My Top Twenty Movie Songs

*Note: I haven't included traditional movie musicals in this list... although now that I look at the list, there's at least one exception... but what can ya do?

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1. "Llorando" by Rebekah del Rio - from Mulholland Drive

At Club Silencio in the middle of the night, the film's two protagonists -- both women with crises of identity -- watch a strange, slow stage show. A woman quietly walks out into the spotlight, and begins to sing this song, a Spanish-language a cappella version of Roy Orbison's "Crying". I warn you, in no uncertain terms it will *break* *your* *heart*. Even if something completely unexpected didn't happen silently in the middle of the song, it would still be one of the most powerful musical moments ever put on film.

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2. "The Conversation" by John Williams - from Close Encounters of the Third Kind

On the clear, star-filled night when man and alien finally meet for the first time, the common language is music, and this simple/complex, innocent/wise interchange of melodies is a breathtaking example of John Williams at his most powerful. His five-note melody taps directly into the subconscious and holds us mesmerized.

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3. "Willow's Song" - from The Wicker Man

Haunting. Absolutely haunting. In the film, a woman calls this siren song to the pious police chief in the next room, methodically knocking on the wall that separates them as she sings. (It's Britt Ekland in the film, but I seriously doubt it's her singing voice). He manages to resist the temptation, but the song that's left behind is a bit of early-70's Celtic folk that is equal parts alluring and menacing.

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4. "The Hero" by Queen - from Flash Gordon

Thought I was going to pick the title song, didn't you? No way... this closing-credit mashup of Queen's best moments from the film goes full-blast and almost wipes out the memory of that cheesy "The End…?" that closes the film itself. A perfect ending to a movie that turns the entire last half-hour into one continuous Brian May guitar solo.

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5. "Koyaanisqatsi" by Philip Glass - from Koyaanisqatsi

This Hopi chant opens the most ambitious nonfiction film trilogy ever produced. It's a melding of ancient song and modern technology that endlessly revolves in your mind for days after experiencing it.

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6. "The Rainbow Connection" by Kermit the Frog - from The Muppet Movie

A frog, a banjo, and a message. It's just that simple. The lyrics are a little obscure, but that just makes it easier to project your own hopes and dreams onto it. And need I say that the final reprise makes for one of the most emotionally uplifting (and technically impressive) endings to a film ever?

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7. "Gangsta's Paradise" by Coolio - from Dangerous Minds

Coolio's double-pitched voice in this song makes for one of the creepiest rap songs I've ever heard. Gangsta rap never really had any appeal for me, but this reworking of Stevie Wonder's "Pastime Paradise" perfectly conveys the bleakness of inner-city life that everyone else at the time was trying to glamorize.

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8. "Knights of the Round Table" by Monty Python - from Monty Python and the Holy Grail

Everyone loves "Always Look on the Bright Side of Life", but in my opinion, this song's much more hilariously inventive. Where else can you hear "Round Table" rhymed with "impeccable", "unsingable", and "Clark Gable"? Plus a solo played entirely on helmets...

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9. "The Voice of Love" by Angelo Badalmenti - from Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me

This instrumental piece saves FWWM from becoming the most unrelentingly depressing film ever. Laura Palmer is repeatedly abused, tortured and torn apart by forces she can't control, and when the horror of death finally comes, a pair of angels are there to save her, accompanied by this slow, heavenly ray of hope.

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10. "All Over the World" by ELO - from Xanadu

It's tough to choose only one song from Xanadu... but everything I love about ELO is in this one: the high, close harmonies, the soaring strings, the obligatory vocoder, the 50's rock chord pattern given a fresh sheen of 70's lacquer. Impossible not to feel all the way down to your toes.

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11. "In Your Eyes" by Peter Gabriel - from Say Anything

The image of John Cusack holding a boom box over his head has become an iconic cinema moment, and this song deftly sums up the irresistible pull of love... "In your eyes I see the doorway of a thousand churches /The resolution of all the fruitless urges". It affirms that sometimes risking everything is the best thing you can do.

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12. "Tubular Bells" by Mike Oldfield - from The Exorcist

Nothing about The Exorcist is subtle; that's how it's designed. This clanging, weirdly off-kilter instrumental gives just the right amount of menace to a film that is almost entirely music-free for the rest of its harrowing two-hour length.

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13. "Wise Up" by Aimee Mann - from Magnolia

Midway through Paul Thomas Anderson's confusing three-hour epic, each character reaches their emotional nadir, and they spontaneously (and simultaneously) begin lip-synching this song. It's an audacious move that questions the very authority of the director, but so help me, it worked. Beautiful pain.

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14. "Boom-Shak-a-Lak" by Apache Chief - from Dumb and Dumber/Threesome/etc.

This completely unintelligible ditty found its way into several mid-90's movies. It's silliness taken to the extreme -- Rastafarian dancehall complete with cartoony "boinggg" sounds. Irresistible! After over a hundred listens, all I can discern is that the lyrics have something to do with dancing.

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15. "Gollum's Song" by Emiliana Torrini - from The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers

The unsung hero of the Lord of the Rings songs, from the point of view of Gollum. I've never heard more loneliness infused into a song before... the echoey refrain of "we are lost, we can never go home" throws a familiar character into an entirely different, sympathetic light.

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16. "The Touch" by Mark Wahlberg - from Boogie Nights

A cover of a song from the original animated Transformers movie, this one manages to cram in every bad 80's rock cliché, from the "motivational" subject matter to the cheesy electronic drums. It's as if they distilled the very essence of an overblown, pastel decade and channeled it into four minutes of music. Plus, it's a hilarious reminder of why Mark Wahlberg rapped instead of sang.

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17. "Lose Yourself" by Eminem - from 8 Mile

This was the first time I was absolutely dazzled by the sheer intricacy of wordplay in a rap song. Examine the beautiful double-rhyme scheme of stanzas like "Snap! Back to reality/ Oh! There goes gravity /Oh, there goes Rabbit, he /Choked, he's so mad, but he /Won't give up that easy..." and top that with the sheer frustration of the rapper as he tells a tale that is, in essence, both the character's and his own at the same time. Amazing.

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18. "Stayin' Alive" by Supple - from Hurricane Streets

The original is nothing less than untouchable, but this version of the disco classic is done acoustically, with the snaky bassline replaced by a cello, and the lead sung in hushed, menacing tones. It's rare that a cover version of a song makes me like the original even more, but this one delivers.

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19. "Spybreak!" by the Propellerheads - from The Matrix

In the spring of 1999 American action cinema finally became relevant again over the course of three minutes during this scene of slow-motion, balletic firepower. This song took a great scene and made it a classic for the ages.

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20. "Little Green Bag" by George Baker Selection - from Reservoir Dogs

Reservoir Dogs wasn't the first movie to show its protagonists walking together in slow motion like warriors heading into battle, and it certainly wasn't the last, but this is one *fierce* opening to a film.

The first time I heard... Nick Drake

When it comes to music, I'm usually a sucker for big orchestrations. I suppose it's because I was raised not only on musical theater, but also heaping helpings of artists like Barry Manilow and ABBA, who probably caused the untimely deaths of more than several overloaded 48-track recording machines. Suffice it to say that, for me, a complex, enormous arrangement can take a good song and make it a classic. There's a whole roster of these bands that I like: ELO, Jellyfish, XTC, late Beatles, Rufus Wainwright. The more horns, strings, and key changes, the better.

So it came as a surprise, even to me, that I stumbled upon a style of music that was the antithesis of all the orchestral madness I loved, a small cadre of artists who don't need anything more than their instrument of choice and their often-hushed voices. This list includes such people as Iron and Wine, Jose Gonzalez, and Nick Drake...

It was Nick who showed me the way, who led me through a tiny little ivy-covered door in the great Wall of Sound and into a quiet, beautiful garden of music. I'm sure that a significant percentage of his current fans found him the same way I did.... through a Volkswagen commercial. This was back in the late 90's, when using new or mostly-unheard music was a breaking concept in advertising. In the spot, a group of four friends driving their VW beetle at night. They make their way on twisty, moonlit country roads with their windows rolled down, serenely listening to a man with a guitar singing what seems like a nonsense song about a pink moon. They finally reach their goal, a party at a country house full of light and noise and people. They stand there, ready to go in, then just look at each other. Then they're back in their car, the moon roof open, passing by clouds of fireflies, literally forgoing the destination to enjoy the journey. No words, just that simple music. I found out the name of the little-known folk singer who sang the dreamy song, and bought the greatest-hits compilation that had just been released, no doubt because of the curiosity that the commercial had stirred up.

I learned the story of his life later, about how a English country lad from a loving, supportive family started making his own music. He could play riffs with uncanny precision and balance, and he could structure a riff out of chords that would hang suspended, never letting you know if they would resolve to major or minor. Record producers found him, were amazed by his deft, precise guitar playing and hauntingly quiet voice, and led him through the creation of three understated but stunning albums. However, Nick never fit in with the idea of a music star, couldn't play bars and small clubs because his gentle demeanor didn't give him the ability to make a crowd shut up and listen. He grew more and more disillusioned with a world where he was praised for his artistry, but in which he felt, in his own heart, like a failure. He finally faded into himself, his life ending with an overdose of antidepressants, an act that may or may not have been accidental.

There's an excellent documentary called "A Skin Too Few" that was made about ten years ago, which through interviews with his family and collaborators gives us as clear a picture of the artist that we're ever going to get. I think the most telling thing about it is that, although it's less than an hour long, the filmmaker lets Nick's music speak for itself, showing us idyllic images of the English countryside around Nick's boyhood home while letting the music play for up to a full minute. It's brilliant, because that's exactly the kind of imagery Nick's music conjures in my mind anyway.

My thought here is that Nick's music speaks to something in the mind of this child of the caffeinated 80's. Before him, I had taken as fact that soul-stirring music had to be full to brimming with synthesizers, chainsaw guitars, drum machines, and turntables that could take music from the past, chop and spin it into sonic cotton candy. But through all the noise and blur, something was going unserved. It took a car commercial to get me to see how something so small, quiet and pure could be just as rewarding.

Now, even though it doesn't relate directly to me, I'll close with a sidebar, of how my brother told me he first heard Nick Drake. At the time he was living in a communal house in San Diego. He came home one day, and the other members of the household were all just sitting in the main room, listening to what turned out to be that same Nick Drake greatest hits CD that I would later purchase. My brother silently sat and joined them. No one spoke or moved until the CD was over.