“Exactly,” I said. “That’s 1997. That’s the whole year.”
“Bittersweet Symphony” wasn’t a song. It was a resignation letter. That orchestral sample—stolen, technically—sounded like a memory you never had. And Richard Ashcroft, shoulders hunched, muttering into the wind: “No change, I can’t change, I can’t change…” best song of 1997
The assignment: pick the single best song of the year. “Exactly,” I said