Slant Magazine

20. The Knife, "Heartbeats." It's hard to pinpoint exactly when this song, a holdover from the Knife's weaker, more obscure second album, became popular, but its insistent ubiquity in the latter part of the decade didn't hurt its luster, its sense of icy overall obliqueness wrapped around a crowd-pleasingly catchy beat. Silent Shout, which perfected the formula, is full of these types of songs, which manage to be oppressively dark while still completely listenable, but none of them do it as perfectly as "Heartbeats." JC

19. M.I.A., "Galang." "Galang" is absolutely primal, and it distills "pop" to its essence. Linear storytelling, it turns out, isn't necessary, and nonsense syllables will suffice in lieu of meaningful words. Melody doesn't have to amount to much at all; the simple rise and fall of a rapper's cadence will do just fine. So long as the hooks sink in deep and the beat can club her prey into submission, her pop song doubles as a weapon, and "Galang" ends, appropriately enough, with M.I.A. shouting a simple, "Ya, ya, Hey!" like a war cry. JK

18. The White Stripes, "Seven Nation Army." Having already defined their aesthetic of blues-rock formalism with a rigidity that even the Dogme 95 directors would have found restrictive, Jack and Meg exploded beyond their self-imposed confines on "Seven Nation Army" and announced the White Stripes as perhaps the most important American band of the decade. With a sound as massive and menacing as a line of approaching tanks, even Jack's yelp of "I'm going to Wichita!" comes off as a threat, but it's that iconic guitar riff that turned the single into a modern standard. JK

17. Britney Spears, "Toxic." The critical highpoint of the first decade of a career more dominated by depressing extracurricular antics than actual music, "Toxic," dripping with pointless lyrics and an overbearing sense of latent stupidity, is elevated to art by its screeching violin, one of the most magnificent isolated pop music moments of the last 10 years. It's easy to forget that the rest of the song's production is so strong, packed with weird flourishes, a squelchy breakdown, and a self-consciously lifted James Bond guitar riff—smaller, load-bearing touches that help to cement the song's greatness. JC

16. Hercules and Love Affair, "Blind." DJ and once-Butt magazine model Andrew Butler's Hercules and Love Affair outfit paid poignant homage to the queer man's feelings of yearning, wish fulfillment, and survival on their sensual, vaporous, and bittersweet self-titled debut album. A fabulous experiment at looking at the present from some kind of beyond, their splendiferous "Blind" was like a post-mortem address by "Queen of Disco" Sylvester, reminiscing on libertine days gone by through the gender-bending voice of Antony Hegarty. A groovilicious, undulating foot-stomper that continues to stir the soul. EG

15. Clipse, "Grindin'." Has anything so malevolent ever been made of so few ingredients? The aural equivalent of a Molotov cocktail, the Neptunes's beat cruises along on unnervingly explosive boom-bap, kicks that sound like a gun cocking, and a barely-there melody out of John Carpenter's nightmares. And even though Malice and Pusha T both sound like they'd rather be pushing weight, each brings their own particular brand of murder. "And if I wasn't able/There was always 'caine" is the best coke rap line ever, and coke rap didn't even really exist yet. DH

14. OutKast, "Ms. Jackson." Did any song from the last decade, of any genre, even begin to capture as many facets of the modern American experience of family? Did any even try? OutKast throws a lot of pasta at the ceiling here—puppy love, divorce, custody battles, abuse, protective in-laws, the idea of forever—and every single strand sticks. The beat is equally hodgepodge, built on a loping, shaky rhythm and accented with many plonky little parts that add up to something strange and massive and true—like any American family. DH

13. Kelly Clarkson, "Since U Been Gone." Who knew aping Pat Benetar could score you a hit and the respect of the indie crowd? It was reportedly Kelly Clarkson herself who convinced teen-pop producer Max Martin to dirty up "Since U Been Gone" with more squelchy guitar licks, and it was a move that helped distinguish the singer from the squeaky-clean reality show that made her a star. With a power-hook that stretches for miles, "Since U Been Gone" helped Clarkson further prove both her muscle as a vocalist and her versatility as an artist. SC

12. Yeah Yeah Yeahs, "Maps." A spot of relative calm among the snarling briar patch that is Fever to Tell, "Maps" comes out of nowhere, the intimacy of Karen O's voice, the careful, resolute shimmer of the guitar line, the measured, looping drums all seemingly at odds with the album's overall stridence. This oasis status, the perfect collusion of its elements, and the way everything is so carefully repeated help make up for the banality of the lyrics, which might have sputtered under lesser circumstances. JC

11. Franz Ferdinand, "Take Me Out." Oh, that tempo change, the moment when Franz Ferdinand turned into precisely what post-garage rock needed: its own Blondie. But even Blondie didn't manage to record "Atomic" right out of the gate, and that's what makes "Take Me Out" all the more unexpected and satisfying. There's true genius in the way the song marries the guitar hook of the Waitresses's "I Know What Boys Like" to the beat and melody of Justin Timberlake's "Rock Your Body" and real accomplishment in making an entire generation of image-conscious hipster kids dance for four glorious minutes. JK