MGMT – ‘Kids’ (Wesleyan University, 2003)

I’ve talked a lot about ‘changing the world’ in this list—plenty of solemn imagery about rock musicians and their godlike power to realign the planets through the sheer force of riffs alone. But sometimes, you’ve got to remember—it’s not that deep. At its core, music is fun and joyous. Sure, self-expression and emotional depth are great. Maybe even important from time to time. But there’s just as much meaning in an event as seemingly innocuous as the one captured below.

The core duo of MGMT, Andrew VanWyngarden and Benjamin Goldwasser, originally formed as The Management with no greater ambition than making music for the joy of it. That their song became one of the defining indie hits of the century is almost beside the point—the sheer joy on display speaks for itself. Life-changing music is sometimes a deadly serious Bob Dylan number. Sometimes it’s a heart-stopping Radiohead earthquake. Most of the time, it’s this—a couple of wasted college dorks who’ve made a catchy synth track, jumping around with their friends on a sunny day that I’m sure would be unforgettable… if any of them could remember it.

Blur – ‘Country House’ (Mile End Stadium, 1995)

I know we’ve all been on the other side of the “hearing new songs being played at a gig” divide, and sometimes it can be a genuine slog. However, think of it from the band’s perspective. How the hell else are they meant to gauge an audience’s reaction to a song, especially in a pre-social media world? The best example of this comes from Blur’s version of Oasis’ Maine Road show, their Mile End stadium gig when Parklife was at its peak.

What the crowd didn’t know was that Blur had a whole new album ready to go. They even had a song, ‘Stereotypes’, set to be the album’s lead single. A song inspired by their former manager, Dan Balfe, was still in the back of their mind, though, so they threw it on the show’s setlist and saw what the reaction was to it. The reaction to ‘Country House’ was titanic, and it convinced them to make it the lead single for The Great Escape, setting the stage for one of the most titanic acts in The Battle of Britpop.

Radiohead – ‘My Iron Lung’ (Astoria London, 1994)

Fun fact: in 1994, Radiohead were a total joke. An abject bunch of posing posh boys whose one hit was A) a feeble attempt to make grunge happen in the UK and B) the only one they were ever going to have—at least, that’s what people thought. Then, at their show at London’s dearly departed Astoria in 1994, the audience heard a song that proved two things. First, just how much more they had to give. And second, that they were far more angry about ‘Creep’ than you ever could be.

‘My Iron Lung’ is still staggering 30 years later. Its whirling guitar the sound of a psychedelic trip rapidly turning sour in a way you were not prepared for. This is also the one version on this list you’ve heard before for certain as the recording of this show was taken, smartened up, given a new Thom Yorke vocal and put on The Bends for the world to hear.

Nirvana – ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’ (OK Hotel Seattle, 1991)

If anything, the reputation that follows ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’ distracts from the fact that it’s one of the best pop hits of its generation, possibly of all time. It’s an absolutely irrepressible melody that, when heard once, never quite leaves your soul. Nowhere is this more apparent than in this tiny art-house show where a recently signed Nirvana debuted the defining song of the 1990s.

To be clear, Nirvana were already a special band. Bleach is a great record of scything Seattle grunge, but what they’ve got here is something entirely different. Just watch the crowd next time you put the video on. What starts off with people nodding their heads and talking is replaced by pogoing and moshing by the time that chorus breaks through.

Bob Dylan – ‘Blowin’ In The Wind’ (Gerdes Folk City, 1962)

As A Complete Unknown demonstrated, few eras in mainstream music were as exciting as the Gaslight Café scene in New York City during the early 1960s. Both for the music itself—you can’t argue with Bob Dylan and Joan Baez playing gigs at the same time—and for its accessibility. You could be sitting mere feet away from them on any given night, hearing songs like this barely a week after Dylan had finished writing them.

The audience in it is so pin-drop quiet that you’d be forgiven for thinking it was a demo until the very end when the audience’s applause bursts into life. This was a scene where the vast majority of songs played were covers older than the collective age of the audience. The idea that right in front of you was a songwriter capable of creating utter magic, capable of writing songs that didn’t just match the old standards but were miles ahead of them? Truly exciting.