Billy Joel can make a barroom feel like a theater and a city block feel like a diary. His piano is a moving camera, shifting from alley grit to chandelier sparkle in a few bars. Horns swing, doo wop harmonies glow, rock guitars punch holes of light, and the rhythm sections walk with New York confidence. He writes characters you swear you have met and refrains you cannot leave behind. These ten staples show the working craftsman and the showman at once, the sentimentalist who edits hard, the wiseguy with a soft center. They prove popular music can be literate and still shout along friendly.
1. Piano Man
An American scene in six eight. The harmonica lifts the curtain, the piano sets the lamp on the table, and the narrator starts to pour. Joel sings like a regular who knows everybody’s order and everybody’s secret. Verses build small portraits with the accuracy of a short story writer. Davy is still in the Navy. Paul is a real estate novelist. The waitress is practicing politics by topping off coffee. The chord changes feel inevitable, yet the melody keeps surprise in its pocket. The chorus is a benediction and a plea at the same time with a title phrase that sounds like both job description and calling. What makes this recording last is proportion. The arrangement never crowds the lyric. Bass draws a steady circle, drums slide brushes and kick in just enough, and the crowd vocals arrive like last call with warm arms around shoulders. As the final choruses gather, you can feel a room turning itself into a choir. It is the rare hit that lets melancholy and community live in the same glass. Put it on and strangers become company by the second verse.
2. Uptown Girl
A jukebox valentine that dances on white socks and bright tile. Joel writes a modern crush into the grammar of early sixties pop, stacking call and response harmonies and handclaps with cheerful authority. The piano pounds eighth notes that feel like a row of shining street lamps. Drums bounce rather than thump. Bass keeps a grin in the pocket. The lead vocal is part swagger part daydream, dialing in a smile you can hear every time the title returns. The charm is the discipline. Every backing part is tuned to lift the hook and then get out of the way. The bridge offers a quick spin around the floor before the chorus slides back in even brighter. Lyrically it plays with class contrast without bitterness, drawing a cartoon you want to root for. The video turned the image into a mini musical, but the record alone carries all the color you need. It is one of Joel’s cleanest designs, a precision pop engine that flashes only chrome necessary to get you where you are going. Try not to sing along with the final repeats. The song is built so you will.
3. Just the Way You Are
A slow dance with serious craft. Electric piano lays a soft floor, saxophone speaks like a friend with good advice, and the vocal stays warm without turning sugary. Joel avoids grand gestures and writes a melody that rests on the natural rise and fall of conversation. The lyric makes a grown promise and refuses the makeover fantasies that crowd so many love songs. The chorus widens slightly, not to flex range but to let the words feel taller. Rhythm section choices are wise and restrained. Cymbals sigh, not splash. Bass walks in simple arcs that keep time and dignity. The bridge brings a gentle bit of light, the kind that reminds you how a vow can calm a room. You can hear the songwriter’s ear for jazz voicing in the chords, yet nothing feels fussy. That is the trick. Beneath the ease is exact placement. It remains wedding staple and living room staple because it honors affection as something steady. No bargaining. No performance. Only a tune that holds still long enough for two people to recognize themselves inside it.
4. We Didnt Start the Fire
History class that rhymes and rocks. The drum pattern marches with radio friendly insistence while the piano and guitars form a clipped frame for a torrent of names, places, and events. Joel fires each line with reporter diction, letting the list become its own kind of melody. The chorus arrives like a verdict that doubles as a shrug and a challenge. It is catchy because it is plain. Production keeps the edges sharp so the words never smear. Backing voices underline turns of the decade without decoration. The joy is not only the recitation. It is the way velocity becomes feeling. Generational memory turns into an anthem you can shout with your friends. The bridge tilts just enough to make room for a breath and then the litany races again. It is easy to parody, hard to pull off, and impossible to forget once it gets moving. Under the novelty sits a serious idea about inheritance and responsibility. That depth is why the single keeps finding new listeners who were not alive for half the proper nouns. The fire in question is not a flame to admire. It is a condition to name, and the beat makes the naming feel communal.
5. The Longest Time
A cappella doo wop reborn with studio elegance and street corner joy. Joel stacks voices like bricks and curtains, building a room where romance can rehearse all the wishes and jokes that keep it alive. Bass vocal pumps the floor. Handclaps are the friendly electricity in the walls. Percussion is almost entirely human, which lets the swing stay playful even when the lines turn serious. The melody is built for echo, so by the second chorus any kitchen can find its harmony parts. Lyrically the song loves the ordinary miracles of sticking around. It admits doubt, then chooses devotion with a smile that refuses to be corny. Little turnarounds keep the ear happy. The bridge acts as a side street with a lamppost kiss, then the refrain returns as if the group had gathered a few more friends. The arrangement shows restraint. Every layer serves the pulse and the kiss of nostalgia without drowning in it. Joel’s lead rides the center with a softness he seldom lets himself use this long. It works because the writing is honest and the performance trusts breath and blend. A perfect proof that past styles can feel brand new when a writer loves them for the right reasons.
6. River of Dreams
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FoJzP-E0py4
Midnight gospel walk with pop shine. The toms thump like bare feet on warm pavement, choir voices glow around the edges, and the piano threads a bright line through the middle. Joel sings as pilgrim and tour guide, shaping each verse with the confidence of a man who has looked for answers in books and in the blue hour before dawn. The chorus opens like a storefront full of light, harmonies floating up through a melody that feels older than the album it lives on. Production blends spiritual color and radio clarity with uncommon skill. Bass is fat and friendly. Guitars add river glints without stealing attention. The bridge takes a brief step into dream logic, then the main theme returns as a promise you can hum all day. You can hear a lifetime of craft channeled into a tune that could have lived in any decade and still felt right. The secret is motion. Even at mid tempo the track keeps moving forward with purpose, like the search it describes. It makes insomnia feel like pilgrimage and turns a personal question into a chorus everybody knows by heart.
7. My Life
A clean shot of self determination dressed in bright late seventies color. The piano line snaps you to attention in the first measures, then the rhythm section settles into a tight jog that never loses poise. Joel rides the verses with sharp phrasing and conversational sting. The pre lift narrows focus, and the chorus opens into a sing with me vow that doubles as a boundary. Guitars skate in the corners with tasteful chime. The high backing vocals answer like friends who have your back in public. The lyric is all about line drawing and the relief of doing it out loud. Yes, there is a little theater in the posture, but the heart behind it reads true. Production is glossy in the right ways. Keys glow, drums pop, and the stereo image gives each piece room to breathe. A short instrumental interlude lets the chord changes show off their cleverness, then the hook returns stronger. It is an anthem for anyone ready to set the rules for their own calendar. Cue it up and watch posture improve across the room.
8. Its Still Rock and Roll to Me
Hook as thesis statement. The bass and piano lock into a brisk stomp, saxophones throw their elbows into the mix, and Joel spits fashion advice and skepticism with equal glee. The rhyme work is nimble, full of quick turns that land without ever sounding rushed. The chorus is a hammer built of three chords and well chosen vowels. It lands because it is simple and true to the singer’s worldview. Production embraces classic rock and roll shapes while acknowledging the polish of a new decade. Drums are crisp, guitars are salted just right, and the horn break struts without drawing away from the vocal attitude. The song is both joke and argument, and it wins because the groove never stops smiling. Underneath the satire sits a genuine affection for the basic kick of backbeat and bright choruses. By the final repeats you are shouting the title, not because the narrator told you to, but because the rhythm has made its own case. The single stands as a signature of Joel’s ability to write radio that also reads like an essay with a fun chorus.
9. Vienna
A quiet counsel that has become a rite of passage. Piano carries a lullaby lilt, fingers soft but certain. Brushes kiss the snare, bass hums a low river, and Joel sings as older friend, or perhaps wiser self, advising a hurry sick heart to take the long view. The melody is tender without slack, rising in clean steps that feel like the shape of a kind conversation. The lyric is a collection of images that lean the same way toward patience. When the chorus lands the room seems to pause and listen. Strings add polite color, never a flood. The bridge turns the light for a moment, then the main theme returns with renewed steadiness. The record has found new life across generations because its center is grace. It does not scold ambition. It reminds it to breathe. The jazz inflected harmony gives the advice a timeless feel, anchored in craft more than fashion. Few songs offer comfort without condescension. This one does so in under four minutes and leaves you taller by a small but important degree.
10. A Matter of Trust
Straight ahead rock built around a guitar riff, yet still unmistakably Joel in the way melody and message interlock. The drums drive with wide shouldered confidence. Bass holds the center like a friend who will not let you drift. The vocal has a little gravel in the grain, perfect for a lyric that treats commitment as a muscle you work rather than a spell you cast. Verses are full of handy lines you can quote in real life. The chorus opens and the title becomes both claim and challenge. Production is less piano forward than much of the catalog, and that choice sells the theme. The band sounds like a team rather than a studio assembly. There is room in the mix for air and for grit. A short guitar solo speaks in complete sentences before handing the steering wheel back to the narrative. By the last chorus the promise has turned from idea to vow. The track is a reminder that Joel’s bag includes more than ballads and character sketches. He can write the song that stands up straight, looks you in the eye, and asks you to do the same.
David Morrison is a frequent contributor to Singers Room. Since 2005, Singersroom has been the voice of R&B around the world. Connect with us via social media below.
