This week In ’90s Throwback’ 07/52

1 . Jamiroquai . Cosmic Girl

“Cosmic Girl,” the second single from Jamiroquai’s 1996 album “Travelling Without Moving,” makes a bold case for disco’s continued relevance in the ’90s. Co-written by Jay Kay and Derrick McKenzie and produced by Rick Pope, the track is a calculated blend of retro-futuristic elements and contemporary electronic touches that aim to embody its titular theme.

The syncopated rhythm, built on “looped beats” within a 10-pulse, 32-beat framework, is intricate to the point of alienating. While the off-center structure is undoubtedly effective at creating an otherworldly vibe, it also risks feeling overly mechanical. The lyrics, peppered with space-age jargon like “hyperspace” and “zero gravity,” commit so fully to their galactic conceit that they occasionally veer into the clichéd. Yet, there’s a charm in their literal approach—subtlety is clearly not the goal here.

Critics were generally kind to the track, with Justin Chadwick noting its “propulsive” qualities, and Larry Flick calling it “radio-friendly.” Caroline Sullivan’s comparison to Earth, Wind & Fire’s harmonies situates the song stylistically within a clear lineage of disco-funk revivalism, though Jamiroquai’s approach feels more polished than spontaneous.

The Adrian Moat-directed video—shot in Spain—leans into the track’s space-centric imagery, though its reliance on psychedelic aesthetics feels more derivative than inventive. The B-side, “Slipin’ ‘N’ Slidin’,” adds little to the single’s allure, serving more as a completionist curiosity born from the live-only “Mr. Boogie.”

Remixes, such as David Morales’ club-tailored version, manage to bring out the track’s sleeker potential. While glossy, these reimaginings arguably dilute the quirkiness that defines the original.

Commercially, the song performed well, capturing a No. 6 spot on the UK Singles Chart and seeing success in Italy, Iceland, and Finland. Still, its lasting appeal owes more to its spot on compilations like “High Times: Singles 1992–2006” than to its innovative merits. Striking but flawed, “Cosmic Girl” is less intergalactic voyage and more Earth-bound disco experiment. B+

Lifted from : Jamiroquai play for McLaren Formula . (1997)

2 . Take That . Could It Be Magic

Take That’s rendition of “Could It Be Magic” plants itself firmly in 1992 pop culture, dressed in the flashy production of the Rapino Brothers and borrowing heavily from Donna Summer and Giorgio Moroder’s sizzling disco reinterpretation of Barry Manilow’s original.

What sets this version apart is its unabashed energy, infused with a youthful vitality that complements Robbie Williams’ lead vocals while still leaning heavily on the harmonized backing of Gary Barlow, Howard Donald, Jason Orange, and Mark Owen.

The use of Frédéric Chopin’s Prelude in C minor, Opus 28, Number 20 as the melodic spine offers a sense of timelessness, albeit filtered through a pop lens that embraces glitter more than grandeur.

Charting at number three on the UK Singles Chart and maintaining its presence across other European markets like Belgium and Ireland, the single undoubtedly resonated with its audience, though it feels like a product of its time, never quite escaping the gravity of early ’90s pop tropes.

The accompanying music video, directed by Saffie Ashtiany and filmed at Bray Studios in Windsor, wraps the performance in a predictable but visually engaging package of choreography-driven spectacle. The live “Top of the Pops” performance delivers the kind of carefully rehearsed charm that defined a certain era of TV pop stardom.

A highlight of the era, the song garnered the Best British Single at the Brit Awards in 1993, though one might wonder if its enduring appeal lies in nostalgia rather than innovation. The later 2021 duet with Leona Lewis, shared by Gary Barlow, suggests an attempt to reintegrate this pop relic into a more mature musical palate, but the original remains a snapshot of brightly colored simplicity, rather than deep or lasting magic.

Lifted from : Happy Birthday Robbie Williams. ‘Sing That’

3 . Green Day . Longview

“Longview,” the fourth track on Green Day’s 1994 album “Dookie,” unpacks suburban boredom with a punk rock bluntness that feels both biting and undeniably relatable.

It’s hard to ignore the now-iconic bass line, reportedly conceived by Mike Dirnt under the influence of LSD, which slinks in like a delinquent sneaking out past curfew. The riff grips you instantly, making it the centerpiece of a song that otherwise meanders in lyrical laments about lethargy, isolation, and channel-surfing in a haze of inertia.

The lyrics, delivered by Billie Joe Armstrong with a mix of sarcastic detachment and pent-up frustration, capture the ennui of young adulthood. Sitting on the axis between self-loathing and bemusement, Armstrong’s delivery is well-matched to the song’s loose yet driving rhythm. Whether it’s the reference to “peeling the rind” or the devastatingly mundane act of tearing apart a couch, “Longview” finds poetry—and some humor—in monotony.

The track’s cultural resonance can’t be overstated. Topping Billboard’s Modern Rock Tracks chart and earning Grammy nods, “Longview” announced Green Day’s arrival to the mainstream with grounded cynicism, unlike the glossed-over angst of grunge contemporaries. Its MTV-heavy music video, filmed in an Oakland basement, amplifies the song’s claustrophobic energy—Armstrong tearing apart furniture like a man unraveling under fluorescent lights.

Musically, it hangs together well, though the bass line slightly overshadows the song’s other structural elements. The rest of the instrumentation, solid as it is with Tre Cool’s punctuated drumming, serves more to frame Dirnt’s standout riff than to push any creative boundaries. That said, this near-minimalism only enhances the track’s stripped-down ethos.

“Longview” thrives as the anthem of malaise, but its strength lies in how it eschews over-dramatizing its themes. Green Day’s rise to fame may be tied to the broader sound of *”Dookie,”* but this song remains notable for pulling listeners into its slacker spiral—without pretending there’s an easy way out.

Lifted from : Today we wish Billie Joe Armstrong, . Happy Birthday. The Perfect (green) Day for . ‘Green Day At their Bests’

4 . 2Pac . All About U

“All About U,” nestled within 2Pac’s monumental 1996 album “All Eyez on Me,” inhabits a space where sharp introspection collides with playful cynicism.

Built on a foundation sampled from Cameo’s “Candy,” Johnny “J”‘s production spins a breezy, funk-inflected beat that contrasts the song’s sharper commentary. The instrumental exudes warmth, but the lyrical tone is sharper, dissecting fame’s hollow encounters.

True to “All Eyez on Me”‘s collaborative ethos, the track unites key figures like Nate Dogg, whose smooth chorus anchors the song in his signature melodic heft, and Outlawz members Hussein Fatal and Yaki Kadafi, who bring gritty spontaneity to their verses. Meanwhile, Dru Down and Snoop Dogg provide lighthearted spoken inserts, giving the track a layered personality.

Lyrically, 2Pac doesn’t just critique superficiality—he wears his disillusionment like armor, talking about recurring faces in transient relationships. The spoken intro, where he reflects on financial struggles and exhaustion, adds a raw vulnerability that lingers beneath the song’s polished surface.

Visually, “All About U” is captured through two distinct music videos—one focusing solely on 2Pac, and another featuring the full lineup of collaborators and comedian Pierre Edwards. These dichotomous visuals mirror the song’s juxtaposition of camaraderie and isolation.

While its specific chart performance may remain an enigma, the track’s inclusion in “All Eyez on Me,” a West Coast hip-hop landmark, secures its cultural significance. The outro, delivered by Snoop Dogg, even reverberates into the 2006 track “Wouldn’t Get Far” by The Game, proving its enduring resonance.

In sum, “All About U” juggles contradiction—biting critique and lush production—making it both a distinct creation and a capsule of 2Pac’s larger artistic struggles.

Lifted from : 2Pac releases his fourth album . ‘All Eyez on Me’ featuring ‘I Love L.A.’How Do . Want It’ and ‘California Love’ (1996)

5 . Peter Gabriel . Digging In The Dirt

“Digging in the Dirt,” the lead single from Peter Gabriel’s 1992 album “Us,” is both a technical masterclass and a raw emotional excavation. Its title may suggest laborious monotony, but the track churns up something visceral—darker, jagged edges of Gabriel’s psyche, shaped by his psychotherapy sessions and a pointed reflection on passive-aggressiveness.

Musically, it’s a mosaic of layered textures. The song’s foundations lie in the percussion tracks by Hossam Ramzy, originally pulled from Gabriel’s earlier work “Zaar” on the “Passion” album. That rhythm, married to a synthetic pulse courtesy of a Roland D-50 and a drum machine groove on the Akai MPC60, gives the track a mechanized yet organic undercurrent. Gabriel’s ad-libbed vocals oscillate between confessional and confrontational, and even the “shut your mouth” lyric, a remnant from its working title, feels like the sonic equivalent of a clenched fist.

The stop-motion animated music video, directed by John Downer, unspools these themes visually, incorporating episodes from Gabriel’s personal life—his breakup with Rosanna Arquette and strained family dynamics. The real-world setting of Gabriel’s Real World Studios adds an uncanny authenticity to the production. The video feels as much an unraveling as the song itself, cementing Gabriel’s knack for making his personal disintegration both performative and relatable.

Chart performance shows its divisiveness: #1 on Billboard’s Modern and Album Rock Tracks but a modest #52 on the Hot 100. It’s not a crossover hit; it’s a deep cut that clawed its way up. Nominated for two Grammy Awards and later performed at the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame in 2014, “Digging in the Dirt” has an enduring edge. It’s compelling, if not exactly inviting—a mirror that Gabriel unapologetically holds up to himself and, indirectly, the listener.

Lifted from : Happy Birthday Peter Gabriel. ‘Big Timer’

6 . Nirvana . Lithium

“Lithium,” nestled in the sonic canvas of Nirvana’s 1991 breakout album, “Nevermind,” is an intricate balance between spiritual awakening and existential despair.

Recorded initially in April 1990 at Butch Vig’s studio in Wisconsin, the track teeters between quiet introspection and aggressive catharsis, a dichotomy that defines the album itself. While producer Vig’s polished touch shapes the chaotic grain of the song, the track never loses its jagged sincerity, navigating between Kurt Cobain’s disarming verses and the ferocious bursts of the chorus.

Lyrically, “Lithium” is unsettlingly ambiguous, grounding its narrative in themes of religion as solace while leaving lingering hints of guilt and inner torment. Lines like “I’m so happy ’cause today I’ve found my friends” carry a sardonic edge, made razor-sharp by the bridge’s dark confessions such as “I killed you.” Whether it’s grief, anger, or resignation, Cobain’s delivery ensures each word feels like an emotional gut punch rather than a rote diary entry.

Despite not peaking at No. 1 on the charts, its performance speaks volumes—a frequent radio mainstay in the UK during the 21st century and one of Nirvana’s most-played tracks. Whether playing through headphones or blaring live (as extensively documented in the 30th Anniversary Edition of “Nevermind”), the song always manages to sound both intimate and bombastic.

The official music video, remastered in HD, complements the rawness of Cobain’s voice and the complexities of Krist Novoselic’s bass and Dave Grohl’s drums with a collage-like simplicity fitting the band’s ethos.

Critically, “Lithium” exemplifies Nirvana’s ability to translate vulnerability into a tense, universal anthem. But it’s no polished jewel—its beauty lies in the grit, in Cobain’s cracked edges, and in its refusal to serve as mere background noise.

Lifted from : Nirvana come to Paris (1994)

7 . Cher . Believe

“Believe,” the title track and lead single from Cher’s 22nd studio album, encapsulates both a bold artistic reinvention and a rare moment of cultural convergence, its impact rippling far beyond its release in October 1998 by Warner Bros. Records.

Recorded at Dreamhouse Studio in West London under the meticulous production of Mark Taylor and Brian Rawling, the song emerges from an intricate collaborative process. While the initial demo was penned by Brian Higgins, Matthew Gray, Stuart McLennen, and Timothy Powell, Warner’s chairman Rob Dickins enlisted Steve Torch and Paul Barry to bring it to fruition. Cher herself contributed lyrics, though she remained uncredited—a historical footnote that subtly mirrors the song’s theme of reclaiming agency.

Chart successes bolster its legacy. From a humble debut at number 99 on the *Billboard* Hot 100 in December 1998, the track skyrocketed to number one by March 1999, a feat that crowned Cher, then 52, as the oldest female artist to top the chart. In the UK, it dominated the Singles Chart for seven consecutive weeks, selling over 1.8 million copies as Britain’s best-selling song of 1998.

The song’s appeal lies partly in its technological audacity. The first commercial use of Auto-Tune as a creative flourish—dubbed the “Cher effect”—struck a nerve in 1998 and carved out new auditory possibilities in pop music, though its ubiquity in subsequent decades has been polarizing. Cher’s glowing headdress in Nigel Dick’s music video adds a surreal edge, paralleling the track’s mechanized vocal tone with visuals of otherworldly glamor.

“Believe” earned its accolades, from the Grammy for Best Dance Recording to three Ivor Novello Awards, including Best Song Musically and Lyrically. Its 10-million-plus global sales and Quadruple Platinum certifications (courtesy of the BPI and RIAA) tether it firmly to pop history. Yet its emotional core—a meditative resilience dedicated to her late ex-husband, Sonny Bono—is what grounds its swirling synths and computerized vocal modulations in lived human experience.

Lifted from : On English TV today, Cher at the BRIT Awards (1999)

8 . David Bowie . Little Wonder

David Bowie’s “Little Wonder,” released as the second single from his 1997 album “Earthling,” is a restless collage of electronic textures and rock flourishes, emblematic of the late-90s fusion trend.

Recorded in 1996 at New York City’s Looking Glass Studio, the track highlights Bowie’s collaboration with Reeves Gabrels, who, along with Mark Plati, co-produced the song. Instrumentally, Gail Ann Dorsey’s bass, Zachary Alford’s drums, and Mike Garson’s piano work form a sturdy backbone for its propulsive rhythm and hypnotic layers, though the track’s real anchor is its drum loop and periodic timing, lending it an almost mechanical precision.

Chartwise, “Little Wonder” peaked at a respectable number 14 on the UK Official Singles Chart and achieved similar success on the Official Dance Singles Chart. Notably, it found wider acclaim in Japan, where it topped the charts—one of several signs of Bowie’s ability to craft globally resonant material, even during his later career phases.

The nonsensical, stream-of-consciousness lyrics vaguely echo a nursery rhyme, adding a surreal quality that complements its diatonic simplicity. Yet, the song’s limited melodic ambition underplays its chaotic energy, leaving one to question whether its hypnotic intent succeeds or merely distracts.

The Floria Sigismondi-directed music video, featuring Bowie at three different ages, leans into the song’s frenetic narrative, though its resemblance to Orbital’s “The Box” hints at derivative choices. Multiple remixes—spanning the Ambient Junior Mix to the 4/4 Junior Mix—expand its club-friendly palette but rarely transcend the original’s kinetic yet uneven structure.

While “Little Wonder” underscores Bowie’s commitment to melding contemporary electronic landscapes with his rock origins, its repetitiveness truncates its staying power. It remains an artifact of Bowie’s experimentation on “Earthling,” resonating more strongly as a bold statement than as a fully realized track.

Lifted from : On French TV today, David Bowie at ‘Nulle Part Ailleurs . (1997)

9 . Boyz II Men . It’s So Hard To Say Goodbye To Yesterday

“It’s So Hard To Say Goodbye To Yesterday” by Boyz II Men manages to bridge sentimentality and precision, though not without leaning heavily on the former.

Originally penned for the 1975 film “Cooley High” by Freddie Perren and Christine Yarian, the song’s history lends a layer of gravitas that’s hard to ignore. While G.C. Cameron’s rendition charted modestly on the Billboard R&B singles chart at number 38, Boyz II Men’s a cappella interpretation trades in the original’s rawness for a polished sheen, a choice that underscores the group’s vocal prowess but brushes close to over-sanitization.

Produced by Dallas Austin for their 1991 debut album “Cooleyhighharmony,” this track sits as a tonal outlier amidst the pop-friendly tracks like “Motownphilly.” Its success, however, speaks for itself. Peaking at number 2 on the Billboard Hot 100—blocked only by Michael Jackson’s “Black Or White”—and securing the number 1 spot on the Hot R&B Singles chart, the song’s commercial performance is a testament to its broad appeal. Staying on the Hot 100 for an impressive 22 weeks, it lingers as both a crowd favorite and a marker of its time.

The emotional dedication of the song to Boyz II Men’s slain tour manager, Roderick “Khalil” Rountree, during their 1992 performances amplifies its resonance but perhaps risks veering into saccharine territory. Its inclusion in the remastered HD music video emphasizes the song’s longevity, but one can’t help but wonder how much of that endurance is due to nostalgia rather than a fresh listening experience.

“Cooleyhighharmony,” the Grammy-winning album that houses the track, undeniably benefits from the song’s presence, but as the album rounds nine million copies sold, it’s fair to question whether this is a standout moment or merely a calculated pause in an otherwise kinetic debut.

Lifted from : Motown publish Boyz II Men’s debut album . ‘Cooleyhighharmony’ featuring ‘Motownphilly’ and ‘It’s So Hard to Say Goodbye to Yesterday’ (1991)

10 . Fugees . Cowboys

“Cowboys” stands as a prime example of the Fugees’ knack for bending genre rules while staying firmly rooted in hip hop’s intricacies.

Tucked into their monumental 1996 album “The Score,” the track is a collaborative effort featuring the Outsidaz—Rah Digga, Young Zee, and Pacewon—whose verses inject an added roughness to the already rugged production.

With the Fugees themselves sharing a hand in production, alongside the likes of Jerry Duplessis, Salaam Remi, and Diamond D, the song’s foundation is a mix of tense beats and sparse instrumentation, a contrast to the smoother R&B-leaning moments elsewhere on the album.

Though “Cowboys” did not chart as a standalone single, its place on “The Score” adds to an album that not only topped the U.S. Billboard 200 but also redefined mid-’90s hip hop by sounding nothing like its contemporaries in the gangsta rap-dominated landscape.

Its eclectic sonic palette—spanning reggae, funk, and hip hop—helped “The Score” gain cultural permanence, eventually becoming the third best-selling album of 1996 in the U.S.

“Cowboys” may not boast the instantly gripping hook of “Killing Me Softly” or the social commentary of “Ready or Not,” but its narrative swagger feels intentional, even if it doesn’t always command repeated listens. The official music video, uploaded to YouTube decades later, gives “Cowboys” a belated visual stage, though the song itself remains an album cut appreciated more within the context of “The Score” than as a standalone statement.

Still, while “Cowboys” may lurk in the album’s shadows, the Fugees’ collaborative bravado and cultural resonance shine through, if not in the track’s soundscape, then in their insistence on not playing by the rules.

Lifted from : Fugees release their second and final album . ‘The Score’ featuring ‘Killing Me Softly,’ ‘Fu-Gee-La’ and ‘Ready or Not’ (1996)

11 . Jeff Buckley . Mojo Pin

Opening “Grace” with “Mojo Pin” feels less like an introduction and more like being dropped into the middle of a fever dream—fitting for a song born from Jeff Buckley and Gary Lucas’s collaborative alchemy, itself an echo of Lucas’s stint with Captain Beefheart.

Musically, “Mojo Pin” oscillates between a liquid, psychedelic serenity and jagged rock crescendos, never settling long enough for easy categorization. Psychedelia meets harder rock, but without the comfort of clearly defined edges. It’s the kind of genre-blurring exercise that reflects Buckley’s wide-ranging influences but risks disorienting those looking for cleaner grooves or resolutions.

The lyrics, as Buckley himself elaborates, are steeped in longing—dreaming of a black woman with an almost narcotic intensity. The fixation borders uncomfortably on obsession, as the narrator mirrors their muse’s habits and mannerisms. It’s evocative but risks veering into nebulous romanticism, keeping the emotional impact more impressionistic than grounded.

Not satisfied with studio austerity, live renditions of “Mojo Pin” often expanded through a prelude Buckley referred to as “Chocolate,” an homage to Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan’s vocal improvisations. At Gleneagles, this improvisational element becomes both a strength and potential Achilles’ heel. While Buckley’s voice remains riveting, the structure takes a backseat, leaving the band as reactive participants to his whims.

Part of “Grace,” an album ignored by many upon release but later exalted, “Mojo Pin” mirrors its parent record’s trajectory. Like the album, the song neither climbs charts individually nor plays to commercial instincts, yet it burrows into subterranean spaces where future acclaim festers. In 2016, “Grace” earned its U.S. platinum status and a modest Billboard 200 showing at No. 149, numbers that seem almost incidental to its mythic afterlife.

While “Mojo Pin” channels a raw, eclectic energy, it occasionally feels like an overpacked suitcase—its elements compelling but chaotic. If “Grace” stakes its claim as one of Rolling Stone’s “500 Greatest Albums of All Time,” this opening salvo is both affirmation and challenge to that praise.

Lifted from : On French radio today, Jeff Buckley at ‘Top Live’ (1995)

12 . Robert Wyatt . Catholic Architecture

“Catholic Architecture,” from Robert Wyatt’s 1991 album “Dondestan,” is a sprawling exploration of mood and texture, built on the kind of deliberate yet fluid craftsmanship Wyatt is known for.

The song stretches just over five minutes but never feels hurried, its pacing reminiscent of its recording location at Chapel Studios in South Thoresby—perhaps evoking an environment of quiet reflection.

Co-written with Alfreda Benge, whose hand also shaped the album’s cover art, the song stands as a testament to their creative partnership, blending Wyatt’s singular musical sensibilities with Benge’s lyrical input.

“Dondestan,” intriguingly titled after the Spanish phrase “Donde están,” meaning “Where are they?,” provides a fitting thematic undercurrent for the track, as the song’s arrangement seems to search and wander within itself.

Wyatt’s background in the Canterbury scene and his work with Soft Machine lurk in the periphery here, though “Catholic Architecture” is far removed from the more structured progressiveness of that era.

Instead, it luxuriates in Wyatt’s unhurried, introspective style, a progressive rock effort stripped of bombast and driven by atmosphere.

The 1998 re-release of “Dondestan” under “Dondestan (Revisited)” brought a new mix and track order, yet “Catholic Architecture” remained untouched, perhaps signaling its completeness on first take.

However, the track’s cerebral tone might alienate those drawn to more immediate or melodic hooks, making this a showcase of mood over accessibility.

Its expansive nature demands patience, rewarding close listening with layers that reveal themselves gradually. Wyatt’s fragmented lyricism and idiosyncratic delivery are not for everyone, but for those willing to meet the song on its own terms, it offers a quietly compelling study in collaboration and restraint.

Lifted from : Robert Wyatt records his sixth album . ‘Dondestan’ for Rough Trade (1991)