The Bees’ “Voices Green and Purple” is probably old enough to be your parent (it blurted into life in 1966). After considerable consideration and due to random factors beyond everyone's control, it is also the best song ever this week: wheelie-popping, Pebbles-y garage-sike madness jizzed out by one-hit-wonder jamooks who somehow became geniuses for 96 seconds. We are truly blessed by its existence.

I posted this thematically appropriate song in today's Morning News on Slog, but hearing it again (seven times in a row) reminded me of its claim on the title Best Song Ever (This Week).

Occurring at 1:45 in the amazing-even-though-it's-just-a-lip-synch video above, some of the greatest lyrics in pop-music history:

Sometimes I stare in space, tears all over my face
I can't explain it, don't understand it
I ain't never felt this way before

Thank you, Holland-Dozier-Holland, and confidential to some beatmaker: Please sample Martha Reeve's "Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah!" (running from 2:06-2:08) and use it in a humongous worldwide hit. I cannot hear it enough.

While vacationing in Detroit recently, I found a used-CD copy of Associates’ Fourth Drawer Down, a collection of singles by the Scottish group led by Billy Mackenzie and Alan Rankine. They flourished in the ’80s and were mightily lauded by the UK music press (which I read religiously in that decade), but remained obscure in the US.

Reacquainting myself with Fourth Drawer Down—which I’d lost in that move last year—reminded me of the stunning uniqueness of “Message Oblique Speech,” with which I’ve become obsessed all over again, some 28 years after first falling in love with it. (You can hear it here.)

In a catalog studded with dazzlingly original songs, “Message Oblique Speech” stands above all others. What the hell is this? Operatic prog funk with delusions of Bowie? Talking Heads’ “Slippery People” played by Eno-era Roxy Music? Van der Graaf Generator fronted by an angst-ridden Freddie Mercury? A Tartan Sparks? I dunno. There’s never been anything like “Message Oblique Speech,” really—those crazily see-sawing/rubber-necking chord progressions, this flamboyant Mackenzie vocal performance, that porpoise-squawk guitar, those mad lyrics. We’re talking once-in-a-lifetime-level genius here.

Even more so than Fire Engines, Associates were the most outré Scottish post-punk group. They deserve much wider and more slavish recognition, but maybe they’re just too strange to appeal to more than a tiny cult and too bloody difficult to inspire a lot of young bands. It would take way too much effort to emulate Associates. Plus, nobody in rock can really sing like Billy Mackenzie these days; “Message Oblique Speech” represents just a fraction of his very odd and brilliant repertoire of vocal mannerisms.

So, yeah, I’m obsessed with this tune until further notice.

The title track to Juana Molina’s Un Día (released Oct. 7 by Domino) has been ruling my mornings for the last month. It sounds like an amazing collaboration between Tropicalia star Gal Costa and minimalist composer Steve Reich circa “It’s Gonna Rain.” The rhythmic momentum and the “one day” vocal loop are subliminal but relentless, just right for kick-starting your day (aptly titled, indeed). Molina sings over the top of this sublime, throbbing bed with more passion than she’s ever shown before (hence the Gal Costa comparison); previously her vocals were whispery and introverted, albeit beautiful. It’s as if she’s burst out of her shell here (the first track on Un Día), somewhat setting the tone for the rest of the disc, which features more forceful rhythms and more robust singing than were present on the Argentinian vocalist’s last three full-lengths—Segundo, Tres Cosas, and Son—all of which I recommend, by the way.

A lot of artists try to make soft-spoken, electronic-tinged indie rock, and most of their efforts inspire yawns. Juana Molina is among the most interesting practitioners of a style that the Postal Service took to the bank. The eerily gorgeous Un Día is her best collection yet.

Juana Molina, "Un Día"

The Band’s “Chest Fever” is one of the greatest rock songs ever. I’m not sure of many things, but this thing I’m sure of (forgive the syntactic disaster of that last sentence). It’s rootsy and psychedelic, a rare combination, with Garth Hudson’s swirling, celebratory organ stirring your adrenal juices into a froth and Levon Helm’s drums dropping serious hick-funk science. And those vocals—by Helm, Richard Manuel, and Robbie Robertson—add hearty helpings of gritty soul power.

But what really excites me about “Chest Fever” are the organ/drum/bass bit that runs from 3:01-3:34 and the section where Helm sings, “as my mind unweaves/I feel the freeze down in my knees.” Link these two parts, beef up the percussion to 21st-century specs, and add some shakers and you could have a killer soulful house track on your hands. Any producers out there want to take a crack at it? I will pay you… something.

“Chest Fever” [album version, illustrated with the wrong LP cover, lulz]

“Chest Fever” [live version, with long, amazing, Bach-inspired keyboard intro]