1. Gfrenzy, "Mouth of Blood Vengeance" (from The Need for a Crossing: A New New Zealand, Vol. 1, Table of the Elements)
2. Michael Hurley, "Streets of Laredo" (from Ancestral Swamp, Gnomonsong)
3. Bob Dylan and the Band, "I'm Not There" (from I'm Not There OST, Sony/Epic Soundtrax)
4. A Hawk & a Hacksaw with the Hun Hangar Ensemble, "Dudanotak" (from A Hawk & a Hacksaw with the Hun Hangar Ensemble, Leaf)
5. Robert Wyatt, "A.W.O.L." (from Comicopera, Domino)
6. Group Inerane, "Awal September" (from Guitars From Agadez [Music of Niger], Sublime Frequencies)
7. Jim White and Nina Nastasia "In the Evening" (from You Follow Me, Fat Cat)
8. Valet, "Tame all the Lions" (from Blood Is Clean, Kranky)
9. Spiritualaires of Huntsboro, Alabama "Spiritualaires Radio Program Announcements" (from Singing Songs of Praise, CaseQuarter)
10. No Age, "Semi-Sorted (from Weirdo Rippers, Fat Cat)
11. Pekos and Yoro Diallo "Untitled Track 1" (from Pekos and Yoro Diallo, Yaala Yaala)
12. Matthew Dear, "Death to Feelers" (from Asa Breed, Ghostly International)
13. R. Kelly, "Real Talk" (from Double Up, Jive)
14. Apparat "Holdon" (from Walls, Shitkatapult)
15. Fergie, "Glamorous" (from The Dutchess, A&M)
16. Deerhunter, "Heatherwood" (from Cryptograms, Kranky)
17. Radiohead, "House of Cards" (from In Rainbows, Radiohead.com)
18. Spiritualaires of Huntsboro, Alabama "I've Done What You Told Me to Do" (from Singing Songs of Praise, CaseQuarter)
19. Six Organs of Admittance, "Goddess Atonement" (from Shelter From the Ash, Drag City)

If there is a theme to my CD-R, it's that these are the songs I listened to more than others—songs I simply, compulsively immersed myself in. I tend to listen to one song over and over again, never forgetting the Fall's three R's. And thanks to iTunes software, what I do this with is pretty easy to divine—the listening I do via computer, anyway. But I also decided to skew my list towards music that perhaps people haven't heard, songs that might have been overlooked, like the amazing and all-too-brief intro song, which comes from a Table of the Elements compilation of new music from New Zealand.

A few of the songs on this CD-R, as well as on my best songs of the year list, are kind of awful. I initially had "Chocolate Rain" and "Bartender" on the CD-R list, but I realized that you should be able to see those words printed here on your screen and have the songs play in your head automatically. Unless you've never heard them, of course—which might not be a bad thing. "Glamorous" was so oversaturated this year, first on the radio and then as the background music to all kinds of crap on TV—who isn't sick of it by now? It's a diabolical song, a perfectly-crafted mash-up of pop clichés from soundtrack sounds to Ludacris' rap-by-the-numbers, which was likely written on the back of a Whopper wrapper. The whole thing sounds written by committee, but I can't help but love it.

Why am I much less embarrassed to include an R. Kelly track, when both are in their own way united in our imaginations by urine? (Fergie in a way that is simply embarrassing and Kelly in an alleged way that's far more threatening and really, really uncool.) I suppose I continue to buy into the idea of Kelly as some kind of a genius—if not quite the way Kelefa Sanneh does, then surely close to it. "Real Talk" was a revelation—how can there not have been a song quite like this before?

If I had more energy I'd decry the anti-reissue criteria imposed on this virtual mixtape. (Temporalism is totes the new rockism! OK, maybe not.) In order to reflect my taste in '07 releases, Omar Souleyman's Sublime Frequencies release Highway to Hassake: Folk and Pop Sounds of Syria would have to be featured, as well as a number of records from Dust-to-Digital, Bear Family, Collectables, Numero Group, Honest Jon's, and other fine people who release old sounds that are new to me. Yes, I'm now one of those weird old guys who listens predominantly to music from, like, 80 years ago—not quite a Steve Buscemi in Ghost World sort yet, but give me a couple years. (And a few dollars, please—record collecting is expensive.)

So much great music is never released in the first place, of course—not legitimately anyway—which is why I'm psyched there's a particularly salient Basement Tapes outtake here, courtesy of Todd Haynes' fractured, occasionally brilliant paean to Bob Dylan of the same name. (The clumsy dialogue and the easy-out of splitting the multi-faceted dude into separate creatures like some fuzzy Gremlin had me wishing Haynes were either more of a fan, or less of one.) But just hearing this one song previously buried on tape and CD bootlegs resurrected and cleaned-up a bit was a revelation for me; I'd somehow never zeroed in on this particular number. How can a song seem totally thrown-away and some brilliant relic at the same time? Such is the question that listening to the Basement Tapes always brings out, for me.

I was glad to see so much attention go to Tinariwen this year; I love their records and am totally thankful to the lovely snobs at Other Music for turning me on to them. But the best group in the Tuareg guitar revolution that I've heard has to be Group Inerane, whom I first encountered in one of Hisham Mayet's awesome films—that tranced-out snaking guitar style just fucking kills me, and the ululating backing vocals are so ace, especially since they're used sparingly. I can appreciate the stark and scholarly aesthetic of early Nonesuch recordings, but I'm partial to my "ethnic" releases recorded in the red, the guitars distorted on market stall portable amps maxed-out into glorious fuzz. Give me Sublime Frequencies and Yaala Yaala and Konono No. 1, please, thank you.

I heard a lot of complaining that 2007 was one of the worst years in music everrrrr, but that's not how I experienced it. It helps that I love so much of the music coming out of Portland, OR, where I live, as well as continuing to find so much awesome forgotten stuff reissued with love. This mix ends with a beautiful piece recorded in tribute to Sun City Girls percussionist Charles Gocher, who died earlier this year after a long battle with cancer. I miss the fuck out of him, and that band.

Mike McGonigal has written about music since 1984, when he started the fanzine Chemical Imbalance. McGonigal lives in Portland, OR, where he oversees editorial for Yeti publications and has two books of his own in the works.