Paste Staff's Personal Walk-up Songs

When faced with the challenge of designing a feature in less than 3 hours, nothing gets the gears turning more that the fist-pumping action of this true American epic. When things get stressful and I'm feeling down, I like to think of Neil looking down on me, waving the red, white and blue. As he belts his words of encouragement, I’m suddenly able to levitate and design the most award-winning feature the earth has ever seen.

I'm a spreadsheet wranglin’ rookie with more heart than Dustin Pedroia in October. And for my money, there's nothing more fierce than David Eugene Edwards' fire-and-brimstone snarl.

When I'm not slingin' emails like crack rock or burying my headphoned cranium in piles of CDs to bring you the Paste-iest Sampler each month, I spend my time trying to match (and perhaps someday surpass) the masculine elegance of Kenny Rogers.

The title of this song speaks for itself because everybody has a weakness - mine just happens to be vanity. However, picture this - there are two outs in the top of the ninth and your home team is clinging to a one-run lead. In comes The Closer. He departs the bullpen to the subtleties of an ass kickin' bass line coupled with Reni's incessant drumming that works the home crowd to a lather. Your hero takes the mound as Ian Brown croons: "I don't have to sell my soul/He's already in me/I don't need to sell my soul/He's already in me." GAME OVER. How do you like me now?

Few songs sum up web programming as well as Muse’s "Hysteria." With dozens of web projects in development at Paste, "I want it now, I want it now!" really drives the point home. Plus, the constant driving riff just kicks ass.

Sometimes, late in the afternoon, when the refrigerator is all out of Diet Coke Plus with Vitamins and Minerals, the Konica Minolta BizHub is low on toner, and my Excel spreadsheet formulas are drawing nothing but wingdings and null functions, I need a pick-me-up. So I crank up C&C Music Factory's "Gonna Make You Sweat (Everybody Dance Now)." Then, when I realize that, as C&C says, "I'm just a squirrel trying to get a nut / to move your butt," everything's better. I give my Reebok's a few extra pumps, straighten my turtleneck and run my fingers through my flat top and it's 6 o'clock before you know it.

Just like with Rocky, this song inspires me to rise to the challenge—of keeping the books balanced and the cash flowing.

Nothing shy of a creepy stalker-esque song will do when I'm dreaming up what might make our readers feel like they'd be lost without our magazine and website.

The first time I heard this song was in the Adam Sandler movie Big Daddy, when Sandler's character is walking out of Barney's with his adopted/kidnapped son—everyone stops and notices them. “What an entrance,” I thought. So I'm swiping it here for use as my own entrance song, but I won't be swiping any kids like in the movie.

This song gets me pumped to read pitches from our fabulous writers. Don't make me come over there and love you, Brian Howe! You either, Amanda Petrusich!

It doesn't matter what I'm doing—assigning the video-games section, brainstorming headlines for featured reviews, deleting PR spam—as long as Icelandic songwriter Mugison is blasting in my SA6 in-ear monitors. Especially at the end of "Go Blind" when he shrieks until his voice absolutely disintegrates into guttural distortion. The man can croon, too. Holy first monkey on Mars, can he croon.

Whether it's after midnight and I'm frantically scrawling edits for the latest issue of Paste (in my trademark green pen), or preparing for a four-hour writing marathon to let you know exactly why The Replacements were one of the greatest rock bands ever, for me it's gotta be Rob Zombie & co. Nothing gets me fired up for a night of strenuous rock criticism like that menacing opening guitar riff. Power of the blaster movin' me faster is right!

The most painful part of my job is sending out the emails notifying potential interns that we’ve passed on their applications. Even my inner power-hungry sadist finds it a little bittersweet—but these schizophrenic guitars, dozens of desperately yelping Kevin Barnes and funky dance beats make it almost bearable. Bust you like a Robocop, indeed.

Every morning, the Paste interns blast this banger at window-rattling volume as I stride through the front door. No other song adequately captures how large I live, how big I ball: "In the hood if you ask about me, they tell you I'm 'bout my bread / 'Round the world if you ask about me, they tell you they love the kid."

Maybe it’s cuz I have four kids, or maybe it’s more to do with getting older, but I’m up early—and soon after, I’m in the office. Usually alone. We grumpy Gen Xers apparently have an advantage over the twentysomethings when it comes to familiarity with the hours before 9 a.m. The second song refers to the work I get done before I walk along darkened corridors. The work I do while I sleep. Represent!

Since I wear an off-white trench coat to Paste every single day, often dance alone in dark alleys and keep the company of acrobatic bartenders, my entrance song was pretty much a no-brainer. When assigning news items and deciding future Bands of the Week for pastemagazine.com, nothing beats the sweet, deliciously '80s groove of "Never Gonna Give You Up." Plus, I have this dream of someday Rick Rolling 25-thousand-odd baseball fans in the flesh. What?

I'm not a head-down kinda guy; I'm probably more likely to receive the message of this song than to give it. But it's an appropriate tune to start the day off with; hard to beat a combo of John Hiatt, Nick Lowe, Ry Cooder and Jim Keltner. Some days I follow this with "Hot Stuff" just to say I'm secure in my manhood and not ashamed to boogie to a little Donna Summer. Then, to earn back some cool points, I follow it with random Johnny Cash, Pavement, Pixies, Neutral Milk Hotel and a band even all of Pitchfork-dom hasn't heard of.

Mira, I always have a playlist running in my head. ¿Sabes? Whether it's raining, sunny, or if the apocalypse begins raining down, (Dios no lo permita) there's a song. Even though I'm not a "bonafide hustler", don't "clock anyone's game" or "BANG BANG BANG BANG", I can always call on M.I.A. to get me in that head space where I think that I am. Por ejemplo, if the editors be frontin' on me, I'll make them think I'm going to "clock their ", then boo-yah, I be banga banga. Como que yo rollo.

If I have to explain it, you wouldn't understand. Let's just say, like Jonathan Papelbon of the World Champion Boston Red Sox, I like to announce my presence with authority.

When I start blasting pixels into cyberspace, I like to imagine they are thousands of tiny, digital suns that will brighten the lives (or, at least, screens) of our readers with their microscopic brilliance. And nothing helps me visualize our readers better than Sir Mix's endearing tribute to America's greatest cities. So go on Seattle, find Paste Station over there in the right column, and "Jump on it."

Sometimes I like to make playlists in the office. There's only one in particular that keeps me going while I'm drawing pictures, tweaking the new Paste design or meticulously dropping in copy during those late-night deadlines. It's called "Iron Man Repeated Several Times In A Row" and that's exactly what it is. Who needs coffee when you have Ozzy?

Nothing rips you out of the funk of a late-night sound-editing session quite like Dave Grohl and screaming guitars. "I'm done, done and I'm on to the next one." Well said, Dave.