Structure, lyrics, theme, performance, instrumentation, and all the trimmings, these songs are perfect. I’m really into examining the structures that support art; picking them up, examining them, tinkering with them. And some songs have impressed me over the years. Like well-cut jewels, no matter which way you turn them, they radiate something new and fascinating. It’s a fluid list, but these come to mind:

“The Worst Hangover Ever” by The Offspring
“Foreplay/Long Time” by Boston
“The Hallelujiah Chorus” by George Friedrich Handel
“Mr. Brightside” by The Killers
“R-E-S-P-E-C-T” by Aretha Franklin
“Hotel California” by The Eagles
“Waterfall” by Jon Schmidt
“Murmaider” by Dethklok
“This Pub that We Call Home” by Stu Venable
“Good People” by Jack Johnson
“Cotton Tail” by Ella Fitzgerald
“Bohemian Rhapsody” by Queen
“Midnight Hour” by Wilson Pickett
“Good Riddance” by Green Day
“It’s Not Easy Being Green” by Kermit the Frog
“Code Monkey” by Jonathan Coulton
“Bron-Yr-Aur” by Led Zeppelin
“Adam Lay I-Bounden” by Benjamin Britten
“Good Vibrations” by The Beach Boys
“A Change of Mind” by Marc Ford
“Mercedes Benz” by Janis Joplin
“Honky Tonk Women” by The Rolling Stones
“Positively Fourth Street” by Bob Dylan

Some of these songs are famous; others are relatively minor stars in the musical universe. But a truly perfect song has to be catchy, memorable, compelling, and inspire spontaneous air guitar, head banging, or singing along in the car.

I’m a big fan of terraced instrumentation, such as in “Foreplay/Long Time,” and every time I hear “Layla” I have Epic Slow Hand Lust. I still get the tingles of anticipation whenever I hear the opening riff of “You Shook Me All Night Long.”

It’s not just musical arrangement, though; lyrics are key to song perfection. There are delicious turns of phrases that hit my ears with the delightful tickle I usually ascribe to Jane Austen: “With the raging of aging, when my last breath I crave please pull up the floorboards and dig me a grave. As you rouse and carouse pour an ale on the floor. If you listen with care you may hear my cry more.” or “Where’d all the good people go? I keep changing channels. I don’t see them on the TV show?” but the one that gets me every time is “I’m never gonna drink again . . . I’ll probably never drink again . . . I may not ever drink again . . . at least not ’till next weekend I’m never gonna drink again.”

But I’m still pickier than that; good lyrics aren’t enough. They’ve got to be delivered. After all, only Ella Fitzgerald can make Keats sound like an idiot child with a marathon scat topped off with “That’s Cotton Tail!” And when Janis Joplin screeches out with all of her angsty, destiny-laden hippie self-righteousness, you know she means it.

Some songwriters are prolifically perfect; Offspring’s “Spare Me the Details,” “Original Prankster,” “Hit That,” and pretty much half of what Dexter Holland has ever written is structurally perfect, with his batting average improving with age.

My criteria aren’t uniform or even really definable. I don’t think songs should be too long. “Too Long” means that my attention drifts or I just plain stop paying attention. I’ve found that three minutes tends to be the average length of a truly great song with two and a half as an ideal, although there are some proggy epics that can still make the cut. Vocals are usually required, but not always; “Journey of the Sorcerer” by The Eagles counts as perfect in my book, as does Mozart’s Piano Concerto no.21, and “The Kiss” from the Last of the Mohicans soundtrack puts me in an amorous mood like nobody’s business.

Variation is key, but must serve a purpose. Tempo changes should intrigue, not trip. Vocal layering should build somewhere, not just build pointlessly like yet another phallic obelisk. And threes — threes are the key to comedy, memory, and structure. The triangle is the most stable geometric structure in the universe, and this applies to music. Build layers in a song, and you’ve done well. Build in threes, and you have a hit. To return to “Foreplay/Long Time” the funky little acoustic guitar breakdown rocks the house twice, but when the magic number three rolls around, it’s amped up, distorted, and ready to rock it home. Tell a joke twice, and the audience will laugh. Tell it a third time with a twist, and they’ll roll in the aisles.

There are more rules, I’m sure. I’ll just have to keep listening to find them all. Oh, darn.