In the past, the final four has been quite predictable: 2-3 Vitalogy songs, 1-2 songs from either Ten/No Code/Yield/Binaural. At least this way, that end of the tournament will be shaken up a bit.
Kevin Davis wrote:I dunno -- at least they won't be the same matches as every other year. And you know there will be at least one guy who votes for "The End" over "Hail Hail" -- and he will have some 'splaining to do.
I think it's also fun to match these eras up against each other.
"Better Man" was the song that got me into Pearl Jam. In early '95, when I was 11, it was in heavy rotation on the same "hits" station as Green Day's "When I Come Around," Dionne Farris's "I Know," Dave Matthews Band's "What Would You Say,"'Blues Traveler's "Run Around," and Johnny Cougar Mellencamp's cover of "Wild Night." I was hooked by the song instantly, and was further intrigued for having remembered an episode of "Clarissa Explains it All" centered around the main characters trying to weasel out of some family function to go see Pearl Jam -- whom, like The Beets, I had always just assumed to be a fictional band created by the show's writers. Eventually I scrounged together enough allowance to buy "Vitalogy" on tape, and about 30 seconds into "Last Exit" I had a new favorite band (the previous reigning champion was Ace of Base). This record basically changed the way I thought about music, which in turn changed the way I thought about the world, which subsequently influenced the sort of people I gravitated toward as friends, the kinds of conversations I sought out, and the types of extracurricular activities I pursued. Had something of this magnitude not derailed the train, I probably would have pursued my pipe dream of becoming a professional basketball player to its inevitable, tragic end, and here in 2015 I would be on a message board dedicated to the memory of the '97 Chicago Bulls, reminiscing about the time my 7th grade varsity team begrudgingly voted me "sixth man" in the yearbook (as opposed to on RM reminiscing about the '94 Pearl Jams and talking about listening to Blues Traveler on the radio when I was 11). I do not say lightly that "Better Man" changed the course of my life -- and would also argue that, from the standpoint of raw songwriting, it exceeds "Smile" in just about every way.
And yet.
"Better Man"'s flame had dimmed over time, while "Smile" sounds forever fresh. I am tempted to blame this on overexposure to "Better Man," but after almost 20 years of listening to both songs, I have a hard time thinking that "Smile" isn't etched just as deeply into the grooves of my brain by now. What seems more likely to me is this: "Better Man" is a pop song that aims to hit an emotional climax that I am not always in the mood for -- and, over the years, I have heard enough phoned-in live versions to believe that the band isn't in the mood for it half the time, either. When mood and song cross paths, the feeling is monumental; the song hits all the right pleasure centers and makes me feel like I'm 11 again, dreaming of my jersey hanging from the rafters of the United Center. But 80 percent of the time it's just not a song I feel compelled to listen to -- I skip it on bootlegs, groan when they start into it at a show, and underrate it in my mind.
"Smile" is a simpler song with simpler ambitions that yields a simpler pleasure -- a heartfelt sentiment framed by minor charms: Lyrics fashioned out of notebook scribbles by a guy named Frog! The guitarist and bassist switch instruments on it! It's the one time Eddie plays the harmonica that doesn't sound like some lame attempt at being a grizzled folkie! It's one of the few songs whose legacy the band seems to have consciously written -- it is, like "Oceans," one of the very few non-hits to never have dropped out of concert rotation, and -- also like "Oceans" -- it is played just frequently enough (and is unchallenging enough a composition) for the band to stay sharp on, but rare enough for it to always feel special. From its earliest 1996 performances to last year's Moline "No Code"-a-thon, I can't remember a single poor version. Its sentiment of "I miss you already/I miss you always" always means something to me, somehow -- the specifics are forever in flux but the sentiment is constant, eternally relevant (particularly compared to "Better Man"'s domestic drama -- which I suppose is eternally relevant too, unfortunately, though I can be thankful that it has never been for me). It is, for me, the ultimate rarity -- a minor song that always gives to the listener more than it asks, thereby rendering it strangely major. Pearl Jam at their best.
"Smile."
Damn, that would've made me change my vote.
bada wrote:Cause the two girls on the board voted for the rapey song.
"Better Man" was the song that got me into Pearl Jam. In early '95, when I was 11, it was in heavy rotation on the same "hits" station as Green Day's "When I Come Around," Dionne Farris's "I Know," Dave Matthews Band's "What Would You Say,"'Blues Traveler's "Run Around," and Johnny Cougar Mellencamp's cover of "Wild Night." I was hooked by the song instantly, and was further intrigued for having remembered an episode of "Clarissa Explains it All" centered around the main characters trying to weasel out of some family function to go see Pearl Jam -- whom, like The Beets, I had always just assumed to be a fictional band created by the show's writers. Eventually I scrounged together enough allowance to buy "Vitalogy" on tape, and about 30 seconds into "Last Exit" I had a new favorite band (the previous reigning champion was Ace of Base). This record basically changed the way I thought about music, which in turn changed the way I thought about the world, which subsequently influenced the sort of people I gravitated toward as friends, the kinds of conversations I sought out, and the types of extracurricular activities I pursued. Had something of this magnitude not derailed the train, I probably would have pursued my pipe dream of becoming a professional basketball player to its inevitable, tragic end, and here in 2015 I would be on a message board dedicated to the memory of the '97 Chicago Bulls, reminiscing about the time my 7th grade varsity team begrudgingly voted me "sixth man" in the yearbook (as opposed to on RM reminiscing about the '94 Pearl Jams and talking about listening to Blues Traveler on the radio when I was 11). I do not say lightly that "Better Man" changed the course of my life -- and would also argue that, from the standpoint of raw songwriting, it exceeds "Smile" in just about every way.
And yet.
"Better Man"'s flame had dimmed over time, while "Smile" sounds forever fresh. I am tempted to blame this on overexposure to "Better Man," but after almost 20 years of listening to both songs, I have a hard time thinking that "Smile" isn't etched just as deeply into the grooves of my brain by now. What seems more likely to me is this: "Better Man" is a pop song that aims to hit an emotional climax that I am not always in the mood for -- and, over the years, I have heard enough phoned-in live versions to believe that the band isn't in the mood for it half the time, either. When mood and song cross paths, the feeling is monumental; the song hits all the right pleasure centers and makes me feel like I'm 11 again, dreaming of my jersey hanging from the rafters of the United Center. But 80 percent of the time it's just not a song I feel compelled to listen to -- I skip it on bootlegs, groan when they start into it at a show, and underrate it in my mind.
"Smile" is a simpler song with simpler ambitions that yields a simpler pleasure -- a heartfelt sentiment framed by minor charms: Lyrics fashioned out of notebook scribbles by a guy named Frog! The guitarist and bassist switch instruments on it! It's the one time Eddie plays the harmonica that doesn't sound like some lame attempt at being a grizzled folkie! It's one of the few songs whose legacy the band seems to have consciously written -- it is, like "Oceans," one of the very few non-hits to never have dropped out of concert rotation, and -- also like "Oceans" -- it is played just frequently enough (and is unchallenging enough a composition) for the band to stay sharp on, but rare enough for it to always feel special. From its earliest 1996 performances to last year's Moline "No Code"-a-thon, I can't remember a single poor version. Its sentiment of "I miss you already/I miss you always" always means something to me, somehow -- the specifics are forever in flux but the sentiment is constant, eternally relevant (particularly compared to "Better Man"'s domestic drama -- which I suppose is eternally relevant too, unfortunately, though I can be thankful that it has never been for me). It is, for me, the ultimate rarity -- a minor song that always gives to the listener more than it asks, thereby rendering it strangely major. Pearl Jam at their best.
"Smile."
Jesus, Kev. Well done.
Next year, I'm gonna lead the Smile-To-Take-The-Whole-Thing campaign, based entirely on this write up.
"Better Man" was the song that got me into Pearl Jam. In early '95, when I was 11, it was in heavy rotation on the same "hits" station as Green Day's "When I Come Around," Dionne Farris's "I Know," Dave Matthews Band's "What Would You Say,"'Blues Traveler's "Run Around," and Johnny Cougar Mellencamp's cover of "Wild Night." I was hooked by the song instantly, and was further intrigued for having remembered an episode of "Clarissa Explains it All" centered around the main characters trying to weasel out of some family function to go see Pearl Jam -- whom, like The Beets, I had always just assumed to be a fictional band created by the show's writers. Eventually I scrounged together enough allowance to buy "Vitalogy" on tape, and about 30 seconds into "Last Exit" I had a new favorite band (the previous reigning champion was Ace of Base). This record basically changed the way I thought about music, which in turn changed the way I thought about the world, which subsequently influenced the sort of people I gravitated toward as friends, the kinds of conversations I sought out, and the types of extracurricular activities I pursued. Had something of this magnitude not derailed the train, I probably would have pursued my pipe dream of becoming a professional basketball player to its inevitable, tragic end, and here in 2015 I would be on a message board dedicated to the memory of the '97 Chicago Bulls, reminiscing about the time my 7th grade varsity team begrudgingly voted me "sixth man" in the yearbook (as opposed to on RM reminiscing about the '94 Pearl Jams and talking about listening to Blues Traveler on the radio when I was 11). I do not say lightly that "Better Man" changed the course of my life -- and would also argue that, from the standpoint of raw songwriting, it exceeds "Smile" in just about every way.
And yet.
"Better Man"'s flame had dimmed over time, while "Smile" sounds forever fresh. I am tempted to blame this on overexposure to "Better Man," but after almost 20 years of listening to both songs, I have a hard time thinking that "Smile" isn't etched just as deeply into the grooves of my brain by now. What seems more likely to me is this: "Better Man" is a pop song that aims to hit an emotional climax that I am not always in the mood for -- and, over the years, I have heard enough phoned-in live versions to believe that the band isn't in the mood for it half the time, either. When mood and song cross paths, the feeling is monumental; the song hits all the right pleasure centers and makes me feel like I'm 11 again, dreaming of my jersey hanging from the rafters of the United Center. But 80 percent of the time it's just not a song I feel compelled to listen to -- I skip it on bootlegs, groan when they start into it at a show, and underrate it in my mind.
"Smile" is a simpler song with simpler ambitions that yields a simpler pleasure -- a heartfelt sentiment framed by minor charms: Lyrics fashioned out of notebook scribbles by a guy named Frog! The guitarist and bassist switch instruments on it! It's the one time Eddie plays the harmonica that doesn't sound like some lame attempt at being a grizzled folkie! It's one of the few songs whose legacy the band seems to have consciously written -- it is, like "Oceans," one of the very few non-hits to never have dropped out of concert rotation, and -- also like "Oceans" -- it is played just frequently enough (and is unchallenging enough a composition) for the band to stay sharp on, but rare enough for it to always feel special. From its earliest 1996 performances to last year's Moline "No Code"-a-thon, I can't remember a single poor version. Its sentiment of "I miss you already/I miss you always" always means something to me, somehow -- the specifics are forever in flux but the sentiment is constant, eternally relevant (particularly compared to "Better Man"'s domestic drama -- which I suppose is eternally relevant too, unfortunately, though I can be thankful that it has never been for me). It is, for me, the ultimate rarity -- a minor song that always gives to the listener more than it asks, thereby rendering it strangely major. Pearl Jam at their best.
"Smile."
Jesus, Kev. Well done.
Next year, I'm gonna lead the Smile-To-Take-The-Whole-Thing campaign, based entirely on this write up.
"Better Man" was the song that got me into Pearl Jam. In early '95, when I was 11, it was in heavy rotation on the same "hits" station as Green Day's "When I Come Around," Dionne Farris's "I Know," Dave Matthews Band's "What Would You Say,"'Blues Traveler's "Run Around," and Johnny Cougar Mellencamp's cover of "Wild Night." I was hooked by the song instantly, and was further intrigued for having remembered an episode of "Clarissa Explains it All" centered around the main characters trying to weasel out of some family function to go see Pearl Jam -- whom, like The Beets, I had always just assumed to be a fictional band created by the show's writers. Eventually I scrounged together enough allowance to buy "Vitalogy" on tape, and about 30 seconds into "Last Exit" I had a new favorite band (the previous reigning champion was Ace of Base). This record basically changed the way I thought about music, which in turn changed the way I thought about the world, which subsequently influenced the sort of people I gravitated toward as friends, the kinds of conversations I sought out, and the types of extracurricular activities I pursued. Had something of this magnitude not derailed the train, I probably would have pursued my pipe dream of becoming a professional basketball player to its inevitable, tragic end, and here in 2015 I would be on a message board dedicated to the memory of the '97 Chicago Bulls, reminiscing about the time my 7th grade varsity team begrudgingly voted me "sixth man" in the yearbook (as opposed to on RM reminiscing about the '94 Pearl Jams and talking about listening to Blues Traveler on the radio when I was 11). I do not say lightly that "Better Man" changed the course of my life -- and would also argue that, from the standpoint of raw songwriting, it exceeds "Smile" in just about every way.
And yet.
"Better Man"'s flame had dimmed over time, while "Smile" sounds forever fresh. I am tempted to blame this on overexposure to "Better Man," but after almost 20 years of listening to both songs, I have a hard time thinking that "Smile" isn't etched just as deeply into the grooves of my brain by now. What seems more likely to me is this: "Better Man" is a pop song that aims to hit an emotional climax that I am not always in the mood for -- and, over the years, I have heard enough phoned-in live versions to believe that the band isn't in the mood for it half the time, either. When mood and song cross paths, the feeling is monumental; the song hits all the right pleasure centers and makes me feel like I'm 11 again, dreaming of my jersey hanging from the rafters of the United Center. But 80 percent of the time it's just not a song I feel compelled to listen to -- I skip it on bootlegs, groan when they start into it at a show, and underrate it in my mind.
"Smile" is a simpler song with simpler ambitions that yields a simpler pleasure -- a heartfelt sentiment framed by minor charms: Lyrics fashioned out of notebook scribbles by a guy named Frog! The guitarist and bassist switch instruments on it! It's the one time Eddie plays the harmonica that doesn't sound like some lame attempt at being a grizzled folkie! It's one of the few songs whose legacy the band seems to have consciously written -- it is, like "Oceans," one of the very few non-hits to never have dropped out of concert rotation, and -- also like "Oceans" -- it is played just frequently enough (and is unchallenging enough a composition) for the band to stay sharp on, but rare enough for it to always feel special. From its earliest 1996 performances to last year's Moline "No Code"-a-thon, I can't remember a single poor version. Its sentiment of "I miss you already/I miss you always" always means something to me, somehow -- the specifics are forever in flux but the sentiment is constant, eternally relevant (particularly compared to "Better Man"'s domestic drama -- which I suppose is eternally relevant too, unfortunately, though I can be thankful that it has never been for me). It is, for me, the ultimate rarity -- a minor song that always gives to the listener more than it asks, thereby rendering it strangely major. Pearl Jam at their best.
"Smile."
Jesus, Kev. Well done.
Next year, I'm gonna lead the Smile-To-Take-The-Whole-Thing campaign, based entirely on this write up.
You'd abandon Sunburn that quickly?
Sunburn doesn't stand a chance. But Smile... we could probably convince people to vote Smile.
"Better Man" was the song that got me into Pearl Jam. In early '95, when I was 11, it was in heavy rotation on the same "hits" station as Green Day's "When I Come Around," Dionne Farris's "I Know," Dave Matthews Band's "What Would You Say,"'Blues Traveler's "Run Around," and Johnny Cougar Mellencamp's cover of "Wild Night." I was hooked by the song instantly, and was further intrigued for having remembered an episode of "Clarissa Explains it All" centered around the main characters trying to weasel out of some family function to go see Pearl Jam -- whom, like The Beets, I had always just assumed to be a fictional band created by the show's writers. Eventually I scrounged together enough allowance to buy "Vitalogy" on tape, and about 30 seconds into "Last Exit" I had a new favorite band (the previous reigning champion was Ace of Base). This record basically changed the way I thought about music, which in turn changed the way I thought about the world, which subsequently influenced the sort of people I gravitated toward as friends, the kinds of conversations I sought out, and the types of extracurricular activities I pursued. Had something of this magnitude not derailed the train, I probably would have pursued my pipe dream of becoming a professional basketball player to its inevitable, tragic end, and here in 2015 I would be on a message board dedicated to the memory of the '97 Chicago Bulls, reminiscing about the time my 7th grade varsity team begrudgingly voted me "sixth man" in the yearbook (as opposed to on RM reminiscing about the '94 Pearl Jams and talking about listening to Blues Traveler on the radio when I was 11). I do not say lightly that "Better Man" changed the course of my life -- and would also argue that, from the standpoint of raw songwriting, it exceeds "Smile" in just about every way.
And yet.
"Better Man"'s flame had dimmed over time, while "Smile" sounds forever fresh. I am tempted to blame this on overexposure to "Better Man," but after almost 20 years of listening to both songs, I have a hard time thinking that "Smile" isn't etched just as deeply into the grooves of my brain by now. What seems more likely to me is this: "Better Man" is a pop song that aims to hit an emotional climax that I am not always in the mood for -- and, over the years, I have heard enough phoned-in live versions to believe that the band isn't in the mood for it half the time, either. When mood and song cross paths, the feeling is monumental; the song hits all the right pleasure centers and makes me feel like I'm 11 again, dreaming of my jersey hanging from the rafters of the United Center. But 80 percent of the time it's just not a song I feel compelled to listen to -- I skip it on bootlegs, groan when they start into it at a show, and underrate it in my mind.
"Smile" is a simpler song with simpler ambitions that yields a simpler pleasure -- a heartfelt sentiment framed by minor charms: Lyrics fashioned out of notebook scribbles by a guy named Frog! The guitarist and bassist switch instruments on it! It's the one time Eddie plays the harmonica that doesn't sound like some lame attempt at being a grizzled folkie! It's one of the few songs whose legacy the band seems to have consciously written -- it is, like "Oceans," one of the very few non-hits to never have dropped out of concert rotation, and -- also like "Oceans" -- it is played just frequently enough (and is unchallenging enough a composition) for the band to stay sharp on, but rare enough for it to always feel special. From its earliest 1996 performances to last year's Moline "No Code"-a-thon, I can't remember a single poor version. Its sentiment of "I miss you already/I miss you always" always means something to me, somehow -- the specifics are forever in flux but the sentiment is constant, eternally relevant (particularly compared to "Better Man"'s domestic drama -- which I suppose is eternally relevant too, unfortunately, though I can be thankful that it has never been for me). It is, for me, the ultimate rarity -- a minor song that always gives to the listener more than it asks, thereby rendering it strangely major. Pearl Jam at their best.
"Smile."
Jesus, Kev. Well done.
Next year, I'm gonna lead the Smile-To-Take-The-Whole-Thing campaign, based entirely on this write up.
You'd abandon Sunburn that quickly?
Sunburn doesn't stand a chance. But Smile... we could probably convince people to vote Smile.
Ah yes, the "don't throw your vote away" argument.
"Better Man" was the song that got me into Pearl Jam. In early '95, when I was 11, it was in heavy rotation on the same "hits" station as Green Day's "When I Come Around," Dionne Farris's "I Know," Dave Matthews Band's "What Would You Say,"'Blues Traveler's "Run Around," and Johnny Cougar Mellencamp's cover of "Wild Night." I was hooked by the song instantly, and was further intrigued for having remembered an episode of "Clarissa Explains it All" centered around the main characters trying to weasel out of some family function to go see Pearl Jam -- whom, like The Beets, I had always just assumed to be a fictional band created by the show's writers. Eventually I scrounged together enough allowance to buy "Vitalogy" on tape, and about 30 seconds into "Last Exit" I had a new favorite band (the previous reigning champion was Ace of Base). This record basically changed the way I thought about music, which in turn changed the way I thought about the world, which subsequently influenced the sort of people I gravitated toward as friends, the kinds of conversations I sought out, and the types of extracurricular activities I pursued. Had something of this magnitude not derailed the train, I probably would have pursued my pipe dream of becoming a professional basketball player to its inevitable, tragic end, and here in 2015 I would be on a message board dedicated to the memory of the '97 Chicago Bulls, reminiscing about the time my 7th grade varsity team begrudgingly voted me "sixth man" in the yearbook (as opposed to on RM reminiscing about the '94 Pearl Jams and talking about listening to Blues Traveler on the radio when I was 11). I do not say lightly that "Better Man" changed the course of my life -- and would also argue that, from the standpoint of raw songwriting, it exceeds "Smile" in just about every way.
And yet.
"Better Man"'s flame had dimmed over time, while "Smile" sounds forever fresh. I am tempted to blame this on overexposure to "Better Man," but after almost 20 years of listening to both songs, I have a hard time thinking that "Smile" isn't etched just as deeply into the grooves of my brain by now. What seems more likely to me is this: "Better Man" is a pop song that aims to hit an emotional climax that I am not always in the mood for -- and, over the years, I have heard enough phoned-in live versions to believe that the band isn't in the mood for it half the time, either. When mood and song cross paths, the feeling is monumental; the song hits all the right pleasure centers and makes me feel like I'm 11 again, dreaming of my jersey hanging from the rafters of the United Center. But 80 percent of the time it's just not a song I feel compelled to listen to -- I skip it on bootlegs, groan when they start into it at a show, and underrate it in my mind.
"Smile" is a simpler song with simpler ambitions that yields a simpler pleasure -- a heartfelt sentiment framed by minor charms: Lyrics fashioned out of notebook scribbles by a guy named Frog! The guitarist and bassist switch instruments on it! It's the one time Eddie plays the harmonica that doesn't sound like some lame attempt at being a grizzled folkie! It's one of the few songs whose legacy the band seems to have consciously written -- it is, like "Oceans," one of the very few non-hits to never have dropped out of concert rotation, and -- also like "Oceans" -- it is played just frequently enough (and is unchallenging enough a composition) for the band to stay sharp on, but rare enough for it to always feel special. From its earliest 1996 performances to last year's Moline "No Code"-a-thon, I can't remember a single poor version. Its sentiment of "I miss you already/I miss you always" always means something to me, somehow -- the specifics are forever in flux but the sentiment is constant, eternally relevant (particularly compared to "Better Man"'s domestic drama -- which I suppose is eternally relevant too, unfortunately, though I can be thankful that it has never been for me). It is, for me, the ultimate rarity -- a minor song that always gives to the listener more than it asks, thereby rendering it strangely major. Pearl Jam at their best.
"Smile."
Jesus, Kev. Well done.
Next year, I'm gonna lead the Smile-To-Take-The-Whole-Thing campaign, based entirely on this write up.
You'd abandon Sunburn that quickly?
Sunburn doesn't stand a chance. But Smile... we could probably convince people to vote Smile.
Ah yes, the "don't throw your vote away" argument.
I'm not sure I get what you mean. But if I thought for half a second that Sunburn could be turned around here at RM, I'd give it all. I'd give it all for a legacy of sunburn.
1 Insignificance
2 Corduroy
3 Immortality
4 Tremor Christ
5 Release
6 Long Road
7 Sometimes
8 Daughter
9 Off He Goes
10 Man of the Hour
11 Go
12 In My Tree
13 Hail Hail
14 I Got Shit
15 All or None
16 Not For You
17 State of Love And Trust
18 Nothing As It Seems
19 Sad
20 Faithfull
21 Breath
22 All Those Yesterday
23 Smile
24 Do The Evolution
25 Last Exit
26 Rearviewmirror
27 Alive
28 Severed Hand
29 No Way
30 Hard to Imagine
31 Elderly Woman
32 Porch
33 Black
34 Given To Fly
35 Rival
36 Present Tense
37 Who You Are
38 Nothingman
39 Grievance
40 Brain of J
41 I Am Mine
42 Even Flow
43 Sleight of Hand
44 Cropduster
45 Breakerfall
46 Indifference
47 Rats
48 Spin the Black Circle
49 Deep
50 Whipping
51 Down
52 World Wide Suicide
53 All Night
54 Parachutes
55 Wash
56 Mind Your Manners
57 Push Me/Pull Me
58 Save You
59 Around the Bend
60 Strangest Tribe
61 Got Some
62 MFC
63 Glorified G
64 Swallowed Whole
65 Red Mosquito
66 Marker In The Sand
67 In The Moonlight
68 Yellow Ledbetter
69 Animal
70 In Hiding
71 Parting Ways
72 Dead Man
73 Love Boat Captain
74 Pendulum
75 Other Side
76 Can't Keep
77 Help Help
78 WMA
79 Light Years
80 Jeremy
81 Blood
82 Last Kiss
83 Of The Girl
84 Lightning Bolt
85 Life Wasted
86 Thumbing My Way
87 Force of Nature
88 Habit
89 Dissident
90 Army Reserve
91 Johnny Guitar
92 Undone
93 Lowlight
94 Education
95 You Are
96 Yellow Moon
97 Satan's Bed
98 The Fixer
99 Footsteps
100 Amongst The Waves
101 Pilate
102 My Father's Son
103 Oceans
104 Garden
105 Just Breathe
106 Evacuation
107 Infallible
108 Aye Davanita
109 Thin Air
110 You
111 Getaway
112 Betterman
113 Crazy Mary
114 Drifting
115 Hold On (Acoustic)
116 Comatose
117 Black Red Yellow
118 Alone
119 Sonic Reducer
120 Wishlist
121 Angel
122 Last Soldier
123 Inside Job
124 The End
125 Unthought Known
126 Of The Earth
127 Unemployable
128 Hold On
129 Leash
130 Sirens
131 Cold Confession
132 Master/Slave
133 Sleeping By Myself
134 Lukin
135 Bushleaguer
136 Come Back
137 Bugs
138 Half Full
139 Let Me Sleep
140 Sunburn
141 Ghost
142 Gone
143 NAIS (Demo)
144 Let the Records Play
145 Bee Girl
146 Gods' Dice
147 Why Go
148 Out Of My Mind
149 Leatherman
150 Pry, To
151 Supersonic
152 Soon Forget
153 Happy When I'm Crying
154 Let It Ride
155 Speed of Sound
156 Brother
157 Better Things
158 Fatal
159 4/20/02
160 Once
161 Gonna See My Friend
162 Someday At Christmas
163 Gremmie Out Of Control
164 2000 Miles Blues
165 I've Got A Feeling
166 Get Right
167 Love Reign O'er Me
168 Green Disease
169 Hummus
170 Dirty Frank
171 Untitled (Spoken)
172 Don't Gimme No Lip
173 Be Like Wind
174 Speed of Sound (Demo)
175 Puzzles and Games
176 Wasted Reprise
177 Harmony
178 I'm Open
179 Acoustic #1
180 Mankind
181 Leavin' Here
182 Golden State
183 Olympic Platinum
184 Big Wave
185 Falling Down
186 Whale Song
187 Rock Around Barack
188 Stupid Mop
189 Thunderclap
190 Need To Know
191 Just A Girl
192 Anything In Between
193 Arc
194 Ole
195 Sweet Lew
196 Chinese
197 Foldback
198 Gone (Demo)
199 Future Days
200 Santa God
201 Red Dot
202 Swet Lew (Demo)
203 Evil Little Goat
204 Devil Doll
205 Hitchhiker
206 Santa Cruz
207 It Ain't Like That
208 Jingle Bells
209 Turning Mist
210 I Just Want To Have Something To Do
211 Wishing Well
212 Don't Believe in Xmas
213 The Real Thing
Brain of J
Faithful
No Way
Do the Evolution
In Hiding
Low light
All Those Yesterdays
Strangest Tribe
Light Years
Insignificance
Grievance
Cropduster
You Are
Man of the Hour
