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Ambitious in conception, Shine On could so easily have been overcooked — or, worse, underdone. Instead, the shifting nine-part composition — culminating in what guitarist David Gilmour termed “the parting musical eulogy to Syd (Barrett),” the band’s former frontman — is satisfyingly complete. Roger Waters’ lyrics grapple with Barrett’s descent into lunacy, attacking it through layered metaphor; Waters himself affects just the right tone of wistfulness. The Hammond organ, the sounds of wetted finger on glass, the guitar solos, the saxophone overlay, the electronic work: though not spectacular in themselves, fit flawlessly in the song’s structure.

Eric Clapton’s cover version of this track brought reggae recognition outside Jamaica, and hastened Marley’s ascent to global superstardom. Clapton’s performance, however, had none of the original’s gritty edge. Marley’s genius lay in his ability to voice his experience, to describe his people’s reality in simple, telling detail — without succumbing to hate. I Shot The Sheriff, moored in the reggae tradition of story-telling, is deceptively powerful. Few musicians are as pointed and evocative — to hear Marley is to see and savour bullet-ridden Trench Town. No one has been as transformative.

After the unsatisfying dalliance with heavy metal and psychedelic rock in One Hot Minute, the band returned to its roots in funk with Californication. Not the dry funk of Blood Sugar Sex Magik, but haunting, melodic funk with moments of piercing honesty. The credit for renewal goes to guitarist John Frusciante, restored to the band after rehab. Frusciante’s emphasis on the emotive aspect of playing sparked this brilliant song. Anthony Kiedis’ vocals are singularly expressive. But, it’s Flea’s lissom bass lines, leached of the slapping and popping, and their interplay with Frusciante’s lead that make Scar Tissue so eminently rehearable.

In the hands of a lesser performer, Leiber and Stoller’s Jailhouse Rock would have remained a gratuitously silly if catchy number. Presley, however, turned in such a forceful, virtuoso rendition that it was wrenched from mediocrity and elevated to rock and roll greatness. Of particular interest is the King’s delivery during the debatably risqué part concerning Prisoners 47 and 3 — absorbed in his performance, Presley seems to ignore the innuendo. The song, both in spirit and image, captures Presley as he is best remembered: vital, roguish, sensitive, and untouched by the brooding bitterness that would follow.

From the band’s diverse and defining eponymous album, the lyrical Wherever I May Roam is perhaps Metallica’s most accomplished attempt at straddling styles. It’s certainly the most fun. The sitar introduction is immediately arresting; when the band performed with the San Francisco Symphony Orchestra conducted by Michael Kamen, the accompanying violins gave it a sinister, dramatic feel. The tuneful eastern sound persists, but far from degenerating into kitsch, the song reprises the snarling, hard-driven quality that first separated Metallica from its one-dimensional metal rivals.

My Five is a personal list of the five greatest tracks in popular music.

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