Last week I gave my music journalism class an assignment stolen from Chuck Klosterman: to answer the question “What kind of music do you like?” not by naming a genre or an artist, but rather by zeroing in on one’s favorite passages in music, being as specific as possible, and describing what happens during those moments and why they are so compelling.

I gave myself the assignment too, since it’s something I’ve been meaning to try for a while. I asked my students to choose at least ten such moments, so I also chose ten at random, though I could probably come up with more and hope to do more of these entries in the future. For now, here are my ten:

Fiona Apple, “The Way Things Are” The song comes out of the bridge into a steamroller instrumental section, with what sounds like choked timpani on the first beat of the bar and the keening Hammond playing those ascending chords. The song’s been hinting at this kind power all along, but this is where it all happens at once—the drums, the Hammond, and Apple catching her breath for the final chorus.

Bark Psychosis, “The Loom” The final section sounds like every member of the band is playing in a different time signature: drum kit against tambourine against claves against bass against deep, warm synths. But it’s 4/4. And then all of that decays to leave just a hollow, metal looping sound. If Hex has a thesis statement, that’s it.

Jeff Buckley, “Dream Brother” During the third and final iteration of that heavy jam in the second half of the bridge, Matt Johnson comes to a dead stop and chokes his cymbals—whereas in the previous two phrases he played mountainous tumbling fills—and Buckley hangs a gnarly bent note over the empty space.

Kris Doty, “Rain” The drummer comes out of the bridge and switches from a waltz to a shuffle, with skittering notes on the hi-hat, and Doty sings “You’ll be waiting for the longest, longest time.”

Genesis, “One For The Vine” Tony Banks’ solo piano part at the very end is beautiful because it comes at the end of an epic suite about war and lost innocence—and because it’s beautiful.

Groove Armada, “At The River” Asking myself to choose just one favorite aspect of this song is unfair, really. But the part that gets me every time is when the intial establishing section—with the drum loop and disembodied voice warbling “you’re sure”—stops momentarily to let the string sample be the focus for a while. And then the trombone. And the beats. And the rest of Patti Page’s throwback ode to Cape Cod.

Orbital, “The Girl With The Sun In Her Head”After building for six minutes, this interplanetary house anthem reaches its climax and a manic swarm of squiggly analog synths finally disperses, leaving only the insistent, syncopated drums and a thick outerspace organ.

Superdrag, “I’m Expanding My Mind” The slide guitar during the closing section. Just—yeah.

Tortoise, “The Suspension Bridge at Iguazu Falls” At 3’30”, the ephiphany: the repetitive lines in the mallet instruments break and the whole piece seems to open up, with the help of two guitars playing a beautiful melody that never recurs.

Underworld, “Kittens” Underworld spends the first three minutes of this track constructing an elaborate rave-up, only to plunge into a sinkhole followed by a half second of silence. Then the sound of a switchblade springing open crossed with the sound of a reel-to-reel tape machine cranking up to full speed. Then four more minutes of relentless stampeding beats and sheets of acid-house synths. But it’s that half-second of silence that I love.

If there’s a unifying theme here, it’s the existence of musical themes that loop and build to a crescendo or climax, then decrescendo, rest, subtract themselves, or otherwise fall away to reveal something beautiful. A kind of refinement, I suppose.