May 9, 2026

by Ann Powers

This week, our critic is thinking about the clarity and compromises demanded by the process of making a great, ambitious list, like the one recently published by The New York Times to honor songwriters.

Lawrence Busacca/Getty Images

Hello enumerators,

Nearly nine years ago, in the introduction to NPR Music’s massive, collaborative attempt to redefine pop music’s canon, Turning the Tables, I wrote something screamingly obvious: Every list has its limitations. I followed that well, duh moment with something more inflammatory, noting that list-makers inevitably deceive both themselves and their readers by concealing the unexamined biases and back-room compromises that inform every canonizing process. When The New York Times published its long-in-the-making “30 Greatest Living American Songwriters” list last month, I could immediately see how the panel behind it (a large group of voters from within the music industry and a smaller one comprised of Times employees, some of whom are my good friends) accepted limits and lies as part of their process.

The restrictions are right there in the project’s title, and made things manageable: “Living” and “American” wiped dozens of major candidates, from Kate Bush to Prince to Max Martin, off the whiteboard, even though the latter guaranteed that Joni Mitchell’s dual citizenship would become a major point of contention. (As something of a Joni expert, I agree with the Times. In her soul she is of the North.)

As for the benign deceptions a list like this inevitably perpetrates, they start with the inclusion of the word “Greatest” in the title. Call it my opinion, but I’ll fight you: The value of art cannot be quantified and objectively ranked the way an athletic performance might be. Your “greatest” might be my “incomprehensible.” Every list maker puts on blinders before even starting the process, working within a set of restrictions that may be unconsciously or deliberately imposed.

The well-argued, un-bylined introductory essay explaining how the Times greats were chosen acknowledges this, to some extent. It states that “people whose music has reverberated” beyond cults and niches were favored above “weird geniuses and underloved influences.” In other words, “greatest” means “most prominent,” whether that prominence is defined by record sales, laurels laid on necks by other artists or an enduring media presence.

The wide net the list casts hits the top layer of many different songwriting circles while leaving a deeper pool of choices untouched. (Most of the protests raised upon its publication were on behalf of such talents, and prove my point about greatness; it’s unpleasant to have to exclude Billy Joel or Randy Newman, inarguably important and much-loved artists, but they’re simply not as instantly recognizable as Springsteen or Dylan.) At the same time, the decision to try to capture “half a century of national life” as expressed by songs resulted in whole genres being underestimated, either because their current influence has dimmed (Broadway, despite Hamilton and Hadestown) or because their impact has been defined, at least since the bebop era, more by virtuoso playing than songwriting (jazz).

Still, I really like this list. I can tell how much work went into it, and how seriously its makers took their mandate. Many personal favorites, from Lucinda Williams to Nile Rodgers and Missy Elliott to Stephin Merritt, are here, and I’m honestly not mad about any of the inclusions. As a frequent list-maker myself, I can recognize the chocolate-box approach that the smaller group who finalized it took, which is the reason why most of the artists who might have seemed like shoo-ins were likely omitted. Too many songwriters from L.A.'s Laurel Canyon heyday or indie rock heroes in midlife would have skewed the list in a way that the Times team, focused on promoting a definition of songwriting that goes beyond the first-person confessional, clearly wanted to avoid.

When I first perused the list and its many ancillary products, including great video interviews with legends like Taylor Swift and Jay-Z and even mini crossword puzzles by smarties like Stephin Merritt, I accepted the exclusions the Times folks made and admired their handiwork. I could feel the group's effort to broaden the idea of what pop songwriting is, to expose and celebrate its many elements, while recognizing that this tidy canon didn’t fully overturn the prejudices that music snobs (hi, I’m one) have long brought to such tasks.

Aside from queen of the power ballad Diane Warren (whom one indie songwriter once dubbed, in an interview with me, someone “who just sticks a heart in anything”) and soul monument builders the Holland brothers, the Times list favors mavericks and deep thinkers, even within genres that love a good formula. That’s why the songwriting team of Brandy Clark, Josh Osborne and Shane McAnally won out over bro-country’s Ovid, Ashley Gorley, whose more than 80 No. 1 country hits have broken every record the commercially-oriented Nashville music industry values. I suspect it’s why Lana Del Rey ranks over Katy Perry or Pink or even Lady Gaga (who deserves!).

Look, I would have made the same choices, even though I always try to remember that the values they represent — authenticity, individuality, some impossible-to-truly-grasp notion of transcendence — are also always defined by the moment and not some universal truth. I know that songwriters who seem to be digging deep within themselves rather than shining up catchwords or engaging in other acts of wordplay are the caramels in the chocolate box — the thing most people reach for when they think of what a great songwriter should be.

It’s been sweet to follow readers’ responses to the list over the past couple of weeks, mostly because they have been so passionate. Jason Isbell and Jeff Tweedy’s songs really mean a lot to their fans, who are apoplectic about their exclusion. I loved one Substack writer’s boardroom-style argument for including Don Henley, which they recognize is unlikely to go too far (“yes, Don Henley is probably a prick”). The intensity extends to the details included about selected songwriters, too, as in this delightful rejection of the recommended songs by the package’s cover girl, Taylor Swift. And the camaraderie among supporters of esteemed also-rans on social media threads like this one is heartwarming.

In the end, though, I feel like one fundamental question remains under-discussed even though the Times list, with its pop savants and sample masters and rappers and country writing room negotiators, actually asks us to contemplate it: What is the essence of songwriting? I think the answer to that depends on the way you listen to music. The category of “singer-songwriter,” which haunts every discussion of the art despite representing only one way to approach it, accommodates a particular listening experience: quiet, in some ways solitary, absorbing an artist’s work the way one might read a novel or watch an art film.

But there are other ways to love music, and other ways to build it. Even among the “sit down and listen” set, though, there are different ways to receive songs, and the one a listener favors influences what they consider “best.” Some people want to hear a story. Others prefer to be dazzled by metaphors or swept up in singalong choruses. Story lovers would fight for John Darnielle or Gillian Welch and David Rawlings to make the Times list; suckers for metaphors adore Joanna Newsom and Billy Woods; choristers reach for the Indigo Girls.

Sometimes a great songwriter is more like a choreographer than a novelist, offering musical instructions for the dance floor. For me, one of the worst omissions on the Times list is Madonna, who co-wrote nearly all of her hits and brought dance music to the global mainstream in unprecedented ways. I also think it would have been a bold move to include a great remixer like Todd Terry or Carl Craig, whose alchemical work with the elements of songs pioneered new ways to compose. And then there are those listeners who want to live inside a musical arrangement, seeking out complex rhythms and instrumentation that offers fresh surprises on repeat; they might favor sonic architects like Pharrell or even Bruno Mars, whose lyrics always feel a bit shallow but whose deft combinations of historical elements are as deconstructive as a Frank Gehry building.

If you’re really into music, it’s fun to use a much-discussed list as a challenge to examine your own prejudices and try to think beyond them. Who do I wish was on the Times list? The names that immediately occur to me tell me more about my life as a listener than about what a songwriters’ canon should hold.

The first belongs to Anna Tivel, a 30-something Pacific Northwesterner whose writing dwells in empathy and humanist grace; I feel like her songs set an ideal for me, teaching me how to be a better listener and more compassionate soul. Rhiannon Giddens also always comes to mind — the blend of original compositions, artful covers and rescued treasures of the Black diaspora that make up her repertoire define her as one of this time’s most ambitious and visionary artists. She appeals to my bookish side and my political sensibilities.

When I think about older artists, I remember my teen years learning the pop songbook and send all love to Deborah Harry and Chris Stein for teaching me that girl group jams could be punk and to Chrissie Hynde for showing me how punk could also be soulful. But then I consider how important it is to look to the future, and wish there were more younger songwriters on the list; I immediately think of Lucy Dacus, whose brilliance at capturing love’s many shades connects deeply with me, someone prone to heartache. And yes, I was once a theater kid, so I wonder why Stephen Schwartz has gone unheralded. Godspell forever. I’m not a practicing Catholic any more, but inside I’ll always be that parochial school kid with an awkward heart and a longing to heal myself with a big, brash chorus, taking it day by day.

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Here are a few things making my list this week

If you want commentary from the Times crew itself on their list, you can listen to podcasts The Daily and Cannonball and check out Lindsay Zoladz’s list of 11 greats who didn’t quite make it. And here’s my pal Jody Rosen’s lovely little playlist of his current faves.
Nashville’s beloved Lambchop, the shambolic indie collective led by singer-songwriter Kurt Wagner, has announced a new album inspired by Wagner’s exploration of a religious choral tradition known as “lined-out singing.” The first song, “Weaker Souls,” is beautiful, as is Kurt’s explanation of his approach.
Two immersive videos I loved this week: the harpist Lara Somogyi playing on the subway and powerhouse Paris Paloma turning the Brighton cliffs red.
I’ve been meaning to read Anna Kornbluh’s Immediacy: Or, the Style of Too-Late Capitalism for years, and I finally dove in last month. It’s a highly theoretical text, so be prepared for some thorny language, but I recommend it to anyone who wants to understand what our social-media dominated lives have done to our ability to read, absorb and contemplate art and life in general.
Scandi noir fans, have you watched the new Netflix streamer based on Jo Nesbo’s brooding detective Harry Hole yet? Detective Hole is kinda trash, tbh, but it has some beautiful shots of Oslo, one of my favorite cities, and Joel Kinnaman’s performance as the villain is absolutely bonkers. Especially one scene that comes late in the series. Thank goodness he’s done an explainer; y’all can still watch his heroic turn on For All Mankind in peace.

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