Houston's Very Best Songs Ever

There's the incessant trips to the Stop N' Go (lyrics now need to be changed to Valero, but still...), the relatives, from chain-smoking new wife Kay who talks all about AA to electrically competent cousin David to Fran and Rita, the mystery kin from Harlingen, and the drinking — lots and lots of drinking, cut with plenty of football on TV. There's no snow save for the fake stuff on shelves at the Quik-Pak store, and nobody knows what to think of the Mexican boyfriend little sister brought to dinner until he sings "Feliz Navidad."

It's easily the greatest Texas Christmas song ever written, but it transcends the season and stands as a great slice-of-life depiction of suburban Texans handling stress as only they can — by stocking up at Spec's early and often and then filling in on accessories like celery and lemons as needed later. — J.N.L.

11. "Damn It Feels Good to Be a ­Gangsta"

Geto Boys

Uncut Dope

1992

"Damn It Feels Good to Be a Gangsta" isn't the Geto Boys' best song, and it's sure as hell not their most violent, paranoid or depraved, but you can bet all three copies of your TPS report it's the one most white people know. In Mike Judge's 1999 cult comedy Office Space, this handy guide to everyday gangsta do's and don'ts — remember, "real gangsta-ass niggas don't flex nuts" — its brooding beats, unhurried Dirty South tempo and cocksure lyrics form a menacing backdrop as that trio of white-collar Initech geeks Peter, Samir and Michael Bolton implement their ill-­conceived embezzlement scheme. The song fits the scene as perfectly as fellow Houstonian B.J. Thomas's "Raindrops Keep Fallin' on My Head" in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid or the Stones' "Gimme Shelter" in Goodfellas. "Gangsta" has since been reimagined as "Damn It Feels Good to Be a Yuppie" by downsized Austin GOP punks the Yuppie Pricks and straight-up covered by Waco native Carter Falco for last year's I-35 Texas Country compilation. Now that's a crossover. — C.G.

10. "You're Gonna Miss Me"

Thirteenth Floor Elevators

The Psychedelic Sounds of the Thirteenth Floor Elevators

1966

Without these two-and-a-half driving minutes of barely suppressed agony, kicked off by Roky Erickson's unearthly Janis Joplin-like wail, the '60s would have sounded mighty different. Its lyrics are as simple as any blues — "I gave you the warning, you never heeded it, how can you say you miss my lovin' when you never needed it?" — but it's Erickson's urgent delivery (and bitter harmonica in the outro) that really sells it. Recorded here in Houston — not Dallas, as has long been circulated — it was a smash in the Southwest, a No. 55 hit nationwide and longtime favorite of Doug Sahm, who recorded it with sons Shandon and Shawn for landmark (and shamefully out-of-print) 1990 Erickson tribute album Where the Pyramid Meets the Eye. More than 40 years later, while Erickson's recent comeback reaffirms just how true his lyrics really were — and are — "You're Gonna Miss Me" still has the power to blow your mind. Seek out the Elevators' Halloween 1966 American Bandstand performance on YouTube for proof. — C.G.

9. "Whiskey River"

Johnny Bush/Willie Nelson

Whiskey River/Shotgun Willie

1972/1973

Willie Nelson was doing all right before he recorded "Whiskey River" for 1973's Shotgun Willie, but the ode to the ­memory-erasing properties of a good sour mash sent the Red Headed Stranger's career into a completely different orbit. It's become as much a signature song as "Night Life" or "Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain," and he's opened every concert with "Whiskey River" for decades now. Over the years, it's even lent its name to a Dallas nightclub and a brand of bourbon, both partially owned by Nelson, and is still a saloon in several states. However, "Whiskey River" was never selected as a single from Shotgun Willie, perhaps because the previous year it was a top 15 country hit for its author, Kashmere Gardens-raised Johnny Bush. A longtime friend, fellow alumnus of Ray Price's Cherokee Cowboys, and Nelson's RCA labelmate at the time, Bush had several hits of his own ("You Gave Me a Mountain," "I'll Be There") in the late '60s and early '70s and was poised for even greater stardom before his voice gave out. He thought it was God's punishment for his promiscuous lifestyle, but it turned out to be a rare vocal-cord ailment called spasmodic dysphonia. Bush sought the help of a vocal coach in the mid-'80s and began a lengthy comeback that crested this year with the excellent Kashmere Gardens Mud CD and an autobiography entitled — what else? — Whiskey River. — C.G.

8. "Please Send Me Someone to Love"

Esther Phillips

Burnin' (Live)

1970

Percy Mayfield, "the poet laureate of the blues," was born in Louisiana and died in California but spent his formative years in Houston. Mayfield penned dozens of great songs — most notably "Hit the Road, Jack" for Ray Charles — but none surpassed "Please Send Me Someone to Love," one of the most-covered blues/R&B songs of all time. Everyone from Count Basie and Etta James to Fiona Apple and Jeff Buckley has taken a crack at it.

In words direct and simple as a child's Christmas prayer, Mayfield begs a higher power to send love to all: "Heaven please send to all mankind, understanding and peace of mind, and if it's not asking too much, please send me someone to love." The melody matches this exquisiteness. While it is resigned enough to lead you to believe that love is in the cards neither for the world nor the singer, a faint glimmer of hope remains on the final stanza: "Show the world how to get along, peace will enter when hate is gone, but if it's not asking too much, please send me someone to love."

Few versions surpass this one by Esther Phillips, a singer who shouldn't need any introduction to modern audiences but probably does.

A native of Galveston who spent much of her too-short life shuttling between her father's house in Houston and her mother's in Los Angeles, Phillips dominated the R&B charts in 1950, when she was all of 15 years old. Her biggest pop hit came after her rediscovery (by Kenny Rogers) 12 years later, when she scored big with her lush, majestic rendition of the country standard "Release Me."

By that time the pint-size dynamo was already grappling with joneses for both heroin and whiskey, twin monkeys that never left her back until her death of liver failure in 1984. But along the way she would leave behind some of the finest recordings of the '60s and early '70s, and stake a strong claim as the greatest female vocalist Houston ever produced.

Philips ran the gamut from gutbucket blues to big band jazz to soul-country to pure pop to British Invasion rock — both the Beatles' "And I Love Her" and the Stones' "As Tears Go By" were in her repertoire. She was at her best when, much like Ray Charles, she combined all that in one song.

And there was that voice. Man, that voice, equally capable of Lady Day vulnerability, Etta James fire, and the sophistication and hard-bitten diction she learned from her heroine Dinah Washington. Like Nina Simone, Phillips had the rare ability to match a nasal, razor-sharp edge with supple, full-throated phrasing, albeit without ever sounding as kittenish as Simone. (There's an echo of that style, albeit a faint one, in Amy Winehouse.)

Atlantic Records honcho Ahmet Ertegun called Phillips a singer of "extreme soul" who "thrilled you no matter what she sang." When Aretha Franklin edged out Phillips for a Grammy in 1972, legend has it the Queen of Soul deemed Phillips the more deserving of the two and handed the statuette over. One day Phillips will be rediscovered — mark our words. — J.N.L.

7. "Mind Playin' Tricks on Me"

The Geto Boys

We Can't Be Stopped

1991

In 1991, in the eyes of then-young Hip-Hop America, rap was still a bicoastal game. Sure, Miami's 2 Live Crew had enjoyed a couple of hits, but those nasty party jams were mere novelty records.

The Dirty South had not yet begun to truly fight. "Mind Playin' Tricks on Me" would change all that. Not only would the song top the Billboard rap charts and crack the top 25 in pop, but it would also demonstrate that Southerners could rap about something other than sex.

Over a melancholy, insistent jazz guitar riff culled from "Hung Up on My Baby," an Isaac Hayes instrumental, the paranoid, borderline psychotic rhymes of Bushwick Bill, Willie D and Scarface set a new standard in true gangsta poetry. Often tabbed by national critics as one of the top rap songs ever, "Mind Playin' Tricks..." surfaces often in the work of other masters. The Notorious B.I.G. would nod to the song in the lyrics of his hit single "One More Chance," while Scarface's "I had a woman down with me..." lines bubble up in the effervescent mix behind Andre 3000 on OutKast's "She Lives in My Lap." — J.N.L.

6. "Turn On Your Love Light"

Bobby "Blue" Bland

Here's the Man!!!

1961

Joe Scott, Duke-Peacock's in-house conductor/arranger /music director, epitomized the word "sublime." There's never so much as a sixteenth-note out of place in his creations, and "Turn on Your Love Light" is a flawless example.

The up-tempo gospel-drenched rave-up erupts out of the blocks with a trumpet fanfare over drums and Teddy Reynolds's prominent piano riff; seconds later Wayne Bennett's electric guitar interlocks with Reynolds's keyboards and Bland comes swooping in with his alternately scratchy and silken baritone, singing blue words that don't jibe with the joyous abandon of the music: "Without a warnin', you broke my heart, you took it darlin' and you tore it apart."

At about the one-minute mark, all falls away save for the sanctified funky beats of not one but two drummers who pop and crash away as Bland, by now pleading, croons that he gets a little lonely in the middle of the night, and he needs you, darling, to make things all right. An impeccable sax solo leads into Bland's trademark "squall," and he roars, redeemed on the fade-out "I feel alright!" Rarely can two minutes, 40 seconds be better spent. — J.N.L.

5. "La Grange"

ZZ Top

Tres Hombres

1974

Marvin Zindler's passing this summer raises an interesting question about ZZ Top: If the flamboyant newsman's investigation hadn't led to infamous Fayette County brothel the Chicken Ranch's August 1973 closure, would "La Grange" have still appeared on the Lil' Ol' Band from Texas's 1974 album Tres Hombres? Maybe, even probably, not. And then what? No Worldwide Texas tour... no Degüello... no "Legs" video? Though other Tres Hombres songs are better — "Beer Drinkers and Hell Raisers" rocks harder, and "Waitin' for the Bus/Jesus Just Left Chicago" is a better blues — "La Grange" was the first domino to fall, the song that made ZZ Top's bones, so to speak. It quickly became a staple of the emerging FM radio format known as Album-­Oriented Rock and reclaimed the blues for American rock bands when Brits like Eric Clapton, Led Zeppelin and the Rolling Stones had all but stolen them away. Said to be lifted wholesale from John Lee Hooker's "Boogie Chillun," "La Grange" is in fact unique to ZZ Top, if only for the trio's vacuum tightness and Billy Gibbons's leering vocals. Honestly, it can be worked up by reasonably talented musicians in a couple of hours — which some band out there is probably, hopefully, doing this very moment. — C.G.

4. "Pancho and Lefty"

Townes Van Zandt

Live at the Old Quarter, Houston, Texas

1977 release of a 1972 recording

An enigmatic tale with a more or less clear story arc, Van Zandt's tale of two bandits and their respective demises seems likely to become an American standard. Over a gorgeously simple, achingly sad melody, Van Zandt spins an epic in which just enough detail is omitted to eternally tantalize all who fall under the song's spell. What did Lefty do to Pancho? Why did the Federales let him get away? Why did Lefty go to Cleveland, of all places? Is the song about Pancho Villa and Lefty Frizzell, as I thought as a kid? Van Zandt himself declared often that he knew the answers to none of these questions, save the last. (The answer is no, it is not about either of them.)

A Willie Nelson and Merle Haggard duet took the song to the top of the country charts in 1983, and the song has been recorded by Emmylou Harris and dozens of other artists of lesser fame.

More than that, the song has infiltrated the world's psyche. A few years ago, a Pancho and Lefty's Sports Bar stood on a barrio corner on the near north side, and Rodney Crowell recently told me several hundred Swedes sang along on the chorus when he performed the song there. Van Zandt himself once had a close encounter with his own brainchild on the outskirts of Houston, decades after it was released. Pulled over for speeding near Brookshire by Anglo/Mexican-American highway patrolmen, Van Zandt's ticket was summarily dismissed when his authorship of the song was discovered. Turns out that the two cops were known as "Pancho and Lefty" back at the station house. — J.N.L.

3. "I Can See Clearly Now"

Johnny Nash

I Can See Clearly Now

1972

Big Pharma should bottle this song and sell it; shrinks should prescribe it to all those who have the blues. This is one tune with optimism enough to put Prozac out of business. The pop-reggae gem passes like a giant sigh of relief; it's plain from the hard-won calm obvious in Nash's angelic, Sam Cooke-style tenor that he has indeed been truly delivered from some very dark places.

Native Houstonian Nash has had one of the oddest careers in American pop history. After stints as an actor and a billing as "America's First Black Teen Idol," Nash's career took off after he moved to Jamaica in the late '60s. There he befriended the not-yet-internationally famous Bob Marley and started incorporating rocksteady and early reggae into his gospel-tinged R&B.

"I Can See Clearly Now" was the most famous and best result. Up until its release, no one reggae song had captivated mainstream listeners with as much force, and Nash belongs right up there with artists like Marley and Desmond Dekker as one of the music's foremost early popularizers. Not bad for a guy who only a decade or so before had been humping golf bags in Hermann Park. — J.N.L.

2. "Night Life"

Willie Nelson

The Essential Willie Nelson

circa 1960

As the '60s dawned, Willie Nelson was fresh out of the Air Force and living in Pasadena with his first wife and three kids. He worked six nights a week backing local star Larry Butler on bass and DJed the seventh day.

Meanwhile, he was writing a few songs on the side in his car, while commuting between his digs in Pasadena and his gigs on the Hempstead Highway. He got hot one week and wrote three of the greatest songs in country music history: "Crazy," "Funny How Time Slips Away" and "Night Life," perhaps the most covered country song of all time.

And deservedly so. Lovable losers and no-'count boozers could hope for no better anthem than this resigned statement of near-suicidal intent. Sure, the barrooms might be full of people dreaming of old used-to-be's and reenacting scene after scene from the world of broken dreams, but just listen to the blues they're playing. The night life ain't no good life, but it's my life, indeed. — J.N.L.

1. "Tighten Up"

Archie Bell and the Drells

Tighten Up

1968

The very best song from Houston has to do it all. It has to be a great piece of music made by Houstonians still based in town, it has to mention Houston and it has to draw on native musical traditions. It also is known all over the world. And just for good measure, "Tighten Up" is also preeminently danceable and stands as one of the greatest party records ever put on wax.

"Tighten Up" does all that and even more. Somehow, it can almost make you feel our climate. Think about it. The way the timbre of the band — the T.S.U. Toronados — seems to breathe in and out. The balmy, sighing horns, the funky little electric guitar riff, the sweaty organ and a loping bass guitar with a tone so warm it seems to be grinning.

It's all as gracious and hospitable as springtime sunshine: The music on "Tighten Up" sounds the way a sunny April day in Houston feels. Playing it in your car can carry your mind from an exhaust-choked stop-and-go pileup on the Katy Freeway in the gray December twilight to a beery beach blanket picnic in the noontime sun on West Beach in May. Like Archie says, "Now make it mellow!"

Note: There's some controversy about Bell's intro, to wit, does he say, "We can dance just as good as we walk" or "We can dance just as good as we want"? I'm siding with "want," for two reasons. One, it makes more sense, and two, it is clearly what he actually does say. — J.N.L.

Criteria

Songs were selected on several criteria. First, there's "Houston-ness," by which we mean an indelible tie to the Bayou City. Songs composed by Houstonians are all eligible, though natives and long-term residents of the city scored higher than transients in this regard. For example, two-thirds of the principal members of the Geto Boys were born and raised here and remain in the city, while Willie Nelson spent three short, though creatively productive, years living in Pasadena. Thus the Geto Boys are more "Houston" than Willie.

Other ways to qualify include being signed to a Houston label (the Thirteenth Floor Elevators, for example), if the song is about Houston no matter where the author came from or if the song was recorded here. If a song combines several factors, it obviously scores higher in ­Houston-ness than those with fewer.

As for the aesthetics, this was not strictly a popularity contest, of course; it isn't merely based on what Houston songs sold the best. It also had to be both a great tune and at least somewhat historically important. And finally, to make the top 20, a song has to be at least five years old. True classics need at least a little time to prove themselves as such. — John Nova Lomax