What's your favourite number number? The top ten best number songs

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This article titled "What's your favourite number number? The top ten best number songs" was written by David Klein, for theguardian.com on Friday 15th January 2016 07.30 UTC

10. “One” – Nilsson (1968)

By a large margin, the most common number used in song titles is 1. One Fine Day, One of These Nights, One Way Out, One Headlight, One Way or Another, One Love, One of a Kind Love Affair, One After 909, One Night in Bangkok, One Tin Solider (Theme From Billy Jack) – the list goes on and on. The number turns up in so many figures of speech— in one-horse towns, on one-way streets—that it looms over its numerical brethren like the monolith from 2001, which it kind of resembles. Songs of this ilk are legion, but most are not about one, or 1, or even oneness; they concern a single headlight, a tin soldier, a night in Bangkok.

Songs that truly address the essence of one are far less common. Of that group, I see only one choice, and no, it’s not by U2. “One,” as in “the loneliest number,” homes in on a vital meaning of “one”—one person, the self—and the longing to be two.

Three Dog Night first assaulted the pop charts with a melodramatic cover of this divine Harry Nilsson song, and Aimee Mann resurrected it with subtlety some 25 years later. Whichever version you choose, “One” embodies number songdom in all its glory. It’s firmly concerned with the number itself and the distinct meaning of 1 in our lives. Making its case through an insinuating melody, “One” has the precision of an elegant equation solved.

9. 19th Nervous Breakdown – The Rolling Stones (1966)

19th Nervous Breakdown comes from a particularly fertile streak of Stones singles produced by Andrew Loog Oldham in the mid-’60s, as the group transitioned from scruffy American blues obsessives into the self-proclaimed “world’s greatest rock ’n’ roll band.” The number 19 means nothing here, and it doesn’t have to.

“I thought of the title first—it just sounded good,” said Mick Jagger at the time, asserting a basic truth about numbers in songs. Sometimes they are there for purely sonic pleasure, providing necessary sinew to the roar of rock. Here, the alliteration of the two N’s mimics the aggression in Jagger’s lyrics, like the “nah-nah” of a schoolyard taunt. “Nineteenth” gives Mick something he can really lean in to. Think how anemic “15th nervous breakdown” would sound.

8. I’m 28 – Toni Basil (1966)

Before she became famous singing “Anyway you want to do it/I’ll take it like a man,” Toni Basil had acted with Jack Nicholson in Five Easy Pieces, danced with Davy Jones in the Monkees cult favorite Head, and choreographed a Talking Heads video. Still, the Philadelphia-born performer is best remembered as a grown woman in a cheerleader costume doing stiff-armed poses in the “Mickey” video.

Ms. Basil was in her late teens when she started working as a dancer and choreographer. At 23, embarked on a music career, the former Ms. Basilotta had earned the right to sing a worldly lament like “I’m 28.” Written by Graham Gouldman, this powerhouse torch ballad’s chorus is built squarely around the title phrase (“I’m 28/it’s getting late/ what have I got to do?”), and Basil belts it out with anguished urgency.

A song in which the number is front and centre this way always makes a powerful statement, and there’s nothing in the #28 zone that’s nearly as strong (although “28 Oldham Street” by Durutti Column is a heavenly instrumental). In a kinder and wiser alternate universe, Toni Basil would be more famous for “I’m 28” than the rah-rah, mutton-dressed-as-lamb paean to anal that is “Mickey.” What a pity.

7. 31 Flavors – The Shirelles (1963)

In Arthur C. Clarke’s story siseneG, the sci-fi master required 31 words to conjure, and then dispense with, all existence. Yet 31 in the world of song has nothing approaching universe-size ambitions. The numeral suffers, as all numbers ending in 1 do, when compared with its flashy, zero-ending predecessor. So we should be thankful for the existence of 31 Flavors by the Shirelles—which may lack the depth of the Shirelles’ best, but as infectious trifles go, it’s pretty hard to beat. I am putty in its hands from the trilled syllables that herald its arrival: “Ahhhh—yah yah yah yaaaah …”

The Baskin-Robbins ice cream company came up with the “31 Flavors” slogan in 1953, to distinguish itself from Howard Johnson, which was proud of having 28. But 31 flavors is just right; it’s an amount that suggests a multiplicity of colors, textures, and tastes, but not so many as to completely boggle the mind with choices. And a love object named Ice Cream Joe who can kiss in 31 flavors suits the notion of kissing just right, in a way that, say, Belle & Sebastian’s “String Bean Jean” never could.

6. 39-21-46 - the Showmen – (1963)

No doubt, the Showmen’s 39-21-46 lacks the ideal configuration for the #46 slot. It certainly makes more sense as a #39 song, but Queen wrote a great song called ’39, and in this game you have to know when to hold ’em and know when to fold ’em. The rules state that a number is legit if it stands alone in the title. (Hence, Prince’s 1999, as great as it is, does not count as a #19 song.) Here, though, the 46 does stand alone, albeit in an inauspicious position for a #46 song. But #46 songs must be sniffed out like truffles. When you find one as smile inducing as this one, you grab it with both hands.

This ranks high among my favorites for a few reasons, not least the record company chicanery that led to the title’s inclusion of the natural number following 45 and preceding 47 in the first place (the singer clearly sings “40 shape,” not “46” in the chorus). Additionally, this slot was as tough to fill as any in this quest. I was seriously considering “Forty Six & Two,” Tool’s mini-opus about mankind’s ascendancy to a higher level of existence via two extra chromosomes. Finding not just a bona fide #46 song but an absolute beauty renewed my faith that this endeavor had legs.

5. 50 Ft. Queenie – PJ Harvey (1993)

I know what you’re thinking: Where’s 50 Ways to Lose Your Lover? Paul Simon’s 1975 hit single is indeed the gorilla in the room of #50 songs. But despite its impeccable craft, 50 Ways lacks something essential: credibility. Now wait—lest you think I’m about to hurl accusations of cultural piracy (the Graceland kind) at the man, I assure you it’s nothing like that. This is purely about mathematics. To wit:

• Slip out the back, Jack (Way₁)
• Make a new plan, Stan (Way₂)
• You don’t need to be coy, Roy (A) (A=Advice)
• Just get yourself free (A)
• Hop on the bus, Gus (Way₃)
• You don’t need to discuss much (A)
• Just drop off the key, Lee (Way₄)
• And get yourself free (A)

Simon posits 50 and doesn’t even get into double digits. That is unacceptable. How many other male names would lend themselves to Paul’s clever escape scenarios? Just hop off the ledge, Reg? I’m betting not nearly 50. On the other hand, PJ Harvey’s 50 Ft. Queenie is 100 percent believable. I realize Ms. Harvey is roughly the same height as Paul Simon, but when that opening guitar figure—a swamp blues lick with its tail tied in a knot—gives way to mountains of guitar and she starts to unleash, I truly believe Polly Jean is 50 feet tall—at least. Certainly big enough to send Paul Simon’s overburdened lothario scurrying to a more secure location.

4. Route 66 – Nat “King” Cole (1946)

A handsomely curved configuration resembling two amply nostriled noses in profile, or two spoons poised to dig into some steaming porridge, 66 casts a long shadow on the numerical landscape. To those with a sense of musical perspective, 66 denotes an American pop standard that dominates the competition all but completely.

Route 66 has been covered by everyone from to Asleep at the Wheel to Buckwheat Zydeco, by rock bands and goth bands, big bands and hardcore bands, by crooners and the Cramps. And though it’s a wonderfully word-happy tune, the number has pride of place in the title phrase, which songwriter Bobby Troup and his then-wife, Cynthia Hare, chanced upon while stopping for lunch during a cross-country drive. Originally she suggested Route 40 for a song subject, but when Troup mentioned they’d be driving on the route John Steinbeck dubbed the Mother Road, she came out with, “Get your kicks on Route 66.” He said, “God, that’s a marvelous idea for a song.”

3. 74-75 – The Connells (1993)

Invoking a number for its pre-existing associations is all well and good, but occasionally songwriters find a quality in a given number that no one has sensed before. Think of Simple Minds, and the gorgeous chant of “81, 82, 83, 84,” lending a succession of crooked numbers a sort of majesty in “New Gold Dream.”

The Connells did something similar with 74-75, a massive hit all over Europe in 1993, but only a modest one in the States. The disparity makes sense though; you don’t need to understand English to be transported by the sound of those magic syllables. Despite conjecture to the contrary, songwriter Mike Connell chose the numbers not to commemorate particular years but only for the sake of cadence.

Not long ago, in this paper, a writer offered a somewhat sheepish appreciation of the song, calling the Connells “an inoffensive guitar band who wear inoffensive shirts.” Shirts aside, the haunting acoustic intimacy of 74-75, its touches of Celtic folk and monastic-style background vocals in the chorus add up to a song that is haunting and indelible. The band never capitalized on the promise of 74-75, but the 9.7 million+ YouTube views for the video are proof of its lingering presence in the collective memory.

2. 88 – Anna Domino (1988)

This project started nine years ago with a song called 88 by English art-pop chanteuse Anna Domino. To put it glibly, 88 is a bit like the greatest Kate Bush song that Kate Bush never wrote. It has high drama, spooky electronic textures, an entrancing melody, and an eerily beautiful melodica solo—and it slew me from the first time a friend slipped it onto a mixtape.

When I played it for a bartender/music-nerd pal of mine, who was similarly knocked out, I was moved to opine that it had to be “the greatest #88 song ever written.” That’s when we started naming every number song we could think of. I left the bar that evening with a handful of damp napkins—marked up with names of songs by people named Iggy and Alice and Jimi—and the seeds of what would soon be dubbed “rock numerology.”

When it came to write about Chapter 88, I faced a conundrum. Rocket 88, a 1951 hit by Jackie Brenston and his Delta Cats, is often called the first rock ’n’ roll song and had to be considered heavily as the ultimate #88 song. But its praises had been sung and its story told many times already. 88 was well below the radar. Still, I was on the fence. In the midst of ruminating, I came across the existence of a butterfly known as Anna’s Eighty-eight (Diaethria anna), a black, white, and red arthropod that looks as if its wings have been graffiti-tagged “88” in bubble letters. I’d paid attention to vague portents before, but the equation Anna + 88 + made by God was all the sign I needed.

1. “96 Tears” – ? and the Mysterians (1966)

If forced to name my ultimate number song, I would have to say 96 Tears by ? and the Mysterians. My reasoning? Numbers are singular, so the ultimate number song should be singular in every respect. Songs like Eight Days a Week and 19th Nervous Breakdown are pretty fantastic, but no more so than, say, Ticket to Ride or Satisfaction. On the other hand, 96 Tears is the band’s sole, lasting contribution to pop culture, and is huge by any measure.

The song is the standard-bearer for first-wave American garage rock, a genre that remains commercially viable today. 96 Tears is one of the first No. 1 songs by a Latino rock band. 96 Tears is unique in taking a number devoid of intrinsic meaning or associations and making it last forever. Try this simple word-association test: Just say “96” to another person and see if the first response isn’t tears. Does any another numeral do that?

Now consider the staggering number of cover versions the song has spawned. Certainly it’s the lone point of agreement between Suicide to Thelma Houston. David Bowie never covered it, but he played the song during his 1979 DJ set at BBC Radio 1, between tracks by John Lennon and Edward Elgar.

Finally, 96 Tears hammers home one of the Great Truths I’ve learned about numbers in song: mostly it’s a matter of sound. As confirmed by Rudy Martinez, who legally changed his name to ? and wrote and sang lead on 96 Tears, he chose 96 for one simple reason. “Because it had a magic ring to it.”

David Klein is the author of If 6 was 9 And Other Assorted Number Songs From the No 1 Song in Heaven to the 99th Floor

What are your favourite number songs and why? Join the debate in the comments below.




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What's your favourite number number? The top ten best number songs