This social commentary on class and inequality does not come from a 1960s protest song, it comes from “This Land Is Your Land,” the apparently patriotic hymn most of us probably sang in grade school. However, when the context of these lyrics is fully taken in, the opposite is true. Obviously, compared to the other lyrics on this list, at face value these are not exactly breathtaking. Noah Wright, “There was a big high wall there that tried to stop me / Sign was painted, it said private property / But on the back side it didn’t say nothing / This land was made for you and me” - “This Land is Your Land” by Woody Guthrie Hearing the line for the first time is truly mind boggling, and it’s a true testament to the storytelling prowess of one of the greatest artists of the last three decades. Jay then reminds us that when he “runs base,” he’s avoiding a sentence in a federal penitentiary, not playing baseball. Instead of stopping there, Jay keeps the metaphorical narrative on baseball by comparing his selling of freebase cocaine (“running base”) to Robinson, who was known for his speed when on base. The clever wordplay on his past crimes listed off as “jack, rob and sin” evokes the image of Brooklyn Dodger Jackie Robinson and seamlessly connects Jay’s story to the larger story of Brooklyn the song is trying to tell. Despite his shift in lyrical content, no single line sums up Jay-Z’s past, or perhaps any rapper’s, as effectively as this one. However, as he matured, his content moved into subject matters far beyond this period of his life. In fact discussions about his career as a drug dealer were mainstays in Jay’s earlier work. It’s no secret that Jay-Z allegedly got his financial footing as a drug dealer in the late 1980s and early 1990s before his rap career. After all, Healy wonders, if he was made to worship and trust Him, why can’t he escape this pool of doubt? - Bre Offenberger, “I jack, I rob, I sin / Aw man, I’m Jackie Robinson / Except for when I run base, I dodge the pen” - “Brooklyn Go Hard” by Jay-Z All he wants to know is what he can to compel himself to believe. A choral group vocalizes right behind him, hammering home his words and pain, as he confronts God head on. We’ve seen it in the fan-favorite “Antichrist,” and even on “Nana,” where he unhesitatingly says, “I know that God doesn’t exist.” Right here, though, he’s in his most vulnerable and volatile state, asking for a sign that he’s going to come out of this rough patch unscathed, but he’s finding nothing. Matty Healy has been struggling with religion ever since he and the rest of The 1975 emerged onto the music scene. Bre Offenberger, “I mean, if it was You that made my body, You probably shouldn’t have made me atheist.” - “If I Believe You” by The 1975 Just two tracks earlier on “Dead for Days,” he admits, “I can’t believe she stayed as long as she did.” By the end of this track, he’s asking her for one last night together before they say goodbye forever, and then Kinsella can channel his pain the one way he knows how: into song. They’ve tried couples counseling, but he’s discovered every time they thought something was solved, it would always have another unearthed layer the following week, and there’s never any progress. The only constant in Kinsella’s life right now is the gloomy guitar accenting his aching words as he watches his marriage fall apart. Nine albums later, on The Avalanche, he has somehow reached his most poignant form, getting better and simultaneously sadder with time. The world keeps going in circles - at least for Mike Kinsella, who hasn’t found a sliver of splendor since at least 2001, when Owen’s self-titled debut made it to shelves. “I’m in therapy / She’s in therapy / Turns out all the answers are just questions for next week’s sessions.” - “The Contours” by Owen
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