"What Is the Light?" (The Flaming Lips)

The first time I heard The Soft Bulletin (1999), it felt strangely familiar.  I couldn't quite put my finger on it.  The album's lush, dramatic psychedelia didn't really sound like anything else going on in rock at the time.  But by the second spin, I was humming along to the songs with a feeling of childlike wonder; it was as if I'd known the record my entire life.
Eventually, it hit me: every song feels like it could have been written by Paul Williams for the Muppets.  (And I mean that in the most loving, sincere way.)  Strip away the synths, drum machines, and atmospherics from any of the songs on The Soft Bulletin, and what you have are rich, memorable compositions about life and loss that feel like companions to "Rainbow Connection."  I actually can't listen to the album anymore without picturing Kermit the Frog strumming his banjo in the middle of a swamp.
"What Is the Light?" also has that joyous yet bittersweet feel.  (If we're still talking Muppets, it's a little more Dr. Teeth and the Electric Mayhem than Kermit, though.)  The track begins in an almost embryonic state with a heartbeat-like thump and then builds to a crescendo of anthemic proportions, complete with a fanfare of synth brass and distorted church organ.  It's nearly impossible not to sing along with Wayne Coyne as he intones Looking into space, it surrounds you / Love is the place that you're drawn to. It is one of the best hooks that the Lips have ever written.

"Feeling Yourself Disintegrate" (The Flaming Lips)

The album The Soft Bulletin (1999) wouldn't have happened without its predecessor Zaireeka (1997)—an ambitious, hyper-experimental album by The Flaming Lips that consists of four discs, meant to be played on multiple stereos, all at once.  The idea is to create an interactive, surround-sound experience, where you have to play the album with other people in order to properly sync up the tracks.
Just before the recording sessions for Zaireeka commenced in late 1996, their lead guitarist, Ronald Jones, exited the band.  This left the remaining members—Wayne Coyne (vocals/guitar), Steven Drozd (drums/keyboards/etc.), and Michael Ivins (bass)—with a conundrum: replace Jones and keep moving in their quirky, revved-up rock direction (à la their unlikely hit "She Don't Use Jelly"), or remain a trio and completely change course?
As the 2013 Pitchfork Classic documentary celebrating the recording of The Soft Bulletin relays, they took the latter route, even going so far as to purposely not use guitars while writing most of the songs for The Soft Bulletin (which they began recording in 1997 while still working on Zaireeka).  In fact, there's a heavy reliance on synthesizers and electronics—including using the studio itself as an instrument—on the album.  The resulting sound isn't plastic or synth-y, however.  The music is surprisingly warm and symphonic, like the soundtrack of a 1930s Hollywood film, which matches the grand, anthemic feel of the songs themselves—songs about both the minutiae and hugeness of life and human mortality.
The track that anchors the whole album is "Feeling Yourself Disintegrate."  In the aforementioned documentary, Ivins notes that, lyrically, the song likely was inspired by Coyne's father battling cancer and ultimately losing that battle.  In four short lines and a refrain, it presents the idea that, every day that we live, we're essentially falling apart.
Musically, it's a masterpiece of inventive arranging.  From the fast-panning vocal percussion that underpins the first half of the song to the echoey stacks of vocals over Drozd's soaring church organ and synth orchestra, the song floats along on a silver-lined cloud for five perfect minutes.