Every time we pause to look at the last however many years of music, things seem stranger and harder to pin down. Not the music itself, necessarily, but rather how it reaches us and finds its way into our lives. In 2010, Pitchfork had been regularly using Twitter for just over a year. Streaming music was around but was a minor concern. Smart phones weren't something you took for granted.

All of these changes and many more have altered how we experience music, but one thing is certain: great songs never stop coming. Five years on, to mark the half-decade, here are 200 of our staff's favorites.

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Tillman's creative proclivity (both as a one-time member of Fleet Foxes, and as a solo artist) over the past decade, it took a fake name for him to hit it big. 'Hollywood Forever Cemetery Sings' is a disarmingly catchy ballad hewn from decades of downcast Laurel Canyon rock and dressed up in the finest imitation-Parsons jacket a Sub Pop advance could buy; it views the world through the conflictory lenses of libido and loss, sobriety and drug binges. At its core, it's an elegy for a love tainted by the reaper's touch. 'Someone's gotta help me dig,' Tillman moans to his lady, but is he referring to his deceased relative or someone—or something—further into the void, just beyond his grasp? Mercedes w203 subwoofer installed.

Heard next to the clattering backbeat, it's that very barfly philosophizing that makes this cut so lovable. Rap purists hate Migos. Haaaate them. From the jump, the 'empirical lyrical miracle' crowd have taken this young Atlanta trio—who've adopted Gucci Mane as their God MC and spit triplets about Norbit and Takis instead of, I dunno, their Adidas—as the three brand-loyal horsemen of the rap apocalypse.

But when's the last time anybody in the backpacker crowd coughed up a hook as indelible as 'Versace', these dudes' brain-sticking tribute to Gianni and them? Or snuck quite so many internal rhymes into a verse without leeching all the joy out of it?

The impossibly catchy, sneakily hilarious 'Versace' always reminds me of a lesson from another Southern spitter, once reviled, now revered: 'If we too simple, then y'all don't get the basics.' —Paul Thompson. Despite her sing-song vocal patterns, Megan James' lyrics focus on darker, harsher subject matter than you might expect. Take 'Fineshrine', a song about loving someone so much you want to disappear into their guts: 'Get a little closer, let fold/ Cut open my sternum, and pull/ My little ribs around you/ The rungs of me be under, under you.' When you pair words like that with Corin Roddick's ebullient, gently dark instrumentation, it's part Grimms' fairy tale, part moving meditation on never being close enough, of not being able to save someone when it's their time to disappear. Prikaz mz rb 622 ot 23052012 po tuberkulezu. —Brandon Stosuy. Something of a locus for the turn towards house (and away from dubstep) that UK dance music underwent around the turn of the decade, 'Getting Me Down' had been lighting up dancefloors almost a year before it was officially released.