I’ve made a musical discovery, and it’s all thanks to Third Eye Blind.

Since a Third Eye… I’ve made a musical discovery, and it’s all thanks to Third Eye Blind.

Since a Third Eye Blind record may not be readily available wherever you are reading this column, I will facilitate this musical discovery for you.

OK, now think about an album that you think is amazing – not good, and not necessarily your favorite, but a record that has profoundly affected you in some way. Maybe it’s the one you listened to when your first girlfriend dumped your unathletic ass for Quarterback Steve, or maybe you listened to it on the best night of your life.

Why the album is important to you is not important – what matters is that you have listened to this record over and over because you like the way it makes you feel. You know this record. This record is you. Now think: Which half of the album is more important to you?

Listening to Third Eye Blind’s self-titled first album (which I am not ashamed to say is one of the most well-crafted, emotionally jarring and criminally underrated albums of the ’90s) in Kiva Han a while back, I realized the answer to the above question: the second half. And the more I re-listened to some of my favorite records, a trend became apparent. The second half of any great album is the better half.

Does the artist or band do this intentionally? Am I reading too much into the importance of song order on albums? Did my first girlfriend really dump me for Quarterback Steve? The answer to these questions, with the exception of the third, is probably.

But because I don’t have Stephan Jenkins of Third Eye Blind on speed dial, I am going to suggest that there’s a reason why I have found, on so many of the most important records in my life, that the second half hits me the hardest. And I think I know what it is.

When a band puts out an album, its record label usually deems one song worthy of being the first single. The first single has got to be instantly memorable: You might only hear it once, and that one time has got to interest you enough to want to hear more, and hopefully buy the record. This first single’s also about instant gratification: You hear that first chorus or guitar riff and you love it already. With Third Eye Blind, “Semi-Charmed Life” did just that. Happy, catchy song? Check. Sing-along chorus? Check. I was hooked from the first “do-do-do.”

Similarly, the first half of the album is packed with songs like “Semi-Charmed Life.” This must be because, for a casual listener, the album is bought for the single and the single only, which often appears as track two or three, or, if the band is especially unsure that its music is any good, as track one.

For many a listener, interest is lost a few tracks after the single, no matter how good the material. This listener won’t make it past the single or singles because he is not willing to invest time appreciating any songs that are not as instantly satisfying.

Third Eye Blind again provides the perfect example – its debut had five singles, all immediately catchy, likeable tunes, and all are found in the record’s first half. For the sake of album sales and casual fans (what I mean by this is a fan who chooses not to invest a great amount of time or interest in ingesting the music), the first half of the disc is enough.

But, with the exception of pop groups, where each song is designed to be a possible single, and bad rock acts that are too talentless to write anything deeper than a few catchy singles, many stellar bands are at their best on the album’s second half. The musician is himself here. He experiments. He really writes. The true music fan lives on the second half of any great album.

Here he can find the slowest, the most personal, the most outspoken and the most introverted songs. These songs take time to love – they are musical, delayed gratification. The music is more foreboding – the artist is impressed you’ve made it this far, and as a thank you, he will show you what he won’t show the fans who just bought the album for the single. The single he puts out for everyone and anyone to hear, but the later songs, well, they can be all yours.

Let’s apply this to Third Eye Blind by Third Eye Blind. Once you’ve listened past the singles, which are fantastic in themselves (“Semi Charmed Life,” “Graduate,” “How’s It Going to Be,” “Jumper” and “Losing a Whole Year” are ’90s radio-rock bliss), the album takes off.

“Good For You” is a driving, twisted and tortured burner, “I Want You” is tied for my pick for Sexiest Song of All Time and “The Background” is as fragile as a broken heart. But listen to the last two tracks – the painfully personal and achingly beautiful “God of Wine,” and the ultimate I’ll-find-myself-to-get-over-you-song, “Motorcycle Drive By.” If there’s a line truer to lost love than, “There’s this burning/Like there’s always been/I’ve never been so alone/And I’ve never been so alive,” I haven’t heard it.

On the best albums, the first half may be music, but the second half will be art. Are there exceptions? For sure – someone’s favorite record might be total filler past track six – but listen closely, pay attention. The musicians want to tell you – not the universal you, I mean you – something, and you won’t hear it on the singles.

E-mail your favorite musical “second halves” to Justin at [email protected].