This week In ‘2000s Throwback’ 04/52
Adele, Beth Hart, D’Angelo, Beach House, System Of A Down, Alicia Keys, Radiohead, The Corrs, Arctic Monkeys, Adele, The Cranberries, Sharon Jones, The Dap Kings
They are the ‘2000s Throwback’ artists selected among the 350 Posts we publish this week.
Here, they are reunited in one glorious playlist. Enjoy!
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AUDIO ONLY
Tracklist
![]() 1 . Adele . Make You Feel My LoveBorn from the pen of Bob Dylan in 1997 and famously covered by Adele on her debut album *19*, “Make You Feel My Love” twists the typical break-up ballad into a heartfelt plea of unwavering devotion. Its journey from Dylan’s weathered vocals to Adele’s polished delivery highlights its ability to cross generations and styles. Originally included on Dylan’s *Time Out of Mind*, the song took a detour, finding its first commercial release in Billy Joel’s hands before landing with Adele over a decade later. Her manager managed to cajole her into including this lone cover on *19*, a decision that paid off when the track initially climbed to No. 26 on the UK Singles Chart. In an odd twist of fate, it seemed dormant until talent-show contestants resurrected it in 2010, catapulting the track to No. 4, a testament to its lasting resonance in the British public’s imagination. Adequately understated, Mat Kirkby’s accompanying music video situates Adele in unadorned surroundings at London’s Marriott Hotel Canary Wharf, as her voice alone does the heavy lifting. It’s a stark counterpoint to the digital age’s usual grandiose visuals, peaking at over 190 million YouTube views by mid-2024. Live performances became the song’s secondary life. Whether sung to a camera on BBC’s *Adele at the BBC* or to eager ticket buyers in a summer residency in Germany, Adele’s delivery is less about vocal pyrotechnics and more about control and sincerity. There’s something oddly fitting that a song originally penned by Dylan—a man as famous for his unpolished delivery as his lyrics—is treated with such vocal sheen while still retaining its emotional weight. The biggest tension in the track might be this: a modern perfectionist spin on a classic, written by an artist who thrives on imperfection. That Adele could navigate this tension and make it her own speaks volumes about not only the song’s durability but her ability to repackage raw emotion into something sleek and commercially explosive. ![]() |
![]() 2 . Beth Hart . Baby BabyBeth Hart’s performance at the Southern Brewers Festival in Chattanooga delivers a gritty blend of raw energy and precision songwriting. “Isolation” opens with her signature rasp pulling tension from the keys, a meditation on solitude that feels both personal and vaguely cinematic, like a monologue delivered in a dimly lit room populated by empty chairs. “Good As It Gets” moves in a different direction, a swaggering blues-rock number that struts more than it saunters, punctuated by the kind of guitar riffs that, while not groundbreaking, achieve their purpose with satisfying effectiveness. The song’s lyrics wrestle with resilience versus disillusionment, an anthem for those who aren’t sure if they’re doing fine or just surviving. Then comes “Hiding Underwater,” a brooding ballad where Hart’s voice climbs to its sharpest peaks and hollows out into aching lows, her control over dynamics adding depth to what could have been a standard slow track in a lesser artist’s hands. Her band plays with the synchronicity of seasoned musicians, though it’s her vocals that define the set—gravelly and unrelenting yet restrained enough to avoid tipping into melodrama. Captured on video, the footage highlights the kind of charisma that doesn’t translate into pyrotechnics or exaggerated theatrics; Beth’s stage presence lies in her authenticity, the sense that she’s unaware—or perhaps just uninterested—in who’s watching. In an age of oversaturated showmanship, her set feels refreshingly unpolished, more barroom confessional than festival spectacle. The contradictions at play—raw vulnerability set against tight musicianship, dramatic themes tempered by her no-frills delivery—underscore what makes Hart’s music compelling, even if not always easy to categorize. ![]() |
![]() 3 . D’Angelo . Untitled [How Does It Feel]Released at the dawn of the new millennium, D’Angelo’s “Untitled (How Does It Feel)” manages to split time like a funk-fueled time capsule. This isn’t just a song; it’s a reverberation from the past thrown head-first into the awkward romance of Y2K. With its clear homage to Prince, the track pulls threads from the early ‘80s, crafting a lush, vintage sound infused with the unmistakable sass of contemporary neo-soul. The six-eight time signature adds a strange and seductive sway, while Raphael Saadiq’s intricate guitar work nods toward Hendrix, with a touch of “Maggot Brain”-era Funkadelic lurking in the background. Lyrically, it’s about as subtle as a velvet anvil, speaking to desire in a way that’s both unashamed and unembarrassed, yet somehow manages to skirt around the banal clichés that often plague such themes. And then, of course, there’s the music video—a fever dream of shirtless vulnerability that solidified D’Angelo as both a musical powerhouse and an unwitting sex symbol. The image of him stripped down to his physical (and perhaps emotional) core has become iconic, and judging by its influence on later visual offerings by Jason Derulo and Panic at the Disco, its impact lingers. Sure, it climbed charts and nabbed awards, but the track’s real genius lies in its ability to morph influences into something both familiar and singularly its own. “Untitled” doesn’t reinvent the wheel; it polishes it, grooves it, and sends it rolling smoothly through decades of R&B lineage until it arrives in your headphones like a perfectly aged bottle of funk seduction. ![]() D’Angelo releases his second album . ‘Voodoo’ featuring ‘Untitled (How Does It Feel)’ (2000) |
![]() 4 . Beach House . Zebra“Zebra” by Beach House sits comfortably in the dream-pop spectrum, exuding an otherworldly glow that feels both distant and intimate. Hailing from the duo’s 2010 album *Teen Dream*, the track acts less as a narrative and more like a shimmering mood board drenched in nostalgia. Victoria Legrand’s airy vocals weave through an arrangement of hazy organs and Alex Scally’s cascading guitar lines, crafting a hypnotic blend of melody and melancholy. The song’s production, guided by Chris Coady, avoids overindulgence, instead letting each sonic layer unfold gracefully, much like an endless desert horizon. Its accompanying video, directed by Mark Brown, leans into abstraction with its blurring colors and sunbaked landscapes, a fitting visual for the track’s ethereal tone. The lyrics evoke a mix of cryptic imagery and longing, echoing the track’s restless and wandering spirit without succumbing to overt explanations. While “Zebra” sidesteps traditional chart success, it thrives in its ability to linger with listeners, quietly etching itself into indie lore as part of the transformative *Teen Dream* era. ![]() Sub Pop publish Beach House’s third album . ‘Teen Dream’ (2010) |
![]() 5 . System Of A Down . Chop Suey!“Chop Suey!” by System of a Down is a chaotic whirlwind of contradictions, fusing aggression with melancholy in a way that feels both disjointed and oddly harmonious. Released in 2001, its sharp, sardonic energy is underscored by lyrics that oscillate between religious introspection and existential frustration, leaving listeners simultaneously awed and bewildered. The band’s Armenian-American identity sneaks through, most notably with a brief flash of the Armenian flag in the accompanying music video, shot in a motel parking lot surrounded by fans—a low-budget setting that somehow amplifies the song’s raw intensity. Rick Rubin’s production lets the chaos shine without becoming completely unhinged, balancing ferocious guitar riffs with melodic piano breaks that feel like a respite from the storm. The song’s meteoric rise, from being briefly censored post-9/11 to reaching one billion YouTube views by 2020, speaks to its enduring capacity to provoke and connect. It dabbles in the absurd—naming itself after a Chinese takeout staple—while tackling themes of mortality, sacrifice, and guilt, showing a gleeful disregard for genre boundaries. The lyrics, veering from cryptic to confrontational, sink their teeth into the psyche, leaving a trail of questions and no clean answers. Although mislabeled by many as strictly “metal,” the track only loosely adheres to the genre, incorporating unexpected dynamics that ping-pong between frenzied screams and soft, almost hymn-like laments. Love it or hate it, “Chop Suey!” is anything but passive listening—it forces itself into consciousness, demanding reaction, reflection, or just stunned silence. ![]() |
![]() 6 . Alicia Keys . UnbreakableAlicia Keys’ “Unbreakable” slides onto her 2005 live album “Unplugged” with a swagger that balances her signature mix of heartfelt lyrics and undeniable charisma. While it missed the Top 20 on the U.S. Billboard Hot 100—landing at an uncharacteristic No. 34—it flexes its gravitas on the Hot R&B/Hip-Hop Songs chart, where it reached an impressive No. 4, proving its staying power where it matters most: her R&B roots. Performed live on the MTV Unplugged stage, the track showcases Keys’ organic synergy with her piano and her audience, blending understated vocal runs with the kind of intimacy studio recordings can’t always capture. It’s a no-frills affair without flashy collaborations, relying instead on the raw pull of her performance, amplified by the stripped-back nature of the acoustic set. “Unbreakable” isn’t just a song; it’s an exercise in connection—a moment built not for domination on the charts, but for savoring in the space between commercial ambition and artistic authenticity. ![]() |
![]() 7 . Radiohead . A Wolf At the Door“A Wolf at the Door,” the closing track of Radiohead’s album “Hail to the Thief,” stands as a discordant lullaby that refuses to let you drift quietly into the night. With a labyrinth of shifting tempos and melodies intertwining forms of D Minor and D Major, the song delivers a fractured sonic experience that demands attention rather than invites passivity. Jonny Greenwood aptly likens the lyrics to a Grimms’ fairy tale—foreboding and surreal—and Thom Yorke’s vocals alternate between a half-snarled rap and pained falsetto. The metaphorical “wolf” Yorke evokes gnaws at themes of fear, betrayal, and survival, blending personal anxieties with societal dread like an ominous bedtime story for adults. Though complex, it’s crafted with enough restraint to keep its chaos just under control. Placed at the end of an already tumultuous record, it’s a fitting finale, serving less as resolution and more as a cracking spotlight forcing a look at lurking shadows. Even years after its release, the track maintains its relevance through scattered analyses on YouTube or callbacks to Radiohead’s prolific career, but it remains a sleeper among their more anthemic offerings. Curiously, this song was absent from Radiohead’s notable “Radiohead for Haiti” concert in 2010, a set that raised a hefty sum for Oxfam—demonstrating once again the band’s capacity to operate as both cultural provocateurs and philanthropists. Its understated stature within their catalog speaks less of its quality and more of how Radiohead routinely pushes boundaries, refusing to dwell on safe successes. This isn’t the guiding torch you carry through a forest; it’s the flicker in the corner of your eye that you can’t ignore. ![]() |
![]() 8 . The Corrs . Only Love Can Break Your HeartNeil Young’s “Only Love Can Break Your Heart,” later interpreted by The Corrs, straddles the fine line between melancholy and simplicity, capturing the fading embers of a failed relationship. Written in the shadow of Graham Nash and Joni Mitchell’s breakup, the track feels less like a lament and more like a private note meant for Nash, unraveling the complexities of heartbreak with a disarming sincerity. The original recording, birthed in Young’s Topanga, California home in March 1970, carries a tone that teeters between confessional and resigned. Its unadorned arrangement—light percussion, rustic piano lines, and a modest guitar melody—lets the weight of Young’s lyrics take center stage, a deliberate act that sidesteps grandeur for raw honesty. As his first solo track to graze the top 40 charts, peaking at number 33, it reflects the delicate art of storytelling housed within stripped-down musicality. Decades later, The Corrs give it a polished sheen that veers slightly from the song’s unpretentious origins, their version substituting introspection with a sense of airy resilience. While undeniably softer around the edges, their cover misses some of the original’s emotional immediacy, trading rawness for aesthetic fluidity. That said, the enduring appeal of this track lies in its universal truth: heartache, for all its bitterness, is a shared human condition, whether rendered in Young’s stark arrangements or The Corrs’ polished tones. ![]() |
![]() 9 . Arctic Monkeys . Perhaps Vampires Is A Bit Strong But…Arctic Monkeys’ “Perhaps Vampires Is a Bit Strong But…” stands as a charged moment on their debut album, *Whatever People Say I Am, That’s What I’m Not*, which stormed into British music history in 2006. This track isn’t the one people often single out, tucked as it is among better-known cuts, but it pulses with the same barbed energy and lyrical bite that defined an album capable of shifting the indie landscape. The song carries an undertone of defiance, its lyrics laced with suspicion and the peculiar irritation reserved for those who champion you only after success is assured. The instrumentation keeps its edge: angular guitars drive the tension, while Alex Turner’s vocal delivery maintains that Sheffield-stamped mix of wit and disinterest, ensuring no sentiment overstays its welcome. Though it never graced the charts directly, its significance lies within the larger narrative of a record that captured not just the mood but the movement of restless British youth. This was an era emboldened by humble beginnings, where MySpace buzz and local gigs propelled genuine talent past stale industry gatekeeping. The decision to include this otherwise understated track underscores the band’s willingness to confront hypocrisy while packaging it in something that feels both casually raw and meticulously deliberate. The beauty lies in its refusal to seek your approval, wearing its confrontation as unflinchingly as a lad shrugging off his pub tab. “Perhaps Vampires…” isn’t a breakthrough moment, but it doesn’t need to be to drive home its point; weaving defiance into an album that holds its place as both a product and critique of young, restless ambition in mid-2000s Britain. ![]() Arctic Monkeys release their debut album . ‘Whatever People Say . Am, That’s What I’m Not’ (2006) |
![]() 10 . Adele . Set Fire to the Rain“Set Fire to the Rain” defies the restrained elegance of Adele’s “21” with a sweeping dramatic flair that feels almost cinematic. Co-written with Fraser T. Smith, the track sidesteps the album’s minimalist tendencies by leaning on lush strings and a grandiose production that threatens, but never quite overpowers, Adele’s powerhouse vocals. Sung in the tempestuous key of D minor and driven along at 108 beats per minute, the melancholy is palpable yet strangely invigorating. The vocal range—spanning A3 to D5—is an exercise in controlled intensity, teetering on the edge of heartbreak but not daring to fall apart. Released as the third U.S. single in late 2011, the song transcended borders, peaking at No. 1 across disparate territories from Belgium to the U.S., a rare feat that speaks volumes about its universal resonance. The lack of an official music video—thanks to Adele’s vocal surgery—feels less like a loss and more like a flex; the live performance from her “Royal Albert Hall” show has become the de facto visual, its unpolished authenticity earning her a Grammy for Best Pop Solo Performance. While some may argue the song leans into melodrama, its narrative of emotional conflict and resilience—set ablaze as only Adele can—cements it as unforgettable. ![]() |
![]() 11 . The Cranberries . Animal Instinct“Animal Instinct” by The Cranberries arrives as the second single from their 1999 album *Bury the Hatchet,* offering a slice of emotive pop-rock that feels disarmingly raw yet polished. Dolores O’Riordan’s vocals are as piercing and unmistakable as ever, channeling maternal love and ferocious protection, themes tied to her own personal experiences as a mother. The track glides on mid-tempo guitar riffs crafted by Noel Hogan, merging seamlessly with O’Riordan’s poignant lyrics, while Benedict Fenner’s production ensures the song lands with a cinematic, radio-friendly yet intimate feel. Thematically, it’s a sharp departure from their earlier angst-filled material, leaning into introspection and hard-won wisdom without losing its edge. While it peaked modestly at 54 on the UK Singles Chart, its emotional heft resonates more profoundly than its chart position suggests, with its inclusion in pop culture moments like *Charmed* proving its staying power. The accompanying music video and live performances, such as the remastered Zenith, Paris show, add layers to its legacy, offering stark visuals and heightened sound design that emphasize its universal themes. For a band often chronicled by the turmoil of fame and personal struggles, “Animal Instinct” strips things down—not in sound, but in essence—eschewing grandiosity for a portrait of human (and animal) tenderness that feels at once primal and deeply relatable. ![]() |
![]() 12 . Sharon Jones & The Dap-Kings . My Man Is . Mean Man“My Man Is a Mean Man” is a three-minute-and-sixteen-second encapsulation of Sharon Jones & The Dap-Kings’ devotion to the heyday of funk and soul, gleaming with the unapologetic grit that defines their second album, *Naturally* (2005). The track doesn’t just imitate the mid-60s to mid-70s vibe; it reconstructs it with uncanny precision, as though the band time-traveled to siphon analog warmth directly from the source, yet never comes off as pastiche. The horn section punctuates the rhythm like an argument that’s already been won, while Jones’ delivery is as raw and unfiltered as you’d expect from someone who lived her way through life before landing in the spotlight. While the title hints at playful catharsis, the track’s energy leans more towards defiance than lament, as Sharon embodies the narrator with a mix of sass and simmering rage. This isn’t just a throwback; it’s a reclamation of an era’s ethos, an effort by a band that has always balanced its reverence for the past with an insistence on self-respect in the present. Surrounded by standout albums in the retro-soul revival, *Naturally* isn’t bogged down by its influences as much as it celebrates them, firmly grasping that a revival is only as good as its execution, not its nostalgia. No, “My Man Is a Mean Man” doesn’t feature luminaries like Amy Winehouse or Mark Ronson, with whom the band famously collaborated—but it doesn’t need to; this track is less about who co-signs them and more about how they trust their own discipline and instincts. Their penchant for exacting craft earned them moments of acclaim, including a Grammy nomination in 2014 for a later album (*Give the People What They Want*), but this song exists outside that kind of political recognition—it’s too blunt, too in-your-face and unwilling to cater to smooth edges that awards might favor. And, honestly, thank goodness for that. Their decisiveness in the aftermath of Sharon Jones’ death in 2016—and subsequent release of *Soul of a Woman* in 2017—is a testament to their commitment to their craft rather than sentimentality, which aligns perfectly with the ethos “My Man Is a Mean Man” exudes: strength through authenticity untempered by compromise. ![]() Daptone Records publish ‘Naturally,’ Sharon Jones . The Dap-Kings’ second album (2005) |
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