"Ego Tripping at the Gates of Hell" (The Flaming Lips)

Like any great work of science fiction, The Flaming Lips' Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots (2002) uses fantasy to examine the human condition and human foibles.  
Mortality.  Love.  Longing.  Need.  Hubris.  
All of these things are stirred into the electronic masterpiece that is Yoshimi and, more specifically, the album track "Ego Tripping at the Gates of Hell."
Thematically, the song is about obsessing over a single instance of rejection to the point of letting everyone and everything else in life fall by the wayside.  Or, to use Lips frontman Wayne Coyne's more philosophical explanation of the song (which was, at one time, posted on the band's website): "To derive one's happiness from only specific moments in time is to miss out on the cosmic accident that is all of life's moments..."
The production feels futuristic; burbling/chirping sound effects, fat synth bass, and surprisingly funky drum programming set the Year 3000 mood.  But strip away the sci-fi motif and digital effects, and keep only the piano and strummed acoustic guitars, and what remains is a classic ballad that stands tall on its own as a composition.  
And that's what makes me revisit this song, over and over.

"One More Robot/Sympathy 3000-21" (The Flaming Lips)

Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots.  It may be one of the most ridiculous titles ever for one of the best albums of all time by one of the oddest, left-of-center rock bands of all time. 
Somehow, The Flaming Lips crafted a work of art that blends Brian Wilson's "pocket symphonies" (as he called them) with electronica, owing as much on that front to Wendy Carlos as it does to Timbaland.  It defies genre.  It feels of, yet outside, its time.  Childlike in its playfulness, yet simultaneously poignant and adult, tackling themes of depression, war, and death in the context of sci-fi fantasy.  Just a great album overall.
One of the standout tracks from the album is "One More Robot/Sympathy 3000-21."  The song is ostensibly about a robot that learns how to feel emotion, and, by the same token, an individual who begins to develop emotions for the machine, yet ultimately questions if the feelings are mutual and real.  
The song also easily could be about any human relationship, where one party is consistently emotionally unavailable but occasionally expresses signs of love toward the other, leading that individual to question the legitimacy of the relationship.   Or, it could be an examination of the place of emotions and love in an increasingly digitized world.
Whatever the case may be, the song begins in a gray haze of synthesized hums and static before a skittering, drum-n-bass-y electronic beat takes over, underpinned by rumbling keyboard bass.  Next, Wayne Coyne's voice appears, sounding filtered and processed, giving it an appropriately artificial texture.  As the song moves from the verse to the chorus—the point at which the robot begins to exhibit human feelings, the filters fall away from Coyne's voice, and the beat thumps into double-time, like a heart coming to life for the first time.  The key also shifts higher, underlining the growing hope that maybe the robot can feel real emotions.  The pattern repeats again before dissolving into a lush, cinematic synth-symphony in the coda, which replays the melody from the chorus.  
It's simply beautiful.