We've already shared our Albums Of The Decade. Now it's time to list the 100 best tracks of the noughties, as compiled by a jury made up of NME critics.

Disagree with our choices? You can vote your own favourite tracks to the top in our Tracks Of The Decade Readers' List - and let us know what you think by piling into the debate over on the NME office blog.

NME's 100 Tracks Of The Decade was written by Tim Chester, Jamie Fullerton, Luke Lewis, David Moynihan, Hamish MacBain, James McMahon, Emily Mackay, Ash Dosanjh, Ben Patashnik, Alan Woodhouse, Martin Robinson, Matt Wilkinson.

30Take Me Out (2004)

Some songs seem custom-built for a 1am slot in indie discos. This is possibly the most surefire winner any DJ can have in his repertoire, because all the boys can pose and finger-point for the first 55 seconds and then the girls take over. It’s what Franz always wanted, and by criminy they succeeded. Effectively split in two – you get the singalong at the beginning and then the foot-stomping hip-shaking clusterfuck of cool for the rest – this was an introduction to a band who’d spend much of the rest of the decade making everyone want to wear desert boots and talk about art, and then say they were into Orange Juice. Which is quite the feat. BP

29Losing My Edge (2002)

It’s testament to the then-razor-sharp nous of James Murphy that ‘Losing My Edge’ is still just as relevant today as ever. Not just lyrically, although the diatribe remains funny as fuck, but the crisp NYC beats, which seem to be hardwired to our hips. In a good way. Murphy and co would go on to bigger and better things later in the decade but this introduction to what would later be discovered as his sound was a secret window into the lives of people who were cool not because they dressed particularly well or had expensive haircuts, but just because they were total unabashed music geeks. And everyone knows geeks rule. BP

28I Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor (2005)

…And it was a really very good one. On the surface, this heads-down rocker seemed like an unspectacular introduction to what would become The Band That Changed Everything Maybe, but its innate exuberance and the sheer joyfulness of knowing just how fun it is to dance like a robot from 1984 elevated ‘…Dancefloor’ well above the sum of its parts. Its cause was helped no end by a charmingly retro video featuring as its centerpiece a wink from Helders to Turner that said more about the canny savvy of the band than a million clever-clever interview quotes. BP

27We Are Your Friends (2006)

French electro bomp and sleaze meets otherwise-unspectacular UK indie, unites two hitherto alien tribes and becomes massive hit in the process. That stuttering vocal which seemed to suggest there was an exclamation mark after every single word or so (“We! Are! Your Friends!”) stapled to rubbery, irresistible synths was basically dancefloor catnip, borne out by the fact it’s still played at almost every single club night in the world. Weirdly, despite being a relic of a particular time and place, both [a]Justice[/a] and [a]Simian[/a]’s finest hour sounds crisp and fresh every time. BP

26Y Control (2004)

There were certainly more attention-grabbing tunes on YYYs’ stunning debut, but ‘Y Control’, with its relentlessness and irrepressible energy was a real gem buried at the end. With Karen O’s supernatural squawk and hyperactive guitars pinging and pinballing every which way from start to finish it’s actually something quite rare: a tune that will make you want to bounce on tip-toes around your bedroom every time you hear it. Oh, and it’s probably about feminine strength, but who cares when gender politics is quite so dancey? BP

25Wake Up (2004)

From the smallest of acorns come the most statuesque natural beauties: so ‘Wake Up’ grows from an inelegantly struck guitar chord into something practically religious in its fervour and scale. If you’ve ever been in a crowd of any size, from an intimate congregation to some vast festival mass, when this hymn to life takes flight you’ll know just how good it feels to open your lungs. Yes, we know there are some really quite touching lyrics, but nothing quite so affecting as “Whoa-oh, whoa-oh-oh-oh” when bellowed out by about 100,000 lungs. BP

24There Goes The Fear (2002)

The near seven-minute mournful masterpiece remains one of the most cherished UK tracks of the decade, by one of our best bands of the era, being one of those tunes that is both sad and uplifting at the same time. NME writers loved it enough to vote it the song of 2002. Nuff said. AW

23Knights Of Cydonia (2006)

Giddy up! [a]Muse[/a] haters tend to portray the band as pompous and humourless, like a modern-day Genesis. This track explodes that idea, for the simple reason that it's so damn fun. How can you not love a track that bolts defiant, us-against-the-world hollering ("No-one's gonna take us alive!") to a fantastical imaginative backdrop of galloping Martian cowboys. To watch this song played live, as the super-heavy riff kicks in at the end, is to experience rock at its most pure and exhilarating. LL

22Last Nite (2001)

'Last Nite' was the internal soundtrack of every early noughties UK student who didn't have a sports sweatshirt with a ridiculous nickname they'd made up for themselves written on the back of it. The most frivolous and fun moment of [a]The Strokes[/a]' entire back catalogue to date, never before had a song that sounded as if it was recorded through a plaster wall felt so anthemic. Built on a base of Ramones-like, taut rock, it provided a platform for one of the most air guitar-worthy of Albert Hammond Jr's axe-amblings ever, and was another reminder of how important these four dudes were. JF

21Fell In Love With A Girl (2001)

Jack White's reverential plundering of the rock canon has resulted in some criticism – but 'Fell In Love With A Girl', from his and Meg's breakthrough classic 'White Blood Cells', was a garage-rock classic that could hold its own against any two-and-a-half-minutes of noise featuring at least a guitar and a drumkit. Fast, frenetic and as feral as a wild tiger, it quickly became an indie club staple, the kind you drop pints for, in a bid to hit the dancefloor before the last gravelly roar from Jack's guitar ends. It's a distillation of pure rock that will never date or diminish, no matter how many more [a]The Dead Weather[/a] records we have to endure. JF

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