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" Damon Albarn has been charming us men for nearly a quarter of a century now, first with Blur, then cartoon pop band Gorillaz, and now as a solo musician. He is quintessential &amp;#039;90s Britpop, hip-hop head, and suave conductor rolled into one, whether writing wry critiques on social class, looking inward at his own deficiencies, or singing alongside Del the Funky Homosapien. This week, he released his first solo album, Everyday Robots, which in many ways is the best total-package Albarn release since late &amp;#039;90s Blur. It has everything any longtime fan would love: introspection and musings on technology, weird instruments and grand orchestrations that sound perfectly normal in a pop context, and an ultra-catchy, reggae-tinged song about a baby elephant. We decided to take on the monumental task of selecting the 20 essential Damon Albarn songs. Let us tell you: This was very difficult. The process involved numerous e-mails, a semi-fancy point system, and a re-listen of every major project he&amp;#039;s been involved with over the years. Here&amp;#039;s the final list. \u2014Mike Ayers Plus listen to the entire playlist on Spotify 1. &amp;quot;The Universal&amp;quot; (The Great Escape, 1995) Damon Albarn can be kind of a snot. After a failed tour of the U.S., he conceptualized Blur&amp;#039;s Modern Life Is Rubbish as a &amp;quot;prophetic vision&amp;quot; of what would happen when American culture took over the world, and much of the band&amp;#039;s work since has been concerned with social homogeneity. But instead of using that subject for the usual clever barbs, &amp;quot;The Universal&amp;quot; transforms it into something beautiful and heartbreaking. Albarn seems to be singing directly to the listener \u2014 connecting, instead of being his usual aloof self \u2014 over the gorgeous orchestral arrangement: &amp;quot;When the days they seem to fall through you/Well just let them go.&amp;quot; Whether British or American or anything else, we&amp;#039;ve all felt that way at some point. \u2014Paul Schrodt      2. &amp;quot;Beetlebum&amp;quot; (Blur, 1997)  What&amp;#039;s a beetlebum? Who cares. This stuttery opener on 1997&amp;#039;s Blur stretches out over five minutes and features a delightfully giddy falsetto that lines the chorus as Albarn proclaims &amp;quot;She turns me on, I just slip away and I am gone.&amp;quot; It&amp;#039;s a twisted love song about a woman who&amp;#039;ll suck your thumb and make you come. \u2014MA      3. &amp;quot;Charmless Man&amp;quot; (The Great Escape, 1995) An utterly charming sing-along about the worst guy at a dinner party. Bonus points for being a play on The Smiths&amp;#039; &amp;quot;This Charming Man,&amp;quot; and, by extension, possibly the best Morrissey diss ever. \u2014PS      4. &amp;quot;Coffee &amp;amp;amp; TV&amp;quot; (13, 1999) It&amp;#039;s a thinly veiled, upbeat acoustic song about trying to win someone back \u2014 Albarn sings a rare backup vocal to guitarist Graham Coxon, and they alternate between kind-of checked-out storyteller and reformed slacker who really does want to start over again. And really, who doesn&amp;#039;t like the idea of a song being just about the joys of caffeine and binge-watching? \u2014MA      5. &amp;quot;She&amp;#039;s So High&amp;quot; (Leisure, 1991) Blur renounced the potential to be American rock stars in order to let their Brit freak flag wave, and thank God they did. But still it&amp;#039;s amusing that what seems like their likeliest U.S. hit in retrospect was also their first single. Graham Coxon&amp;#039;s guitar has never rocked harder, and Albarn&amp;#039;s sexuality has never been more direct or kinky: &amp;quot;I want to crawl all over herrrr.&amp;quot; \u2014PS      6. &amp;quot;5/4&amp;quot; (Gorillaz, 2001) Gorillaz&amp;#039; blend of hip-hop, world, and pop made them global superstars \u2014 but this second track off their self-titled debut is one of the more rocking numbers the cartoon band ever did. Albarn&amp;#039;s vocals sound slurred in a semi-detached way, but make a very important statement in their simplicity: We&amp;#039;re a band that&amp;#039;ll talk about women who turn our fathers on and drive us to suicide. But we&amp;#039;ll do it in a fun way! \u2014MA      7. &amp;quot;Caramel&amp;quot; (13, 1999) &amp;quot;Caramel&amp;quot; is easily one of the great drug songs of all time, but it&amp;#039;s also one of the great breakup songs. (The title refers to the brown goo produced when heroin is heated. Albarn has admitted to using the drug while dating Elastica&amp;#039;s Justine Frischmann.) Albarn contemplates leaving the dope and the girl while the guitars and drums build and recede like a giant wave crashing over him. At almost eight minutes, it doesn&amp;#039;t feel a second too long. \u2014PS      8. &amp;quot;Tender&amp;quot; (13, 1999) You really don&amp;#039;t associate Albarn with straight-up love songs but good lord, this opening track off 13 is a doozy. There&amp;#039;s a gospel choir, shout-outs about how love&amp;#039;s the greatest thing, and an overarching theme of self-wallowing that we&amp;#039;ve all felt when standing in our own relationship ashes. It&amp;#039;s as romantic as Blur ever got and might&amp;#039;ve been the last great mixtape song, a rapidly dying art form at the time. \u2014MA      9. &amp;quot;Feel Good Inc.&amp;quot; (Demon Days, 2005) Anyone who thought Damon Albarn didn&amp;#039;t have a place in hip-hop had to shut the fk up when &amp;quot;Feel Good Inc.,&amp;quot; his highest-charting single in the U.S. to date, came out. It&amp;#039;s not just that he brought De La Soul out of semi-retirement for one of their better verses. From the infectious opening drum-and-bass sounds to the sung part (what&amp;#039;s that about windmills? who cares?), it&amp;#039;s clear that Albarn&amp;#039;s talent transcends genre. In conclusion: White boy&amp;#039;s got rhythm. \u2014PS      10. &amp;quot;To the End&amp;quot; (Parklife, 1994) Early on in Blur&amp;#039;s career, we learned that Albarn&amp;#039;s voice works in pretty much any setting. Take this Parklife single, a grand, cynical ballad about a couple on the outs \u2014 it&amp;#039;s a prime example of how Britpop could feature a full orchestra. No one was doing this at the time, or if they were, nowhere near this level of greatness. \u2014MA      11. &amp;quot;Mellow Song&amp;quot; (13, 1999) This is a weird but important song in the Albarn catalog. It starts off as a stripped-down number \u2014 little acoustic ballads weren&amp;#039;t really Blur&amp;#039;s thing. But at the halfway point, bass and drums kick in for an extended jam with no vocals. It&amp;#039;s a case of making your point, and getting out of the way, letting the music punctuate. \u2014MA      12. &amp;quot;Sound Check (Gravity)&amp;quot; (Gorillaz, 2001) Albarn&amp;#039;s plea to the universe, interrupted by deep bass and DJ scratches. It&amp;#039;s the Gorillaz template laid bare, and the closest they&amp;#039;ve come to approximating through music Jamie Hewlett&amp;#039;s vision of an apocalyptic future. \u2014PS      13. &amp;quot;Stereotypes&amp;quot; (The Great Escape, 1995) Albarn&amp;#039;s cheekiness shines on this upbeat single \u2014 possibly the greatest song ever written about wife-swapping and sex tapes. \u2014MA      14. &amp;quot;The Selfish Giant&amp;quot; (Everyday Robots, 2014) Albarn&amp;#039;s first-ever solo album can be a bit of a downer, but nothing is more relatable than the image of a checked-out man sitting on his couch, imagining his woman leaving him. &amp;quot;It&amp;#039;s hard to be a lover when the TV&amp;#039;s on/And nothing&amp;#039;s in your eye.&amp;quot; Talk about modern life being rubbish. \u2014PS      15. &amp;quot;Parklife&amp;quot; (Parklife, 1994) Eventually, every joke catches up with you. Albarn&amp;#039;s is &amp;quot;Parklife.&amp;quot; Little more than a sing-along chorus with comic bits mocking London park-goers, it&amp;#039;s so inexplicably catchy that now people shout the lyrics at Albarn as he&amp;#039;s, yes, running through his parklife. \u2014PS      16. &amp;quot;There&amp;#039;s No Other Way&amp;quot; (Leisure, 1991) Blur&amp;#039;s second single is quintessential early &amp;#039;90s Britpop and set the stage for Albarn&amp;#039;s expertise in blending psych-rock, dance, and electronic elements into a tight, three-minute package. \u2014MA      17. &amp;quot;Song 2&amp;quot; (Blur, 1997) Two minutes of music as lean and dopamine-rushing as it comes. \u2014PS      18. &amp;quot;Every Planet We Reach Is Dead&amp;quot; (Demon Days, 2005) For Gorillaz&amp;#039; second album, Albarn enlisted producer Danger Mouse, whose fingerprint is never light. &amp;quot;Every Planet We Reach Is Dead&amp;quot; works to both of their strengths. A bright synth line segues to Albarn&amp;#039;s mordant ruminations. Suddenly death doesn&amp;#039;t seem so bad. Big bonus: This is one of the last recordings of Ike Turner playing piano before he died. \u2014PS      19. &amp;quot;Sing&amp;quot; (Leisure, 1991) At the risk of using the word &amp;quot;epic,&amp;quot; this pounding piano song is early Albarn at his vocal best \u2014 apathetic at one moment, soaring and poignant during the chorus, stretching the simple lyrics over six minutes. As Trainspotting showed us, it&amp;#039;s the sound of a great and horrible drug trip rolled into one. \u2014MA      20. &amp;quot;Girls &amp;amp;amp; Boys&amp;quot; (Parklife, 1994) By far the best dance number to come out of Britpop \u2014 sick bass lines, futuristic laser sounds, and Albarn singing about screwing whomever you want. \u2014MA           "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
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