Is it over yet? Among 2016âs many regrettable qualities, this year was a particularly unkind one for musicians. From the shocking January death of David Bowie to the December passing of prog bassist Greg Lake, hardly a week went by without one of our favorite artists getting called to join that great gig in the sky. Now that weâre on the verge of finally putting these 12 months behind us, itâs worth paying tribute to who was lost this year. And thereâs no better way to remember our favorite musicians than through their songsâthese are some of the tracks that have been sticking with us as this miserable fucking year draws to a close. (Caveat: So many musicians died this year that we couldnât include them all. This list, by unfair virtue of space, is only the tip of a large, sad iceberg.)
PRINCE
âFreeâ from 1999 (1982)
Particularly at the beginning of his career, Princeâs art was one of combining overt sexual expression with throbbing religious ecstasy. Early records like Dirty Mind and Controversy were also about avoiding the limitations of prescribed labels like black, white, straight, or gay in favor of finding liberty through expression and self-actualization. But after Princeâs disturbing, premature death in April, our world seemed to grow darker and more restrictive. And âFree,â the cooing ballad tucked away on Side 3 of 1999, has burst out of its once-trite trappings to become a radical statement of resolve and protest in the year 2016. âBe glad that U R free/Thereâs many a man whoâs not,â sings the Purple One over a bed of sexily tinkling piano and slow, heavy drums. A recording of marching feet opens the track, reminding us how easily those freedoms can be trampled or disfigured to fit into lockstep formation. Prince died a victim of prescription drugs, his own freedom tragically impinged. We owe it to him to not succumb to our own freedom-killing evils.
DAVID BOWIE
âMoonage Daydreamâ from The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars (1972)
âIâm an alligator,â David Bowie announces as Ziggy Stardust at the beginning of âMoonage Daydream,â with a thundering guitar riff that sounds like heâs throwing open the door to his spaceship and digging his scepter into the earth. âIâm a mama-papa coming for you/Iâm the space invader, Iâll be a rock ânâ rollinâ bitch for you.â Itâs the third track on Bowieâs groundbreaking concept album Ziggy Stardust, a space-age symphony thatâs shepherded through the echoing cosmos by that iconic and commanding riff. Though the recordâs extraterrestrial prophet is obviously imagined, Ziggy Stardustâs fluid identity as a creature that transcends definition seems somewhat autobiographical. Bowie wasnât some alien guide sent to illuminate the path for humanity; he was very much a human, and a flawed one at that. But songs like âMoonage Daydreamâ seem to cut the tethers that bind us to conventionâto make a home out of the space in the sky where you can be an alligator, a space invader, and a rock ânâ rollinâ bitch, all at once.
ANDREW LOOMIS
âSpectacleâ from Dead Moonâs Stranded in the Mystery Zone (1991)
On March 8, a Portland hero passed away too soon. Andrew Loomis was the drummer for legendary band Dead Moon and a fixture of the cityâs music scene; his famous drum kit, festooned with a candlewax-covered Jack Danielâs bottle, provided the visual focal point for many of Puddletownâs most memorable punk-rock moments of the â90s and â00s. Thereâs no shortage of Loomisâ great drumming in Dead Moonâs extensive (and consistently excellent) catalog, but âSpectacleâ captures the precise way Loomis was able to first rein in and then explosively detonate the songs of Fred and Toody Cole. With one-two floor-tom slaps during its mellow verses and a slow, steady acceleration that builds up to a breakneck chorus, Loomisâ tension and release illustrates just how Dead Moon made great rock ânâ roll out of primary colorsâand Loomisâ heartfelt drumming gave it rhythm, soul, and just a hint of danger.
LEONARD COHEN
âFamous Blue Raincoatâ from Songs of Love and Hate (1971)
Each word of Leonard Cohenâs âFamous Blue Raincoatâ evaporates over a listlessly strummed acoustic guitar melody that sounds like itâs intended to shrink your heart into a raisin. Wind chimes clink in the folk balladâs interlude, and the hushed âda-da-daâ harmonies of backup singers gain momentum throughout the song until theyâre throbbing with the raw operatics of Ennio Morricone. The song is written as a letter that begins without greeting, addressed to another participant in a since-dismantled love triangle. Cohen mumbles lyrics with the stilted chilliness of a letter-writer who hesitantly seeks to commiserate with someone he describes as âmy brother, my killerâ (the only moment of the song where his voice spits venom). âFamous Blue Raincoatâ unfolds like a novelâeach quaver in Cohenâs voice alludes to a different subplot, a different twist in the story that only the letterâs addressee could understand.
PHIFE DAWG
âThe Space Programâ from A Tribe Called Questâs We Got It from Here... Thank You 4 Your Service (2016)
The other members of A Tribe Called Quest say they didnât know if Phife Dawg knew precisely how numbered his remaining days on Earth were. Regardless, he pushed the crew to reconvene for one last album: Coming a few months after his death in March, itâs a benediction in the form of epitaph. The sonic fingerprints of We Got It from Here... Thank You 4 Your Service serve as excellent reminders of what made Tribe so groundbreaking in their heyday, but the opening track, âThe Space Program,â is an exhortation that couldnât have existed prior to the strife of 2016. Phifeâs call to action at the end (âGotta get it together for brothers/Gotta get it together for sistersâ) is more than mere sermonizing, and the repeated vocal hook (âMove on to the starsâ) turns transcendent, reminding us of where heâs gone. (To compound the songâs grief and hopefulness, the track samples another icon who died in 2016: Gene Wilder.)
MERLE HAGGARD
âIf We Make It Through Decemberâ from Merle Haggardâs Christmas Present (1973)
Though heâs often known for classics like âOkie from Muskogee,â Merle Haggardâs seasonal 1973 ditty âIf We Make It Through Decemberâ is one of the most enduring tracks in his catalog. The outlaw country legend sings about getting laid off from his factory job just in time for the holidays, and not having enough money to afford Christmas presents for his daughter. Itâs brutal: Haggard hopes his family makes it through the âcoldest time of winter,â and although this sets the bar pretty low for their yuletide festivities, the songâs melodic flurries of optimism and his assurance that âIf we make it through December/Everythingâs gonna be alright, I knowâ are as sunshiny as his daydreams about California.
DAVE SWARBRICK
âCrazy Man Michaelâ from Fairport Conventionâs Liege & Lief (1969)
Fiddler Dave Swarbrick joined English folk-rock trailblazers Fairport Convention at their peakâjust before they made Liege & Lief, one of the most stunning reinterpretations of British Isles folk traditions ever recorded (and the young bandâs third album inside of a calendar year). The closing track, âCrazy Man Michael,â was a lament written by Swarbrick and guitarist Richard Thompson in memory of drummer Martin Lamble and Thompsonâs girlfriend Jeannie Franklyn, both of whom had died in a recent car crash. With Swarbrickâs mournful violin offering reassuringly hopeful commentary to Sandy Dennyâs icewater voice, the songâs bleakness evokes the ghosts of the past and suggests the inevitability of timeâs passageâand itâs now a more-than-fitting goodbye for Swarbrickâs unifying, inventive fiddle work. (For extra tears, cue up Liege & Liefâs gorgeous âFarewell, Farewell.â)
SHARON JONES
âPeople Donât Get What They Deserveâ from Sharon Jones and the Dap-Kingsâ Give the People What They Want (2014)
Last month, Gabriel Roth of the Dap-Kings told the LA Times that beloved soul singer Sharon Jones suffered a stroke while watching the results on election night. Sheâd battled cancer for years, but Roth said that before her death, Jones blamed Donald Trump for the strokeâs sudden onset. âPeople Donât Get What They Deserveâ tells the story of a character not dissimilar to Americaâs president-elect: âThere is a man who is born with a fortune,â she sings, âA hard dayâs work heâs never done (livinâ on easy street)/He lives from the sweat of other menâs labor/As he sips his champagne and lays in the sun.â Itâs unbelievably feverish funk, punctuated by horns and made great by the backup singersâ oohs, ahs, and interjections like âCheaters never prosper!â Despite its name, âPeople Donât Get What They Deserveâ isnât pessimisticâinstead it emanates self-love in the face of karmaâs broken machine as Jones sings, âI donât pretend for one single moment/That what I get is my just reward.â
DALE âBUFFINâ GRIFFIN
âSaturday Gigsâ from Mott the Hoopleâs Greatest Hits (1976; single originally released in 1974)
Dale âBuffinâ Griffin was Mott the Hoopleâs powerful, consistent drummerâhis lurching beats were often the only connective tissue holding the British groupâs roaring, soaring rock ânâ roll together. After more than one attempted breakup and seven chaotic studio albums, the Motts finally called it a day during glam rockâs twilight hours. They bid adieu with the exceptional âSaturday Gigs,â a last-call number that recounted the bandâs fractured history over a patient, slow-dance beat from Buffin. The song is an uncommon thing: a love letter from a band to its fans, and one that attempts to say farewell to the youth of an entire generation. Amazingly, it works wonderfully, without succumbing to gloppy sentiment. Buffin is the first member of Mott to leave this mortal coil after the original group reunited for a triumphant series of gigs in recent years; that their resurrection has been cut short is all the more reason to revisit their spectacular back catalog. âGoodbye, goodbye,â sings a massed chorale during the fadeout of âSaturday Gigs.â And thereâs only one way to respond: by raising our lighters high for Buffinâand for all the other great musicians whose flames went out in 2016, a year whose likes we hope to never see again.