This is one of Billy Joel’s best-known songs. For people who grew up at the right time, it will always be remembered as the theme song from Bosom Buddies. (Unfortunately, due to licensing issues, the song does not appear on the show’s DVD release and it has recently been removed by syndicated airings. All ten of Bosom Buddies‘s fans were very disappointed.) In the background of this song, you can hear Chicago’s Peter Cetera and Donnie Dacus contributing backing vocals.
This video was directed by Steve Cohen, who directed several videos for Billy Joel in the late 70s and the early 80s.
Though the band may have been named after Chicago, the park referred to in this song is New York’s Central Park. Robert Lamm enjoyed spending the 4th of July in the park and he went on to write this song about it. It became one of Chicago’s biggest hits and it also became a song that was regularly featured in various Time Life musical compilations. Back in the day, anytime a Time Life infomercial came on TV, you knew that you were going to get this song’s chorus stuck in your head.
The lyrics to this Thomas Dolby song seem to be self-explanatory. When they were teenagers, the narrator met a girl named Europa, they fell in love while spending their days walking along the beach, and then Europa moved away. (Dolby sings that “the war” took her away, which sounds ominous but which makes sense when you consider that Dolby’s 1982 album, TheGoldenAgeofWireless, was based on the idea of him being a part of the first generation since World War II. “The war took her away” is probably meant to be a comment on how relationships that were once ended by a world war were now just being ended by a parent getting a new job in a new country or town.) Years later, Europa’s a star and Dolby tries to see her, just to be ushered away by one of her bodyguards. But, in Dolby’s heart, they’ll always be pirate twins on the beach.
The video has come to be considered a classic example of early 80s music videos, mixing the future and the past and allowing Dolby to capitalize on his nerdy but cool persona. The machines link the song to the future but the black-and-white images bring us to the past, capturing the feel of Dolby’s song.
A funny thing about Dreams is that, if you grew up in the mid‑to‑late ’80s, you didn’t just hear this song — you absorbedit through a six‑story IMAX screen at an amusement park. Every elementary school kid in that era got marched into one of those giant dome theaters for the annual field trip “educational experience.” For me it was Great America in Santa Clara, where they’d blast Dreams over footage of jets, landscapes, and whatever else looked cool on a screen the size of a football field. So the song already had this mythic, larger‑than‑life vibe before you even knew who Van Halen was.
Listening to it now as an adult, you realize how much of that huge, soaring energy was entirely Eddie’s doing. The song has this triumphant, larger-than-life feel to it, and his guitar work is the whole engine driving it. He doesn’t just strum along in the background; he creates this massive, shimmering wall of sound with his chorused-out tones and subtle little hammer-on flourishes that just float over the synth and Sammy Hagar’s vocals. It’s one of those tracks where you’re basically waiting for him to just take the wheel because his playing is so infectious and loud, even when he’s holding back during the verses.
And man, when he finally does take over, it’s absolutely worth the wait. If you cue the track up, pay close attention right at the 2:53 mark—that is the exact moment Eddie’s guitar solo kicks in, and it is pure magic. It’s not just a standard solo; it feels like the guitar is literally taking flight, which makes total sense why they used it for those old IMAX aviation documentaries. He weaves in these wild, squealing harmonics, blistering legato runs, and that signature tapped vibrato that nobody else on earth could ever replicate. It’s melodic but incredibly aggressive, showing off exactly why he was considered a god among guitar players.
Ultimately, Dreams is a perfect showcase of Eddie’s ability to make his instrument sound like the true lead vocalist of the band. He blends pure technical shredding with genuine, uplifting emotion, turning what could have been a standard late-80s rock track into something completely cinematic. Whenever I hear those opening notes today, I’m instantly transported right back to sitting in that dark, giant IMAX theater with a bunch of rowdy kids, totally mesmerized by the sound of his fingers on the fretboard. It’s just one of those songs that proves his playing wasn’t just noisy—it was absolutely majestic.
Dreams
World turns black and white Pictures in an empty room Your love starts fallin’ down Better change your tune Yeah, you reach for the golden ring Reach for the sky Baby, just spread your wings
And get higher and higher Straight up we’ll climb We’ll get higher and higher Leave it all behind
Run, run, run away Like a train runnin’ off the track Got the truth bein’ left behind Fall between the cracks Standin’ on broken dreams Never losin’ sight, ah Well, just spread your wings
We’ll get higher and higher Straight up we’ll climb We’ll get higher and higher Leave it all behind
So baby, dry your eyes Save all the tears you’ve cried Oh, that’s what dreams are made of ‘Cause we belong In a world that must be strong Oh, that’s what dreams are made of
[guitar solo @2:53]
Yeah, we’ll get higher and higher Straight up we’ll climb Higher and higher Leave it all behind Oh, we’ll get higher and higher Who knows what we’ll find?
So baby, dry your eyes Save all the tears you’ve cried Oh, that’s what dreams are made of Oh baby, we belong In a world that must be strong Oh, that’s what dreams are made of
And in the end On dreams we will depend ‘Cause that’s what love is made of
Apollo 9 is a part of what has been referred to as being Adam Ant’s “Rockers in Space” phase. Though the album on which it appeared was not one of Ant’s more commercially successful offerings, Apollo 9 was a hit in the UK.
This video was directed by Daniel Kleinman, a British commercial director who has also directed music videos for just about everyone. Kleinman has also designed the title sequence for every James Bond film since Goldeneye.
When you sit down with Jessica by The Allman Brothers Band, it’s hard not to feel an immediate sense of warmth and uplift. It’s pure joy set to music, a sonic road trip with the top down and a sunny sky above. The backstory is pretty great too—Dickey Betts wrote it for his little daughter, and you can practically hear her bouncing around the room in that playful, carefree melody. It’s an instrumental, which means the guitars have to do all the talking, and man, do they have a lot to say. The song is a masterclass in weaving intricate parts together, from the opening acoustic strums to the dual-guitar harmonies that just make you want to tap your foot.
The real magic kicks in about halfway through. The song’s structure is a journey, with themes and melodies weaving in and out. There’s a fantastic piano solo from Chuck Leavell that comes in a bit before the halfway mark, but the main event, the centerpiece guitar solo, is where Dickey Betts truly shines. His solo begins at 3:45, and it’s like he’s telling a story without words. It’s not about flashy, fast playing, but about crafting a melody that feels both conversational and powerful—just pure, expressive Southern rock.
What’s so interesting is the technique behind that sunny sound. Betts was paying tribute to the great Django Reinhardt with this tune, actually writing it to be played using only two fingers on the fretboard. That restriction somehow gave the melody its distinct, rolling quality. It’s built on a major scale with a slightly bluesy twist, giving it that upbeat yet soulful feel. He uses clean, melodic phrasing and these country-inspired double stops that just sing, making the guitar sound as natural as breathing. It’s a testament to his genius that he could create something so timeless with such a simple, almost limiting, approach.
It’s wild to think this cheerful song came out of a period of heavy loss for the band, after the deaths of Duane Allman and Berry Oakley. Instead of wallowing, they channeled that energy into this seven-and-a-half-minute celebration of life. The fact that it’s named after Betts’ daughter just adds to its personal, life-affirming feeling. For me, Jessica is the definitive proof that a guitar solo, when done right, can say more than a thousand lyrics ever could. Betts’ solo from 3:45 onward is a masterpiece of mood and melody, and it’s the reason this song has become one of the most iconic and beloved instrumentals in rock history.
With Night and Day, U2 not only provide their own spin on Cole Porter’s best-known song but they also introduced the sound that would define them throughout the 90s. This was the first song of U2’s post-Joshua Tree era.
The video was directed by the German director, Wim Wenders. U2 would subsequently provide songs for Wenders’s Until The End Of The World and Far Away So Close. Bono would also produce and provide the story for The Million Dollar Hotel, one of Wenders’s less regarded films.
When you first hear about a band that mixes traditional Mongolian instrumentation with heavy metal, it sounds a bit like a novelty act. You might expect something that leans heavily into gimmickry, maybe a folk band that slapped some distortion on a track just for laughs. But then you actually press play on The Gereg, the 2019 debut album from The Hu, and you realize almost immediately that this is dead serious, incredibly heavy, and completely mind-blowing. The Gereg is a deeply emotional, fierce, and historic introduction to a band that has essentially invented a new subgenre they call “hunnu rock.” Instead of feeling like a patchwork quilt of mismatched ideas, the album flows with the kind of natural, organic power that makes you think these instruments were always meant to be played this loud.
Right from the opening track, The Gereg, you’re dropped into a world of thundering drums, droning strings, and that signature growling vocal style that immediately grabs your attention. The title track sets the tone perfectly: it’s epic, almost cinematic, with a sense of forward motion like you’re riding across steppes on horseback while a stadium-sized rock band backs you up. It’s not overly complicated in structure, but it doesn’t need to be—the power comes from the sheer force of the performance and the uniqueness of the sound palette. Those horse-head fiddles (morin khuur) and jaw harps (tumur khuur) might be ancient instruments, but in the hands of The Hu they sound like they were made for heavy rock all along.
Then comes Wolf Totem, arguably the song that broke The Hu internationally and the closest thing to an anthem on the record. The original version is a masterclass in building tension: it starts almost meditative, with throat singing and sparse instrumentation, then erupts into a massive, chant-driven chorus that feels like it could rally an entire army. There’s a reason this track racked up tens of millions of views on YouTube—it’s catchy, powerful, and utterly distinctive. The deluxe edition also includes a version featuring Jacoby Shaddix from Papa Roach, which leans more into a pop-punk/nu-metal vibe, but honestly, the original is the one that really captures the band’s essence. It’s the kind of song that makes you want to throw your fists in the air even if you have no idea what the lyrics mean (which, for most listeners, is probably the case).
The Great Chinggis Khaan slows things down just a touch but keeps the epic scale intact, sounding like something that could’ve fit on an early-’80s Iron Maiden record if Bruce Dickinson had studied khoomei throat singing. It’s semi-acoustic, more atmospheric, and carries a sort of reverence that matches its subject—the legendary Mongol leader Genghis Khan. There’s a dignity to this track that keeps it from feeling like a gimmick; it’s clear The Hu aren’t just playing with their heritage, they’re honoring it.
On the flip side, The Legend of Mother Swan brings a more folk-forward, almost Pogues-like energy, with a storytelling vibe that’s both haunting and melodic. It’s one of the more accessible tracks for listeners coming from a purely rock or folk background, with a structure that feels more like a traditional ballad. Meanwhile, Shoog Shoog is where the band really leans into the groove, built around a riff that wouldn’t sound out of place in an AC/DC or even a Neil Young jam. It’s fun, driving, and ridiculously catchy, with that throbbing bass and pounding drum work locking in perfectly with the twang of the tovshuur (Mongolian guitar).
Probably the most recognizable track after Wolf Totem is Yuve Yuve Yu, the song that essentially launched The Hu into viral fame back in 2018. It’s a full-throttle hunnu rock anthem with a chorus that’s impossible not to chant along to, even on first listen. Stripped of the throat singing and traditional instruments, it could easily pass as a Rammstein track—all stomping rhythm, industrial-tinged heaviness, and theatrical delivery. The deluxe version adds a remix featuring From Ashes to New that pushes it closer to nu-metal territory, but again, the original is the standout.
The Same and Shireg Shireg keep the momentum going, with the former offering a more introspective, almost bluesy take on the band’s sound and the latter doubling down on the rhythmic, almost trance-like quality that runs through much of the album. Shireg Shireg in particular has this hypnotic, circling riff that feels like it’s pulling you deeper into the album’s world. The acoustic version of this track on the deluxe edition is a nice touch, showing that these songs hold up even when stripped back to their core melodies.
Closing out the standard edition is Song of Women, a track that trades some of the aggression for a more melodic, art-rock feel that’s been compared to Peter Gabriel’s later work. It’s a bit of a curveball, with its swinging triplet rhythms and more sophisticated arrangement, but it works as a winding-down moment before the bonus tracks kick in. The deluxe version includes a remix featuring Lzzy Hale of Halestorm, which pushes it closer to modern metal, but the original’s subtlety is kind of refreshing after the bombast of the earlier tracks.
What makes The Gereg so compelling isn’t just the novelty of the fusion—it’s how well it actually works. The Hu aren’t just slapping throat singing over rock riffs and calling it a day; they’re writing genuinely strong songs that happen to feature ancient instruments and techniques. The production is clean but not over-polished, letting the raw energy of the performances shine through. And while the album is only about 40 minutes long (not counting the bonus tracks), it feels like a complete journey, moving from high-energy anthems to more reflective moments without ever losing its identity.
If I have one gripe, it’s that the album does start to blur together in the back half. Tracks like Upright Destined Mongol and Bii Biyelgee are solid, but they don’t hit with the same immediate impact as the first five songs. The formula—big riff, throat-sing verse, chant-along chorus, fiddle solo—starts to feel a little predictable by the time you reach the closing Tatar Warrior. That said, even a weaker The Hu song is still more interesting than 90% of the generic metalcore out there, and Tatar Warrior ends the album on a high note with a galloping, cinematic flourish that circles back to the opener. It’s a cohesive journey, even if it lags in the middle.
If you’re into rock, metal, folk, or just music that sounds like nothing else you’ve heard before, The Gereg is an absolute must-listen. It’s the kind of record that makes you reconsider what rock music can be, and it does it with a level of sincerity and power that’s hard to ignore. The Hu didn’t just make a debut album—they made a statement, and The Gereg still holds up as one of the most exciting and original rock records of the last few years.
Through the Shattered Lens 