
"Music has been a constant companion for as long as I can remember. It started with the car radio and school discos, then grew into moments like sitting in front of the TV watching Queen 'Live at Wembley'with my Dad, eventually leading to him taking me to my first gig.
From indie discos and muddy festivals to sticky nightclub dance floors, music has anchored every phase of my life. It’s there in the early morning commutes, the late-night Spotify binges, and those quiet afternoon vinyl sessions. In my twenty-five years on this planet, through every high and low, I have always found myself falling back to my record collection.
Here are twenty-five songs that have shaped me, the tracks that had a pivotal, profound impact on my life."
Selecting this was effortless. Released just a year after I was born, this track has been a mainstay in my life for as long as I can remember.
In fact, it is my very first musical memory. I must have been four or five years old, but I can still see the exact spot and feel the exact moment it clicked. It’s a time-capsule song; even now, those upbeat backing vocals transport me back to a version of myself that couldn't even pronounce the word "ironic," let alone understand it.
As an adult, I recognise the song’s dry, cynical undertones, but to that kid, it was pure sunshine. Later, Stereophonics became the first band I ever saw live. Hearing this song ring out through an arena or stadium cemented a love for the communal roar of live music that has never left me.
Forty years later, this song still makes the hair on my arms stand up. It is, quite simply, one of the most brilliantly crafted pieces of music ever recorded. Often described as a "call to arms for the introvert," it features a vocal performance that feels like it means everything, backed by Johnny Marr, the greatest guitarist of his generation, producing sounds he didn’t even think were possible at the time.
The track defies explanation; even the band themselves aren't entirely sure how they captured that lightning in a bottle. If 'Have a Nice Day' was the spark that started my love for music, 'How Soon Is Now'" was the catalyst that turned it into an obsession.
It made me fall in love with everything The Smiths represented. It’s a song designed to make the world stop and take notice, a track so forward-thinking that it still sounds like it could have been recorded tomorrow.
'The Stone Roses' is one of those rare albums that didn't just top charts; it changed lives. You can talk to countless people who will describe its impact—from the cocky, assured war cry of 'I Am The Resurrection' to the two-fingered salute to the past in 'She Bangs the Drums.'
For me, the turning point was the album’s third track: 'Waterfall.' It’s a shimmering, psychedelic nod to the 60s, delivered by a band who, for one brief, flickering moment, felt bigger and better than The Beatles. When it was released, it soundtracked a world in flux, the Second Summer of Love, the fall of the Iron Curtain, and a new era of peace in Europe.
Twenty-five years later, that same song opened a curtain for me. It was the gateway to a whole host of new music that defined my youth. It started me on a journey that, in many ways, led me directly to where I am right now, writing this list. The Stone Roses remain a pivotal pillar of British culture, and 'Waterfall' is the moment it all clicked.
The Stone Roses opened the door not just for me, but for an entire generation of British bands, none more significant than Oasis. In Britain, their songs have become part of the furniture; you’ll hear 'Wonderwall' at everything from weddings and funerals to school discos and indie nights. In recent years, 'Don't Look Back in Anger' has transformed into a profound anthem of defiance, particularly after the Manchester Arena attack in 2017.
But the moment I truly stood up and took notice of the Gallagher brothers was hearing 'Live Forever'. It remains one of the greatest songs ever written: a beautifully crafted piece of music about working-class life, fueled by an overriding sense of optimism.
Recorded in the shadow of Kurt Cobain’s death, it stood as the antithesis of Grunge’s nihilism. It was the first "special" song Noel Gallagher ever wrote, the moment Oasis shifted from just another indie band into global superstars. It isn't just a track; it's a statement of intent.
While the rest of the world was leaning into the gloom of the early 90s, Oasis arrived with a song that felt like the complete opposite of Grunge. It took the grit of working-class reality and injected it with pure, unadulterated hope.
This was the bridge between the 'Definitely Maybe' era and the global phenomenon that followed. It’s a masterpiece of songwriting that turned a band from Manchester into the voice of a generation. To me, it remains a truly special piece of music that never loses its power.
After spending years diving deep into the history of indie and alternative music, I began to branch out and build a collection of my own. Around the age of 16, I started finding the sounds of my own generation, bands like Catfish and the Bottlemen that I could finally relate to in the present tense. However, the first band that truly felt like mine was Blossoms.
From the moment I heard 'Charlemagne' on the radio, I was hooked. It is a masterclass in indie-pop, built around a massive, synth-driven chorus and an inescapable hook that demands your attention. It didn't come from my dad’s record shelf or a documentary about the 90s; it was a discovery that felt entirely personal.
Today, Blossoms occupy a significant portion of my record collection, and at the time of writing, they are the band I’ve seen live more than any other. 'Charlemagne' was the spark that started it all, the song that proved my generation had its own anthems to offer and the foundation of the musical identity I carry today.
Selecting just one 'Wolf Alice song for this list was an incredibly difficult task; I could have easily justified half a dozen. There is 'Smile' with its snarling punk attack, the atmospheric and melancholic masterpiece 'Silk', the nostalgic beauty of 'Bros', or 'Don’t Delete the Kisses', arguably the greatest indie love song of its era.
Ultimately, I’ve chosen 'Delicious Things', the second track from the band’s third album, 'Blue Weekend'. It is a sprawling, beautiful tale of the band’s journey and how they reached this pinnacle. It stands as one of the best songs from what is undeniably their best album.
'Blue Weekend' was the record that forced everyone to stand up and take notice, reinforcing 'Wolf Alice' as one of the most important bands in Britain today. 'Delicious Things' is a magical, enthralling piece of music that only gets better with every listen. It is the sound of a band operating at the absolute height of their powers, confident and untouchable.
As one of the newest entries on this list, 'The Narcissist' proves that a band’s best work doesn't always live in the past. I always knew a Blur song would make this collection; it was simply a matter of deciding which one. I chose this track because, from the very first listen last year, I was completely hooked.
It possesses all the hallmarks of a classic 'Blur' anthem: it is melancholic, meaningful, and masterful. All four members play their part to perfection. Damon’s lyrics are heartfelt, a beautiful tribute to those lost along the way. Graham’s intricate, understated guitar work and haunting backing vocals provide the song's emotional soul. Alex provides a steady, simple bass line that holds the structure together, allowing Dave’s drumming to build the track into its soaring, anthemic chorus.
Serving as our first introduction to 'The Ballad of Darren', this song was the catalyst for the band’s return to the stage. It led to a series of tour dates that finally allowed me to see a band I feared I’d never get to experience in person. 'The Narcissist' deserves its place in the canon of great 'Blur' songs, sitting alongside masterpieces like 'Coffee & TV' and 'Tender' on pure merit. It’s as if they had never been away.
'The Chain' occupies a unique space in the Fleetwood Mac discography. It is the only track where every member of the band shares a songwriting credit, serving as the moment they all came together to create something greater than the sum of their parts. It is a masterpiece on an album, 'Rumours', that is already littered with brilliant songs, a difficult feat in itself, and it stands as one of the definitive tracks of the decade.
The song’s origin is fascinating; it was essentially "built" from rejected fragments of other compositions, including solo work from Stevie Nicks, Lindsey Buckingham, and Christine McVie. However, it grew into something much more profound than a rehash of old demos. Since its release in 1977, it has become a mainstay of their live shows and a definitive fan favourite, anchored by that iconic, driving bass line.
For me, this song is inextricably linked to a specific chapter of my life and the people who were with me through it. Every time I hear it, I am reminded not just of those moments, but of the sheer power music has to act as a time machine. 'The Chain' soundtracks those memories, proving how a single song can preserve a feeling or a friendship long after the time has passed.
David Bowie’s influence on the 20th and 21st centuries cannot be overstated. From psychedelic folk rock to glam rock, from plastic soul to avant-garde experimentation and electronic minimalism, Bowie’s relentless innovation and reinvention became one of the defining creative forces of modern music. His impact extended far beyond music, though, shaping fashion, performance art, film, gender identity, and even political discourse.
Throughout his career, Bowie demonstrated a rare ability to merge high art with pop accessibility. No matter how challenging or unconventional the style he explored, his songs remained emotionally resonant and strikingly melodic, inspiring generations of musicians and reshaping the cultural DNA of rock music as he went. His shape-shifting nature, which he often attributed to restlessness and boredom, established the modern archetype of the pop star as an ever-evolving cultural mirror: chameleonic, enigmatic, seductively alien, and constantly testing the limits of personal freedom and expression.
'Heroes' is more than just a song; it's a pivotal chapter in the story of the man who wrote it, an anthem of hope and defiance born from the divided streets of Cold War Berlin, and after a live performance in 1987, it became a spark that would help change the world.
In the mid-1970s, David Bowie was in crisis. His struggle with drug addiction in Los Angeles had led to personal turmoil, and his music was veering toward the chaos of fame’s darker side. Seeking refuge, Bowie fled to Berlin, a city divided by the Berlin Wall, where East and West Germany stood as tense symbols of the Cold War. He moved into a modest apartment with Iggy Pop, his friend and collaborator, and began to reinvent himself. Moving away from the excess of LA to a rather more grounded life. He lived on a normal street, in a normal apartment and got to work on making music, and work he did. Bowie made three albums in Berlin, including 'Heroes'
Written and recorded with longtime collaborator Brian Eno and producer Tony Visconti, 'Heroes' emerged from a jam session. The music itself was built on layers of synthetic sounds, Eno’s ambient influences mixing with Bowie’s melodic sensibilities. The song’s driving rhythm and shimmering guitar lines came courtesy of Robert Fripp, whose distinctive style gave the track an otherworldly yet urgent feel. Bowie was surrounding himself with the very best musicians and focusing on making great music again. The heart of 'Heroes' is its story, a tale of two lovers meeting at the Berlin Wall, defying the world around them for a fleeting moment of togetherness.
The lyrics, "We can be heroes, just for one day," capture the bittersweet essence of their love: a brief, beautiful act of defiance against the harsh reality of their world. Bowie himself later revealed that the inspiration for the song came from witnessing a couple, his producer Tony Visconti and a mystery woman, kissing by the Wall. In that moment, Bowie saw the possibility of transcendence, even in the most oppressive circumstances. The power of love seemed to override everything else that was happening. As the city was divided, this couple became united.
When Bowie performed it in 1987, in front of the Reichstag in West Berlin, it became a rallying cry for unity. East Berliners gathered on the other side of the Wall, drawn by Bowie’s voice, It has been said that the speakers were turned slightly so it could be heard in the East Side of the city, an soon those people began to sing and some say that the emotional power of that performance played a small part in the momentum that led to the Wall’s fall two years later in 1989.
Bowie also called out to those on the other side of the wall just before playing 'Heroes'. “We send our best wishes to all of our friends who are on the other side of the wall,” said Bowie.
It led to over 200 East Berliners charging at the wall, resulting in arrests and beatings. Demonstrations broke out, and it became one of the numerous acts of civil unrest that would lead to the fall of the wall in 1989 and the subsequent fall of the Iron Curtain.
Sometimes a song has the power to make a change that no one can forsee. As Bowie sings in the song’s final moments, his voice rising over the insistent pulse of the music, “We can be us, just for one day.” It’s a reminder that sometimes, in our briefest acts of courage, we become more than ourselves. We become heroes.
It is almost a given that The Beatles would feature on this list; they remain deeply ingrained in the musical fabric of the world. In Britain, especially, it feels as though you are born already knowing their lyrics. While I had an endless catalogue to choose from, 'Nowhere Man' was never a struggle to pick. It is a song I have loved for a very long time.
Released on the 1965 album 'Rubber Soul', 'Nowhere Man' describes a person with no direction and no genuine worldview. It is a landmark track, marking one of the first times the band moved away from traditional songs about romance or love, showcasing John Lennon’s shift toward more philosophical and introspective songwriting. The track features Lennon, Paul McCartney, and George Harrison in stunning three-part harmony, with the lead guitar solo performed in perfect unison by Harrison and Lennon.
It is a classic that captures the band at their absolute best. 'Nowhere Man' served as a massive leap forward, acting as the catalyst for the experimental masterpieces that would follow, such as 'Revolver' and 'Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band'. Yet, while it looked toward the future, it didn't neglect their past; those signature harmonies still carry the DNA of their early hits. It is, in many ways, the quintessential 'The Beatles' song, stereotypical in its perfection, yet entirely unique in their catalogue. It is pure 60s pop perfection.
'Not Nineteen Forever' is the defining song of my teenage years, but it has grown to become so much more. When it was released in 2008 as a single from their debut album 'St. Jude', it was just the beginning; since then, it has evolved into a universal anthem and a firm staple of the band’s live sets. It is one of those rare tracks that seems to ignite a room instantly, whether it’s a house party, an indie disco, or a crowd of thousands waiting for a gig to start.
The genius of the song lies in its balance. While the chorus is a massive, anthemic singalong, the verses are grounded in relatable tales of being young, drunk, and navigating the world, experiences I can certainly relate to. My history with this song is woven into my favourite memories. I’ve seen Courteeners seven times, four in Manchester, once in Liverpool, once in Birmingham and once at a festival, and hearing this track live still sends shivers down my spine. It’s so powerful that even 'Blossoms' use it as their walk-on music to get the entire room bouncing before they even take the stage.
From messy nights in university halls to the dance floors of 'Shit Indie Disco' and 'Heebie Jeebies', this song has been the constant soundtrack. It makes me happy, but more importantly, it treasures the memories of the individuals I shared those moments with. Music has that unique ability to transport us back to specific places and times, and 'Not Nineteen Forever' is my ultimate time machine.
Peter Gabriel is a cornerstone of my record collection. After being introduced to his work as a teenager, I have always been fascinated by him both as a musician and a human being. Delving into his discography reveals a man who crafted some of the most challenging and interesting music of the 70s and 80s, but 'Red Rain' stands out as a crowning achievement. As the opening track to his most iconic album, 'So', it is, in my opinion, one of the greatest album openers of all time.
The song is a haunting combination of surreal inspirations. The lyrics directly reference a recurring dream Gabriel had, where he swam in his backyard pool, drinking cold red wine. In another version of the dream, bottles in the shape of people fell from a cliff; as they smashed, a red liquid would seep out, followed by a torrential downpour of the same crimson hue. It’s a powerful, heavy image that sets the stage for a powerful, heavy song.
Musically, 'Red Rain' is a percussive masterclass. It features Stewart Copeland of 'The Police' on the hi-hat, playing alongside a drum machine programmed by Chris Hughes. The track builds and swells around this driving rhythm, creating a massive soundscape that allows Gabriel to deliver one of the most soaring vocal performances of his career. While 'So' is packed with legendary hits like 'Sledgehammer', 'In Your Eyes', 'Don't Give Up', and 'Big Time', it was this opener that truly made me stand up and take notice. Give it a listen, you won't be disappointed.
I mentioned Catfish and the Bottlemen earlier, and for good reason, they were one of the first bands I felt a genuine, personal connection with. Their debut album, 'The Balcony', arrived when I was 14, and the follow-up, 'The Ride', landed when I was 16. It felt as though those songs were written specifically for me and my generation, capturing the exact energy of being that age.
'7' serves as the opening statement of that second album, and musically, it picks up right where 'The Balcony' left off. While it functions as a relatively traditional indie love song, it carries a weight for me that mirrors my connection to 'The Chain'.
It is inextricably linked to a particular chapter of my life and the people who stood by me during that time. Every note is a reminder of those years.
Unlike some of the heritage acts on this list, I’ve had the chance to see Catfish and the Bottlemen live several times. There is something truly transformative about belting out this track alongside thousands of others; it is the ultimate proof of the power of music to unite a crowd. They are a special band in a live setting, and for me, '7' remains their crowning jewel.
Selecting an Arctic Monkeys song was one of the easiest picks for this list. While I could have justified 'A Certain Romance' or the more recent 'Body Paint', 'Cornerstone' was always going to be the chosen one. Having loved the band for a very long time, and finally seeing them live in 2023, I’ve watched them grip my generation with 'AM' before taking us on a sonic journey to the moon and back. To me, 'Cornerstone' remains the finest thing Alex Turner has ever written.
Featured on their third album, 'Humbug', the track saw the band embrace a mellow, storytelling direction. On the surface, it’s a bittersweet post-breakup tale: a narrator drifts through four pubs, The Battleship, The Rusty Hook, The Parrot’s Beak, and The Cornerstone, trying to find his lost love in the faces of strangers. However, beneath the breezy melody lie layers of profound emotional dislocation. Some fans suggest the pirate-themed pubs represent a search for "treasure," while others point out that 'The Cornerstone' is a real grief counselling centre in Sheffield, reframing the pub crawl as a metaphor for mourning.
The song takes an even darker, more tragic turn in its closing lines. The lyric "on the phone to the middle man" and the final surrender of "Yes, you can call me anything you want" suggest a desperate, paid encounter rather than a romantic reunion. It turns the narrator’s yearning into a transaction, heightening the sense of loneliness. By dropping the loud riffs for a vulnerable, understated delivery, Turner created a story you don't just hear, but inhabit. More than a decade on, 'Cornerstone' remains a rare staple that can hush a festival crowd into silence before a massive singalong, a pure distillation of why this band is so special.
Right at the start of this journey, I mentioned sitting with my dad to watch 'Queen' at Wembley. I couldn’t have been very old, but the imagery is burned into my mind: Freddie in that iconic yellow jacket and Adidas trainers, Brian May with his legendary guitar, and the sheer, overwhelming scale of the crowd. While I don't listen to the 'Live at Wembley '86 album regularly, when I do, I am instantly transported back to that living room and that time in my life.
I’ve chosen 'Love of My Life' because of its simplistic, staggering beauty. There is a profound juxtaposition in hearing just Freddie’s voice and a single guitar against the roar of tens of thousands of people singing every word back to him. It turns a massive stadium into something incredibly intimate. It is a moment of pure connection between an artist and his audience that few have ever matched.
Knowing what we know now, that these Wembley shows were among the final performances of the original lineup, adds a haunting, bittersweet layer to the song. It feels less like a simple ballad and more like a farewell. Including this track felt only right; it isn't just a piece of music history, but a cornerstone of my own history, too.
I have previously described 'Seventeen Going Under' as the best song of the last ten years, and it is a statement I stand by completely. It achieved something that has become increasingly rare for guitar-based music in the modern era: it dominated the charts while simultaneously providing a devastating social observation of life in Britain today. While Sam Fender describes the track as an autobiographical look at his own late teens, its lyrics offer snapshots of a reality faced by millions.
This song is a rallying cry from one of Britain’s finest songwriters, directed at both those in power and those left struggling. Having lived it himself, Sam understands the severity of the challenges facing working-class communities up and down the country. In my lifetime, I can point to two pivotal moments in guitar music: the first was 'Arctic Monkeys' releasing 'AM' when we were teenagers, giving us a sound we could believe in. The second was the release of this song.
In a musical climate often dominated by songwriting armies and generic pop, 'Seventeen Going Under' proved that a songwriter with a guitar and something to say can still make a profound impact. Sam’s tales of growing up in North Shields have resonated with millions, myself included. It is one of the most vital entries on this list because it didn't just make Sam Fender a star; it turned him into the voice of a generation.
Some songs on this list define a generation; others act as a time machine to a specific place or person. 'Give Yourself a Try' doesn't necessarily aim for that kind of historical weight, but it is, quite simply, a phenomenal piece of music. The 1975 are a band that many love to hate, often dismissed as a group purely for teenagers with nothing substantial to say beyond the antics of their controversial frontman. Those people couldn't be more wrong.
I was torn between a few tracks for this spot, but I chose 'Give Yourself a Try' for its unrelenting nature. The song is driven by a piercing, repetitive riff that feels deeply indebted to the post-punk legacy of 'Joy Division', paired with quick-witted, clever lyrics that are instantly relatable. It is the sound of a band with a lot to say—a group that has accepted who they are while simultaneously pushing the boundaries of what they can become.
Within their sprawling discography, this is the track I find myself returning to most often. When I finally saw them live, it was the moment that blew me away. It felt visceral and powerful, a few minutes where the band seemed to teeter on the edge of spiralling out of control, yet still completely commanded the room. It remains one of their very best musical efforts and a testament to their skill as performers
Manchester has more rockstars per capita than any other city in the world. From Joy Division and 'The Smiths' to the 'Happy Mondays', Oasis, 808 State, and A Guy Called Gerald, it is a city defined by a staggering musical heritage. 'New Order' is the band that perhaps best embodies the spirit of the place: its beauty, its brutality, its wit, and its resilience. For me, 'Age of Consent' is synonymous with the city itself; it simply sounds like Manchester.
Spanning five minutes and fourteen seconds of melancholic guitar-pop perfection, the song captures a band rising from the ashes of 'Joy Division' following the tragic death of Ian Curtis. It serves as both a fitting tribute to their past and a bold stride toward the future. The track is a masterclass in collaboration, built on Peter Hook’s instantly recognisable, driving bass line and Bernard Sumner’s intricate guitar work. It even cleverly repurposes the Stephen Morris drum beat from 'Love Will Tear Us Apart', layered with the brilliant, shimmering string synths of Gillian Gilbert.
'Age of Consent' possesses a warmth that 'Joy Division' often reached for but never quite grasped. While Manchester has produced an endless stream of legendary tracks, this one stands among the very best. It is a song ingrained in the fabric of the streets, the clubs, and the history of the North—a true masterpiece of 80s alternative music.
I absolutely love Florence; I think the music she creates is nothing short of spectacular. She remains one of the most innovative and defining voices of recent memory: a true force of nature whose songs are well-crafted, exceptional pieces of art. While her entire catalogue is impressive, 'Queen of Peace' stands out as a towering achievement in her discography.
Taken from her 2015 album 'How Big, How Blue, How Beautiful', the song is a masterclass in building tension. It opens with a brass section that feels almost royal before erupting into a driving, cinematic rhythm that carries Florence’s vocals to incredible heights. What makes this track so special is its "wall of sound" quality; it feels enormous, yet every instrument, from the strings to the heavy percussion, has its own place. It is a song that demands to be heard at full volume.
Beyond the music, the song explores the exhausting struggle of trying to keep the peace in a relationship that is destined to fail. Florence uses regal, almost mythological metaphors to describe emotional conflict, turning a personal struggle into something that feels legendary. When I hear this song, I’m struck by the sheer power and control in her voice; she manages to sound both vulnerable and untouchable at the same time. It is a breathtaking piece of music from an artist who truly has no equal in the modern landscape.
Released in 2007 as the centrepiece of their critically acclaimed second album, 'Sound of Silver', 'All My Friends' was the moment James Murphy and Pat Mahoney transitioned from dance-punk provocateurs to indie-electronic pioneers. It was more than just a single; it was a demonstration of Murphy’s unique ability to blend the mechanical precision of a DJ set with the raw, messy storytelling of a rock ballad.
At its core, the song is a love letter to youth and a meditation on the bittersweet anxiety of getting older. It grapples with the tension between youthful excess, the late nights and shared secrets and the inevitable, sobering march toward adulthood. The haunting, repetitive plea, "Where are your friends tonight?", captures the creeping loneliness of the "settling down" years.
Yet, the song isn't a funeral for youth; it’s a defiant celebration of the scars we earned along the way. When Murphy sings, "I wouldn't trade one stupid decision for another five years of life," he’s arguing that the "wasted" time was actually the most important time of all.
Musically, the song is a masterclass in tension, beginning with those iconic, interlocking pianos that sound like a single, humming machine. As Murphy layers in synths and crashing percussion, the track mirrors life’s own repetitive rhythms, building to a crescendo that feels both exhausting and uplifting. It is peppered with sharp observations, from the grit of late-night honesty to the strikingly relatable image of "having a face like your dad."
The industry's respect for the track is unparalleled; it’s been called the "cool guys’ 'Mr. Brightside'" by Matty Healy of The 1975, who borrowed the riff for his own track 'Sex', and it even counted David Bowie as a devoted fan. Ultimately, 'All My Friends' remains a euphoric, messy, and beautiful map of life’s highs and lows, a song that captures the bittersweet chaos of growing up.
March 29th, 2017. I had just finished watching 'Blossoms' for the first time at Birmingham’s O2 Academy, and as we walked out of what had been an incredible gig, The Less I Know the Better began to pulse over the speakers. In that moment, the night felt electric. It is a perfectly crafted psychedelic-pop masterpiece that sounds like a fever dream where 'The Beatles' of 1966 meet the disco-groove of the Bee Gees, mixed with the funk of Prince, the atmosphere of Pink Floyd, and the digital precision of Daft Punk. It is a dizzying cocktail of genres, sounds, and eras, all perfectly formulated into four and a half minutes of modern pop perfection.
For my generation, 'Currents' is one of the most important and influential albums ever made. We were fifteen when it was released in 2015, and it served as a gateway into a whole new world of sound. It proved to us that pop music didn't have to be formulaic or manufactured; it could be innovative, strange, and deeply personal. The record is a journey from start to finish, featuring the sprawling, transformative epic 'Let it Happen', the hazy beauty of 'Eventually', and the synth-drenched 'Yes I'm Changing'. It showed us that a "banger" could also be a work of art.
The visionary behind it all is Kevin Parker, an Australian musician with an uncanny knack for creating songs that are as intellectually interesting as they are danceable. This specific track sparked a deep love for 'Tame Impala' that has only grown over the years. Whether it’s the stomping psych-rock of 'Elephant', the nostalgic pulse of 'Lost in Yesterday', or the raw energy of 'Alter Ego', Parker has consistently redefined the landscape. 'The Less I Know the Better' remains the ultimate testament to that 'Currents' era, a moment when guitar music and electronic pop collided to create something entirely new.
The Jam is a band I fell in love with as a direct consequence of my other listening habits. During Sixth Form, they became a staple of my soundtrack, introduced through a mate, his dad, and our collective obsession with Oasis, Ocean Colour Scene, and The Stone Roses. I could have easily populated this list with their heavy hitters, the frantic energy of 'A Town Called Malice', the chart-topping 'Going Underground', the acoustic beauty of 'That’s Entertainment', or even 'Down in the Tube Station at Midnight', which we played on a constant loop in our sixth form study room. However, I chose 'Strange Town' because it captures a different kind of brilliance.
Unlike many of Paul Weller’s most famous tracks, 'Strange Town' isn't a commentary on class struggle or political tension; instead, it is a visceral exploration of the alienation we face when moving to a new environment. Weller masterfully compares the feeling of being an outsider to that of an alien or a UFO, capturing the disorientation of not knowing how to navigate new people, new ideas, or a new city. It is an overlooked classic that possesses everything that makes 'The Jam' legendary: incredibly tight instrumentation, clever, sharp-witted lyrics, and a brilliant vocal performance. It is the sound of a band at the peak of their powers, turning a universal feeling of displacement into three-and-a-half minutes of mod-pop perfection.
I have written about 'Common People' before, but no list of definitive music would be complete without it. To me, it is the crowning jewel of the Britpop movement and quite simply one of the most important British songs ever written. At its heart, it’s a subverted love song where the protagonist meets a girl who wants to "live like common people", fetishising the reality of millions of working-class individuals who don't have the luxury of choice.
Pulp managed to sum up the entire British class system in a five-and-a-half-minute pop song, highlighting the biting truth that no matter how much she tries to "slum it," she will never truly understand the struggle because she always has a safety net to fall back into.
The song’s status as a cultural legend was cemented during their 1995 headline set at Glastonbury. Originally, 'The Stone Roses' were meant to play, but after John Squire broke his collarbone, 'Pulp' stepped in as the "super-subs." They didn't just fill the slot; they owned it. Standing in front of a sea of people, Jarvis Cocker delivered 'Common People' with a defiant energy that felt like a victory for every person the song was written about. It was the moment 'Pulp' went from being a quirky indie band to becoming the definitive voice of a generation. Decades later, the track still sounds as fresh, sharp, and relevant as the day it was released. It is a masterpiece of storytelling and a brutal, beautiful observation of the country we live in.
I set out to choose a song for every year of my life, and at twenty-five years old, that has meant narrowing a library of 3,767 songs down to just twenty-five definitive tracks. Some were effortless choices; others were agonising. If I were to finish this list next week, I guarantee it would look different, but that is the beauty of music: it moves with you. Before I reveal the final two, it feels important to acknowledge the songs that almost made the cut but remain vital to my story.
There are the ever-present anthems like 'Noel Gallagher's High Flying Birds' and 'AKA... What a Life!', a track that has stayed with me since I first discovered 'Oasis'. There is the nostalgic pulse of 'INXS' and 'New Sensation' being played by my dad, or the childhood memory of hearing 'Coldplay' and 'Fix You' through the car speakers. I think of 'The Killers' and 'Read My Mind', the linchpin of my teenage years that sparked a lifelong love for the boys from Vegas, or 'The Sherlocks' and 'Was It Really Worth It?', which provided the high-octane soundtrack to my first-ever standing gig.
I could have spent weeks writing about The Clause being the 'Weekend Millionaire', or Tears for Fears and their timeless anti-war banger 'Everybody Wants to Rule the World'. Or even CMAT's love letter to Ireland with 'Euro Country'
Countless more tracks have had a profound impact on me, each a small piece of the map that led me here. Narrowing this down was a challenge, but these 25 represent the core. Roll on next year, when I can add number twenty-six!
I’ve mentioned many people who have shaped my musical journey, but I haven't yet spoken about my friend Archie. We met at university, we lived in the same corridor, and we quickly bonded over a shared obsession with music. After the usual, high-energy debates about Oasis, Joy Division, New Order, Arctic Monkeys, and Franz Ferdinand, Archie urged me to give Pink Floyd another proper listen. I followed his advice, and one night, fueled by lager and listening through a pair of cheap earphones.
'Wish You Were Here' was the track that immediately took hold of me. While Pink Floyd is often celebrated for their vast, cosmic soundscapes, this song is a rare and striking collaboration between Roger Waters and David Gilmour that feels profoundly grounded and human.
It is an acoustic meditation on the loss of someone dear and the enduring power of friendship. The opening notes feel like a conversation between two people in a room, capturing that universal sense of longing and the feeling of being "lost souls swimming in a fish bowl." To me, it is one of the most beautiful and accessible songs in their catalogue, stripped of pretension and focused entirely on the raw emotion of absence.
It isn't just a classic rock staple; it’s a reminder of those late-night university conversations where music became the glue that held new friendships together.
The final song on this list is 'Favourite', the track that claimed my personal "Song of the Year" for 2024. It finds Fontaines D.C. in a reflective mood, with the band describing it as having a "never-ending sound to it, a continuous cycle from euphoria to sadness, two worlds spinning forever." Backed by a shimmering riff reminiscent of the Cure and their masterpiece 'Just Like Heaven', it is a song about life and the courage to embrace the challenges we face. The accompanying music video further grounds this sentiment, as the band honours one another by intertwining archive footage of their childhoods with scenes from a trip to Madrid, where guitarist Carlos O’Connell grew up. It’s a beautiful act of stepping back into each other’s lives to explore where they came from and who they still are.
Lyrically, 'Favourite' stands as some of the band’s strongest work to date. While their previous record, 'Skinty Fia', marked a massive leap in poetic ambition—particularly on tracks like 'I Love You', this song feels even more distilled and direct. Lines like "Each new day I get another year older" and "Every time you blink you feel a change" capture the dizzying speed of time and the disorientation of constant evolution. Elsewhere, the band nods to deeper cultural memories: the alienation of gentrification and the bittersweet ache of returning to a changed Ireland after years of touring. The lyric "Cities on return are often strange" perfectly encapsulates that sense of dislocation.
What makes 'Favourite' so exceptional is how it weaves these threads together, the personal and the political, the nostalgic and the immediate, without ever feeling weighed down. It is a song about memory and belonging, but also about the beauty of moving forward and holding onto the things that truly matter. It is the perfect note to end on.
So that brings this list to an end. The 25 songs, that made me smile, that made me cry, the songs that saved my life.
Thank you for reading x