing said suckage) is a topic for someone's thesis. But while whining about all this uncreative complaining would be the easy thing to do, it's better to practice what one preaches and find an instance where this construct works. Enter Jean Grae, and her, "Who took the community out of the hip-hop community?" anthem "My Crew," which boasts this line:

Rap's dead, rap sucks/ and thanks to y'all for killin' it/ grillin' it down and spillin' its guts/ and fillin' it back up with trash/ wait up, I mean cash

Not only does Grae — who has paradoxically avoided the distinction of being labeled one of the top rappers out there today while being almost universally lauded as the genre's top female talent — tightly tie up every common gripe about rap, wrap it up and put a bow on it, she throws in a few new ones and manages the rare feat of dissing someone (Jay-Z) via sample. (— Eric Wittmershaus)

20. "Almost the Same" | Clearlake | Cedars | Domino | 3:56

Best Dork Mating Call That Isn't "No Rain." Picture this scene: A bored dork sits on a couch in a room with the shades drawn. The television blares. On its screen is a commercial: A gigantic hot dog — no, a nerdy girl dressed as a gigantic hot dog — is standing on a street corner trying to pass fliers out to rushing passers-by. Poor girl. So nerdy, so misunderstood. And then, the moment all nerds have been waiting for: Miss hot dog looks across the street and sees... a bird? A plane? No, a geeky dreamboat of a boy dressed as an enormous soda can! Hooray! The hot dog and the soda walk off hand in hand into the sunset. Now, cue the first raucous chords of Clearlake's "Almost the Same," a Britpop tune about a circumstantial friendship between misfits that's so damn catchy, it can be a song for everyone. The lonely chap on the couch wipes some mist from his eyes and chimes in with singer Jason Pegg's heartfelt chorus: "It's hard to believe/ although now I can see/ that you're almost the same as me." (— Lavina Lee)