I don’t post here any more
Hi,
In the unlikely event that you’re interested in my inane and infrequent mutterings about music, everything now resides on my personal website:
http://www.bendaubney.com/home?category=music
Ta!
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
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oozey mess
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Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
Sweet Seals For You, Always
One Nice Bug Per Day
taylor price

titsay
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
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Keni

Origami Around

Andulka

#extradirty
Peter Solarz
AnasAbdin
Sade Olutola

if i look back, i am lost
Cosimo Galluzzi

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@inlay
I don’t post here any more
Hi,
In the unlikely event that you’re interested in my inane and infrequent mutterings about music, everything now resides on my personal website:
http://www.bendaubney.com/home?category=music
Ta!
2014 album of the year
*sighs*
Although all my music is bought and listened to primarily on a physical format, I've been obsessively maintaining my iTunes library for a decade now.
Every year, I have a running smart playlist in iTunes that groups together all the music I've bought over the past twelve months. It's a useful track of the scary amount of money I spend on this hobby but also an excellent aide-mémoire of things I might have forgotten about, a little archive of what it is I've actually spent my hard-earned on.
At this time of year, I go through that list, agonise over what my favourite half-dozen releases have been, sort them in order of best to worst, and write a little post here, again for my own records as much as anything else.
This year... it's not been a task that I've really looked forward to.
2014 has not been an inspiring year. There have been plenty of alrightish albums but there's been nothing that's really moved me, nothing that's challenged me, nothing that feels like it might contend for a place in my list of all-time favourites. Albums I've liked have either been good-but-retreading-old-ground, deliberately nostalgic, or late-career-naval-gazing.
Let me emphasise again: I've liked all these albums, but I've not loved any of them. They're not bad, but they're not brilliant either.
If I were to choose a record of the year, I'd be Alvvays' self-titled debut:
A lovely little pop album whose first two tracks in particular - Adult Diversion and Archie Marry Me - are joyous jangly nuggets that haven't been seen since Camera Obscura discovered that it's ok to be happy every now and then. It's an album I've listened to constantly since release and seems to suit every mood and every eventuality.
But... Alvvays are a band who are painfully in thrall to other artists. The Glasgow indiepop scene is an obvious point of comparison (and probably why I've loved this album in particular), so is anything Phil Spector touched (not like that) before 1980 or so. It's an enjoyable album but it feels like an album that could've existed ten, twenty, even thirty years ago. It's not telling me anything about 2014 other than that we seem out of ideas.
Painfully out of ideas.
And it's not a problem I see a quick solution to either.
The band I've enjoyed the most recently are Deers, a group who make cheaply recorded but really fun four minute pop songs. If you don't mind music made on scratchy four-track recorders with £75 guitars, this is for you. Trippy Gum in particular is delightful.
But, just like Alvvays, Deers are a band that could have existed at nearly any point since 1980. Arguably, they could even be contemporaries of The Velvet Underground. They might have been inspired by previous greats, but they don't feel inspiring in and of themselves.
Alright, fka twigs' album was fun and felt new, but it's not something that can be listened to day and night. Kate Tempest seems like something new, but the album was patchy and it doesn't feel like she's quite found her voice quite yet. The Jungle album's nice enough, but "nice enough" is hardly a ringing endorsement.
I'm far from resigned that ALL MUSIC EVER IS OVER. I'm hopeful that 2015 will reveal something truly different and make us all feel that we're at the start of something new rather than sloshing around a synthetic approximation of what was good decades ago. Fingers crossed.
2013 album of the year
1. Franz Ferdinand - Right Thoughts, Right Words, Right Action
Hey, remember that Franz Ferdinand released an album this year? Did you get round to listening to it, or were you busy listening to labelmates Arctic Monkeys (good but not great) AM?
Looking at most end-of-year lists - both amongst music fans and retailer's sales figures - Right Thoughts Right Words Right Action is notably absent. A decade after the debut that swept away all before it, the world collectively shrugged its shoulders at Franz's fourth release. The music press weren't sure how to approach it - is it a 'return to form'? Or 'more of the same'? Have they gone electric or dance or trance or dubstep? How can a ten year old band be relevant when there's some new Witch House esque sub genre waiting to be discovered somewhere?
To those who not only cherished Franz Ferdinand on its original release but continue to cherish it, Right Thoughts Right Words Right Action is a continuation of the classic Franz sound and style. Catchy, dancey guitar lines, knowing lyrics, clever sequencing, and brilliant production. It is, in every sense, a classic pop album that more than deserves the mantle of the very best album of 2013.
There are so many stand out moments that it is difficult to pick a single one as a highlight. Is it the reverb on the voice on 'Evil Eye'? The great lyric on 'The Universe Expanded'? The three minute thrash of 'Bullet'? The 'Stereotypes'-esque 'Brief Encounters'? It's such a rich record that every track - almost every moment - is worthy of an essay in itself.
This, you may have noticed, is an article littered with questions. I'm floored by this album but listening to it makes me question why it has been so totally ignored. Tastes change, sure, but there's always usually an audience for big thrashy clever guitar-led pop. Franz stand alone on that mantle right now; they have no real peers to speak of. Arctic Monkeys are ploughing their own interesting little furrow, sure, but their spartan production and slower pace of songs don't have the same party atmosphere and sense of euphoria that Right Thoughts has by the bucketload. Is it me? Am I getting old? Is this the start of The Decline??
Existential crises aside, a great album is a great album. Right Thoughts is a phenomenal work that has continued to delight every single week since its release. Mass appreciation or not, it's a hell of an achievement for a band in their eleventh year to sound so fresh and so alive. If you love honest, simple guitar pop, you'll most definitely find a home here.
The top ten albums of 2013:
1 - Franz Ferdinand - Right Thoughts Right Words Right Action
2 - Haiku Salut - Tricolore
3 - Parquet Courts - Light Up Gold
4 - Hookworms - Pearl Mystic
5 - Public Service Broadcasting - Inform - Educate - Entertain
6 - Kishi Bashi - 151a
7 - Daft Punk - Random Access Memories
8 - Malcolm Middleton - 5:14 Fluoxytine Seagull Alcohol John Nicotine
9 - Cults - Static
10 - Honey Ltd - The Complete LHI Recordings
2013 album(s) of the year - 4 to 2
4. Hookworms - Pearl Mystic
"Guitar music is dead!" The frequent lament of the past couple of years at the more chinstroking end of the popular press never rang true and, in 2013, has been totally proven wrong. Exhibit one: the immediate psych classic Pearl Mystic, an album that is everything that MBV probably should have been.
Such loud feedback-laden albums have a propensity to be po-faced; Hookworms' genius is to make this sort of music fun again. From the three minute build up on the start of the very first track, there's an immediate sense that this is a ride down a waterfall with all the chaos and adrenaline that involves. The album blasts by in what feels like moments; it's the shortest 45 minutes in pop of the year.
3. Parquet Courts - Light Up Gold
Exhibit two: an album that's very easy to deride as hipster nonsense but is the most promising bit of guitar pop for years.
Take the basic idea of a guitar band and strip it back thirty or forty years and you end up with the Parquet Courts sound, a kind of easily digestible CBGB's Talking Heads. Where Hookworms are a clever study of layering, Parquet Courts are a band of intensity and immediacy. The songs are short and sharp; some feel half finished, others blend into each other as one idea spawns another.
Easy to deride? Sure - it's such a hastily recorded selection of songs that it could be compared to the first Strokes recordings and be dismissed as an affectation, an attempt to attract a similar audience. The artwork doesn't help - deliberately scratchy, unfinished, and obscure, it's an expression of a group pretending not to care but caring very much.
So why do I rate it so highly? Because, pretension or not, it's still a great album. The movement between tracks, the demo-like feeling of it being a collection of sketched ideas, the excited bounding between one of those ideas and the next, the simplicity of the lyrics and, ultimately, the sincerity of those lyrics make it one of the most exciting albums of the year. Only the steeliest of hearts and most cynical of minds would find nothing here to enjoy.
2. Haiku Salut - Tricolore
But guitar music, such as it is, isn't everything.
Haiku Salut's debut appeared as if from nowhere. An all-but-dormant but much beloved label announced at the start of the year that they'd signed the band and that the album was immediately available. Knowing nothing of them in the slightest but having total faith in the label, an order was duly placed with little expectation.
If the band had been hyped for months, my expectations would have been more than surpassed.
Tricolore is an extraordinary piece of work. Part Yann Tiersen (hence, one assumes, the Gallic title), part eclectic Japanese videogame soundtrack, part classically trained string trio, it's an album that shouldn't exist, let alone written by three girls from Derby.
It's a truly beautiful listen. More so than any other record on this list, it's an album that absolutely bowls this listener away with its intimacy, beauty, intricacy, and sheer talent. You don't expect such a classic orchestration to be occasionally accompanied by little electronic glitchy melodies, and you sure don't expect an instrumental album to paint as vivid pictures as Tricolore does.
'Watanabe', listened to in the snowfall of January, moved me more than anything else this year. That the final track loops back perfectly with the first has meant that, more often than not, a single listen has been impossible. It is something which begs to be listened to over and over again and doesn't ever fatigue or bore.
It's such a great album. Albert Camus (famously quoted on Scott 4) said that "a man's work is nothing but this slow trek to rediscover, through the detours of art, those two or three great and simple images in whose presence his heart first opened." I grew up with Yann Tiersen, Neil Hannon, similar orchestral pop, and the Nintendo Game Boy. Haiku Salut feel like the modern amalgam of all those loves from times past and I truly love them for it.
2013 album(s) of the year - 7 to 5
7. Daft Punk - Random Access Memories
There was no way that it could live up to the hype. It didn't; sugared up on 'Get Lucky', everyone expected another Discovery dance party but got a meandering album that varied in tone every few songs. Gut reaction - including my own - was that it was a failed experiment, too much of a conscious shift away from what they'd done before.
Random Access Memories has rewarded repeat listens more than any other this year. Where Discovery felt like walking into a club and having that euphoria and heady comedown in the wee hours, Random Access Memories feels like an album written to soundtrack the time away from the club - the arrival in the bar, the chatter about a favourite album, a bit of time on the dancefloor, and a nightbus home with headphones on.
Random Access Memories is more contemplative than Daft Punk's earlier albums. What it lacked in an immediate guttural hit, it's more than made up for in thoughtful, reflective pop. It's never going to soundtrack a party, but it'll soundtrack more than a few nights of chatter.
6. Kishi Bashi - 151a
At the other end of the scale from Random Access Memories is an album which has had barely a hint of marketing hyperbole on this side of the Atlantic.
Officially released in Europe this year (hence being part of this years' top ten), sometime of Montreal collaborator Kaoru Ishibashi's debut is an eclectic and deceptive listen. It's difficult to cite comparable artists - his classical violin playing and occasional looping is much like Andrew Bird, his euphoric tracks are like The Go! Team at their best, his ambient moments head into Balam Acab territory. Kishi Bashi feels like an artist who is rabidly absorbing any influence that he's shown the slightest interest in and creating something that is far more than the sum of its parts.
It's such an enchanting album. It's blissfully, danceably happy at times, meditative and calm at others. Kishi Bashi is much like The Flaming Lips with the punk removed and replaced by folksy violins. With new material starting to appear, the follow up to 151a is almost certainly my most anticipated album of 2014.
If you ignore everything else on this list, I implore you to give Kishi Bashi a whirl.
5. Public Service Broadcasting - Inform - Educate - Entertain
The enchanting War Room EP eighteen years ago promised much of Public Service Broadcasting. What could be a novelty act - the dialogue from old government edutainment films put over a beat and a guitar line - is a reverential and (let's be frank) fun mix. 'Spitfire' on that EP is a case in point - the received pronunciation of a fighter pilot's experiences should not work on a pop song but the fact that the text is not abridged, the fact that the guitar riffs and the beat keep driving and growing, and the fact that it's a respectful remembrance while still being a pop song at heart is astonishing.
The album itself, in the main, carries on that same mix of poprock and history. What is astonishing is that, over the course of eleven tracks, it's a trick that never feels tired. These are not rehashes of the Propellerheads' 'Bang On!', a single phrase over a pulse. These are narratives, all but forgotten in dusty archives.
As enjoyable as Inform - Educate - Entertain is, one cannot help but wonder if it's a trick that can ever be repeated. A follow up would cheapen the experience. Nonetheless, it's one of the most creative things to come out this year and deserves all the acclaim it has received.
2013 album(s) of the year - 10 to 8
10. Honey Ltd - The Complete LHI Recordings
When Light In The Attic announced their intention to reissue the collected works of Lee Hazelwood's LHI label, few could have imagined how rich a seam of material would be uncovered. The albums of Hazelwood's solo work are charming enough in themselves, but the real treasure lies in the dozens of acts he produced a few tracks for before seemingly losing interest.
Honey Ltd is the first LHI group to be comprehensively profiled by Light In The Attic, a 60s girlpop foursome whose Supremes-style harmonies sat somewhat at odds with Hazelwood's louche, lounge sensibilities. At the time it didn't really work - Hazelwood lost interest after a single or two and and cobbled together some session tracks into a single album - but in 2013 it's a fascinating, compelling listen. It's politically torn - at times flirting with hippy psychedelia, at others praising the soldiers of the Vietnam war - but it's carried along by the beautiful harmonies between the band members. Their cover of Louie Louie might be utterly disposable, but it's the breathy ephemeral vocal performance that brings the listener back time and time again.
There's so much to love about this album. It doesn't hold together very well, it's an abandoned project by a fickle producer, it's something which has otherwise been forgotten, but I'll be damned if I haven't listened to it repeatedly. It's 60s pop in its most unexpected sense and is all the more welcome for it.
As an introduction to the LHI pantheon, it's an intriguing taste of what's to come. As the album's title suggests, there's no more Honey Ltd in the archives but the possibility of similar compilations for Kitchen Cinq, Hamilton Streetcar, Danny Michaels and many other LHI artists is now something that I'm eagerly hoping for. Fingers crossed!
9. Cults - Static
A simultaneously frustrating and enchanting listen, Cults' second album is less in thrall to the Spector-esque Wall of Sound production and settles firmly into being a guitar pop album. It lacks the big pop hits from the first album but makes up for it by being a more consistent listen. There was a definite worry that they'd stay firmly in the stylistic groove that they found with the first album; Static may be the name of the album but it's not a description of the band.
Ignore the beard-stroking reviews that focused on the couple's break-up during recording; they're still a pop band and a great one at that. Much like Honey Ltd, one hopes that Static is indicative that there is still much more to come.
8. Malcolm Middleton - 5:14 Fluoxytine Seagull Alcohol John Nicotine
Is this cheating? Probably.
5:14 (as it's affectionately known) was finally issued on vinyl this year in a package including all sorts of live sessions, demos, and rarities. Those extras are almost worth an entry on this top ten in their own right, but it's the album itself that makes the grade here.
It's still the same miserable, self-loathing, witty, enchanting album from 2002, but it's still a record that absolutely bowls me over. There are few lyricists who are as insightful as Malcolm; even on his most throwaway of ballads will be a couplet that you can't help but grin at, and 5:14 is packed full of such wordplay.
Unlike most debuts, there's no sense of an artist finding their feet here. It's a document of a sad time in one man's life rendered through the pen of someone who's a bloody clever sod and probably knows it.
2013 album(s) of the year - an introduction
Every December, it's become customary for me to pontificate about the state of the musical landscape over the past year before definitively stating the single album which I think surpassed all others.
Reading back over years past, I always tend to have some minor get out clause - hey! this isn't the only album that's been good! there have been others too! so here's a list which I'm not really going to expand on.
This year, I would suggest, has been pretty average. Some buzzbands that rose and fall, lots of landfill churn, no big cultural shifts, no big changes.
What there has been is a plethora of really good records. Ensuing convention, I feel compelled to suggest ten records that I've enjoyed more than others over the past twelve months. What follows over the next few days is a crude countdown; not a declaration of the ten definitive albums of the year, more an ordered list of the new albums that I really love.
Sit tight.
Could HMV still survive?
After another slow Christmas trading period, HMV have been busily stickering stock ready for a massive blue cross 25% clearance starting on Friday. The press releases on the matter have been relentlessly upbeat - hey, people love our January sales, so we're serving them by giving them more of what they love! - but the chatter amongst retail analysts and music fans has been much more pessimistic. Many see this as the start of the end - a last-ditch attempt to raise some much-needed capital to try and pay off the next quarters' loan covenants but, m'learned bloggers believe, is unlikely to happen. Administration cannot be far behind.
This is, of course, the company's own fault. They were slow to deploy their web shop, slower still to offer any sort of download (opting to partner with another company rather than provide their own innovative service), slow to see the changes in the marketplace, slow to change their stores. The post-Zavvi increase in sales they experienced seemed to make them complacent; there's no doubt that their big mistake was a severe lack of board-level innovation. They relied on still being a big physical media emporium rather than a company which looked at how attitudes and behaviors could change in the short term. Their last minute adoption of technology retail is an excellent metaphor for their shortsightedness. HMV could have been Amazon and Spotify and Netflix and still maintained a high street presence if only they'd innovated earlier.
The imminent death of HMV has been predicted multiple times over the past eighteen months, making the present hand-wringing seem like just another attempt to get all important page views. On the one hand this does seem pretty final - a fire-sale no matter how it's dressed up is still a fire sale, and the constant warnings to investors show that the company's in no fit state to continue as-is - but on the other hand HMV still has a lot going for it. It's pretty much the only nationwide chain which sells physical media left (supermarkets excluded), the brand has huge recognition, and UK distributors now have a financial interest in the company succeeding.
That last element is the most troubling. If HMV does close over the next few months, the impact on the UK's entertainment industry could be catastrophic distributors suddenly in the red for millions of pounds, meaning an inability to press or distribute new titles. When coupled with the loss of one of their biggest customers, this means that the big online retailers can demand ever more favourable terms and squeeze the entertainment industry ever further.
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But is this really a problem? The past decade has been typified by a move to the virtual - consumers like shopping at three in the morning, and if the CD they want is that much cheaper than the high street anyway why wouldn't they order it from Amazon or Play? Beyond this, consumer psychology is changing - we've largely been taught that it's ok to pay for virtual things like films and MP3s, and now we're being shown that, for a small monthly cost, we can have access to as many of these virtual goods as we can possibly stomach. The trend has already moved from the physical high street to the online emporium, what is now happening is a movement again from online emporium to online subscription-based access. Give a man an MP3 for 79p and he'll listen for three minutes. Give him a library for £9.99 a month and he'll listen for life.
In this future world, the prospect of paying as much as a fiver for one album is pretty unappealing.
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Or so we might think. Though there's definitely a trend towards the virtual, there are still very loyal bands of people who buy physical media. In the UK last year, 100.5 million CD albums were sold compared to just 30.5 million download albums. The sales of vinyl continue to grow too - 389,000 new releases were sold on the once-dead format last year compared to 337,000 the year before.
So there is definitely still a desire for physical media. Beyond this, consumers still have a real fondness for the HMV. Though there'll always be the grumbling bargain hunters who don't think that HMV sells stock anywhere near as cheaply as it should, a quick Twitter search for the company brings up a litany of teenagers not just proudly talking about the CDs, DVDs, and t-shirts they've recently bought but also happily talking about using their local branch as a meeting point.
And here is where HMV really missed an opportunity to innovate. They could have seized the technological zeitgeist and become a streaming behemoth but equally so they could've radically rethought what consumers actually want on the high street. Virgin flirted with adding branches of Costa to their Megastores but this was purely a 'use the space' strategy rather than a way to bring customers in and engage with them. The possibility of changing HMV into a cultural destination - somewhere to engage in new media and culture - could have been the revolution that HMV needed. Still sell CDs and DVDs, sure, but make it a place where people want to spend time and indulge themselves, to find something new. Latter-day HMV became a warehouse of cheap gumpf piled as high as possible, not a place of discovery. They wanted to ape Amazon's "sell it cheap, sell lots of 'em" strategy which, in a physical shop unit, isn't really viable any more. Besides, aside from the reissue hungry music connoisseur, most consumers go to HMV for something new, not something they already know about.
I'm loathe to point to examples of places that I think are doing things "right" where HMV have failed, because there is no other national chain like HMV and the ideology of the little indie shop round the corner would not necessarily scale up to that level of company. Nonetheless, I'm struck when I visit Truck in Oxford and Rise in Bristol of how engaged I am made to feel - I want to sit and eat or drink, I want to browse their curated selection of CDs and LPs, I want to look at the clothes and books that they sell despite them not being what I was originally looking for simply because they're placed alongside media that I love. Those shops seize my time and, ultimately, my money because they know how to cater to their audience.
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I accept that I am probably no longer in HMV's key demographic. I appreciate the value of music and am quite happy to pay a premium if I think that the artist will get a bigger cut rather than pay £3 for something because it's now £3. HMV's audience right now may be that which compares their prices unfavourably with Amazon, but it doesn't and didn't need to be. Something that many towns lack - especially out in the provinces - is somewhere for young people to congregate and spend time. With their town centre location, ample space, brand name, business contacts, and cultural recognition, branches of HMV could have become a destination for a relatively affluent demographic.
As it is, come Friday morning, it'll further cement its position firmly in the arms of the bargain hunter and little more.
2012 album of the year
If there's one thing which has characterised the music scene in 2012, it's plurality.
If one new band emerged with a new look and sound, it was quickly wrapped up and packaged along with vaguely similar bands and given a name. Whereas previous years have been characterised with a push into one or two genres, the past twelve months has had wave after wave of genuinely interesting and discrete little sub-genres emerge, gain a bit of attention, then subside again.
One might call this novelty, or an example of just how efficient the Internet has become at bringing the obscure to the attention of those who are interested. You could make a convincing argument about the need for continued innovation, of a fickle marketplace, of listeners who just want to hear the Next Big Thing rather than the latest album in a long-standing artist's increasingly ponderous catalogue.
The argument I'd like to propose, however, is that the music scene is incredibly rich right now. So many artists are practising such disparate methods and approaches that there's a continual sense of newness, excitement, a thirst for more more MORE. The discerning listener can't help but be thrilled with the release of an ethereal electronic masterpiece one week followed by a total refinement of what folk should mean in this day and age the next. Even bands that have been around a while now are reinventing themselves and knocking out stunning examples of their craft.
Naturally, electing a single album of the year is a tricky proposition. How can anyone choose a single album as nominally 'the best' when so many releases in so many different genres have been released?
Actually, it's not been too difficult. Not really. As great as Plumb and The Lion's Roar and so on have been, they've tended to fade away as the rolling current of new curiosities keeps going. There's been one album that I've listened to over and over this year, and one which I still listen to on a near-daily basis.
That album is Django Django's self-titled debut.
This was something I thought would be a novelty until the Alt-J album - a much-discussed and much anticipated colossus - was released. But while that album was heaped in (entirely deserved) acclaim, Django Django was pushed out of the limelight somewhat, seen by many as a less interesting, less deserving companion to An Awesome Wave.
An entirely unfair notion. The comparisons between the two are obvious, but Django Django has a flow that Alt-J's album does not, a sense of progression and expansion and improvement which An Awesome Wave sorely lacks.
And though Django Django has that charming, slightly eccentric, definitely 'new' sound, it feels like an old classic. It doesn't shy away from having (gasp!) verses and choruses, nor of having a guitar line, a drum line, and a bass line despite having twiddly, glitchy electronic sounds over the top. Nor does it omit the odd catchy hook when it feels it's appropriate.
Ultimately, that's why I've returned to Django Django again and again. It is definitely from 2012, but it is firmly rooted in what has gone before. It's not a mess of bleeping electronics and it's not a dainty strum of the guitar. It's a happy medium, and it's that certainty and solidity which gives it such charm and appeal.
If you let this one pass you by, have a listen to Storm and Default then dive into the album proper. It really is stunning.
But having said that, if you've yet to dig through some other delights released this year, you really should do so. It's been such a diverse and interesting year that you're bound to find something you love.
(Bit weird that no-one's talking about Alabama Shakes any more, isn't it?)
The shock of the new
Another day, another new streaming music service launches. Just like the others, it promises most of the western world's recorded output and the chance to follow your friends and prolific music influencers to help you discover new acts.
A cursory glance at the music pages of any cultural publication will always show the emphasis given new artists. An established act on album number seven will probably still get a review, but the focus is always on those newly-signed, bubbling-under-public-awareness groups who have released a promising EP and are finishing up their first album.
Twitter is filled with people declaring their jam, showing off their muso credentials by showcasing a track by someone you've probably never heard of.
Every major publication annually announces their top new acts for the forthcoming year. All eyes are eagerly watching Michael Kiwanuka, ready to praise or snootily dismiss before he's had much of a chance to establish himself.
With accessibility to music in general and emerging artists in particular easier than ever, the the ardent music fan cannot help but veer towards novelty. There's nothing like a classic album, but nothing is sweeter than finding a new act that you know all your friends will be raving about in six months time. It places you ahead of the curve, a passionate music fan if ever there was one. People proudly post their weekly Last.fm stats listing the four dozen artists and albums they've listened to over the past week as a badge of honour, proof of their search for stuff you haven't even heard the faintest whisperings of... yet.
I'm as guilty of this as anyone else. After hearing his Jack White-produced single Black Rabbit, I manically bought Pujol's entire back catalogue of miscellaneous EPs and singles. Though I'm close to wearing out some of those discs (particularly the 7" version of Emotion Chip), most have barely been played. His debut album is due out over the next month and though I have it on preorder, my all-consuming passion has significantly waned.
Similarly, last year I listened to Cults debut album over and over, but in the past six months I've listened to selected tracks on only a handful of occasions. Right now I'm really enjoying the Alabama Shakes' Boys & Girls (despite the inevitable haughty comments in some quarters) but I'm resigned to the fact that I probably won't relisten to that album much in eighteen months time.
I'm having to stop. I feel a need to calm my pace. Having a constant drip feed of the new is fatiguing: if I am meant to listen to a dozen new artists a week, when do I find time to listen to my favourite albums? Or the latest release by a band that have - shock! - managed to get beyond their fourth LP? Worse: if I feel a pressure to spend £50 or more every other week on new music, how am I meant to develop an appreciation for these pieces of art if I've only the time to give them a cursory listen?
And those automatically generated lists of recommended artists! They are everywhere! Last.fm wants me to listen to tangentially-similar artists to those I like (always bland, pale imitations, never revolutionaries), Amazon wants me to buy albums I already have, Spotify wants to tell me what all my friends are listening to... it never ends! These algorithmically generated lists are meant to reflect who I am and who I could be, and it's frustrating for a computer to get it wrong so often and so catastrophically.
I love going to record shops, the feel of them, the welcoming atmosphere, the way that I can chat to the staff and ask for recommendations which I inevitably act on. Predominantly, this is becoming my main method of music discovery: if I chat to someone behind a till who listens to all the new releases, they're very likely to be able to point to something I'll genuinely love. What's more, it's likely to be a full album of material, not just a few scrappy EPs and singles.
Is this laziness? An outsourcing of musical discovery? It means that I'm not spending hours every week listening to dross when I could be listening to great albums that would otherwise have passed me by entirely. Since I've all but abandoned the dig, I've found more time to go back through my racks and listen to music I've enjoyed but not listened to properly for a long time. I've long uninstalled Spotify from my computer, I barely look at Last.fm any more, and I've found I'm savouring music more than ever. It's a struggle declaring myself out of the never-ending indier-than-thou race, but boy, is it a relief.
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2011 album of the year
I like the fact that this account now appears to be my compendium of albums of the year with little other content. Ah well!
Reading back over my post for last year, I'm struck by the fact that not one of what I would consider to be my favourite artists released anything of note over the past twelve months. There might have been an odd EP or something here and there - hello, Belle and Sebastian - but in the main it's been a quiet year for Ben's Established Acts.
Whereas before I'd have a list as long as your arm of albums that I had listened to over and over by artists whose back catalogue had already been extensively enjoyed, I find myself in the odd position this year of having listened almost exclusively to new artists or, more accurately, artists that are new to me.
That's not necessarily a bad thing. I've been happily enjoying the Bill Wells and Aidan Moffat album Everything's Getting Older since its release at the start of the year, for example, and it's an album that I wouldn't have chanced were it not for the fact that I've had little of the mainstays to rely on. Similarly, Jack White's increasingly eclectic series of singles by different artists has been a constant (though erratic) joy over the year, resulting in a surprising fondness for the Mos Def like Black Milk. And a dig through the oldies racks in record shops has delighted me with XTC, Hauschka, Jenny Lewis, Jonathan Richman, Son House, and many more.
So my album of the year is something by some young, thrusting, impressive artist, right?
Well, er, no.
I'm very pleased to say that my album of the year isn't an album at all. It's technically an EP. It is Clem Snide's awkwardly-named album, Clem Snide's Journey.
In many ways, it frustrates me that the album I've listened to, loved, and appreciated the most comes, yet again, from America rather than from Britain. It frustrates me too that this is just six tracks long, yet I'm declaring it my album of the year. And, to top things off, it frustrates me that I'm backing old, reliable Eef rather than someone I hadn't heard before.
But it's so difficult not to absolutely adore this release.
It could have gone so terribly wrong - a six track EP of covers of Journey songs performed by one man and his ukulele sounds dreadful, especially given the ridiculous popularity of one particular Journey song of late.
It could never have been released at all. The project came about through a Kickstarter campaign where fans had to pledge money in advance in order to get the thing recorded, mastered, and released.
Luckily, it was released. And, luckier still, it is amazing.
Eef (the man who periodically lurks behind the Clem Snide monicker) takes what were once big power ballads and presents them in such loving intimacy that it makes your heart break. Pomp and rawk turn into fragile, tender, warm moments where Eef, clearly moved by the outpouring of support from his fans to fund the record, takes lyrics that were never his and turn them into wonderful little love songs.
The six tracks are utterly beguiling. They demand the listener's attention a way that few (if any) other releases this year do. They also demand repeat listens; many has been the time when side two has come to an end, only for me to turn the record over and start it again immediately.
This album is the purest embodiment of what it is to be a recording artist in 2011. A fan-funded release gratefully recorded by the artist, gratefully received by a select and devoted fanbase, and barely on the radar of anyone else. These songs were never really written about love in its purest, unsullied sense, but this is the best love album you'll have a chance to hear in many years.
<a href="http://eefbarzelay-clemsnide.bandcamp.com/album/clem-snides-journey" _mce_href="http://eefbarzelay-clemsnide.bandcamp.com/album/clem-snides-journey">Clem Snide's Journey by Clem Snide</a>
2010 album of the year
(This is going to be controversial)
What an odd year 2010 has been.
On the one hand there have been plenty of good albums and plenty of albums released by favourite bands. It's very unusual for The Divine Comedy, Belle & Sebastian, Ben Folds AND Clem Snide to release albums in the same year, let alone new albums by Sufjan Stevens, Gorillaz, The Bees, Badly Drawn Boy, Daft Punk, Chromeo etc ad infinitum.
On the other hand, although it is generally accepted that there have been a very substantial number of 'good' albums, I feel that there's relatively few that I would classify as 'great' or even 'brilliant.' Of that list of artists above, most of their new albums have been pretty good, some have been disappointing, a few have been near unlistenable.
Consequently, choosing a single favourite album hasn't been that much of a challenge. Despite having only been released in the past three months to somewhat middling reviews, there's one album I've listened to dozens of times and enjoyed from start to end.
Ladies and gentlemen, my album of 2010 is the Jenny Lewis and Jonathan Rice album I'm Having Fun Now.
It's a difficult album not to enjoy, frankly. Eleven tracks of old fashioned boy-girl guitar pop-rock, devoid of the electronic bells and whistles that seem suddenly in vogue. Lots of harmonies between the two, lots of call-and-response (always a favourite, that), lots of tracks that sound like, y'know, sculptured three-minute songs with a theme, a narrative and - lordy! - a catchy bit that'll be stuck in your head for the next five weeks.
I guess what I like most about this album is that it seems at a ninety degree angle to popular musical opinion. If you're making an album in the loosely-defined indie-pop-rock genre in 2010, there's an unwritten rule that you either have to overlay electronic twitchy synths at every opportunity or else be completely stone-faced, maudlin and sincere. There's no doubting the sincerity of Jenny and Johnny - lots of the songs feel very heartfelt - but the joy of I'm Having Fun Now is the obvious joy that they had making it. It's light and breezy and poppy without being flippant, examining the dizzying highs and lagging lows that being in a relationship holds. It is everything a good album should be.
And what an album it is.
Don't be put off by the 3/5 reviews that popped up around its release in October. Track it down and enjoy it.
My first CDs
I'm rarely tempted to engage in musical discussion nowadays - frankly just finding the time to listen is hard enough, let alone argue the toss - but the recent post over on Just Played about first CD purchases made me think back to the balmy days of 1994.
By my tenth year I already had a humble record collection. My parents had pretty dodgy taste in music - hello, Jason Donovan, Barry Manilow and Gary Glitter - but my Dad was keen on getting me interested in music. As a toddler I loved the vinyl album soundtrack of Rod, Jane and Freddy penned Rainbow songs right up until my brother used it as a spacehopper and snapped it in two. Infrequent visits to a long-gone record shop in Inch's Yard yielded a few Jive Bunny 12"s and a few Simpsons 7"s but I'd yet to get a CD by this point.
When that tenth year was through, I managed to save up a small bounty found in birthday cards, enough to get what I wanted more than anything: a ghettoblaster. Not a stereo or a hi-fi, no. A cooler-sized portable set of speakers with a CD player, radio and cassette deck. I skimmed through the Argos catalogue for hours, evaluated my options and opted for something I thought was pretty good. Mum and Dad quietly took me to one side, told me that they'd bought one in the Winter sales with the intention of giving it to me next Christmas but that they would sell it to me for the price of the cheap Argos one I had my eye on.
And it was glorious!
I remember latterly laying on the scrap of floor in my room, headphones attached and somehow Heath Robinson extended across the room, listening to The Great Escape, Different Class and I Should Coco but that was once I'd found my music-listening ears. When I first got my ghettoblaster, I was listening to much more simple faire.
My early CDs were all singles. I bought them in Woolies for anywhere between two quid and 49p in the reduced bin. At the time I loved them all and, given the right amount of drink, I could probably recite the entire lyrics of them all.
First CD? I really can't remember! However, these all arrived before my musical epiphany:
Rednex's duo of chart hits Cotton-Eyed Joe and Old Pap in an Oak. In hindsight I fully admit that, lyrics aside, they are pretty much exactly the same song.
Dog Eat Dog's white-light rap No Fronts. The Beastie Boys were a bit too aggressive for me. That's no excuse those.
A novelty single about the Street Fighter 2 video game. I still have it somewhere. It was pretty bad and tied to the success of the Tetris single a few months before.
EMF's cover of I'm a Believer that featured Reeves and Mortimer. I bought this almost entirely on the strength of The Smell of Reeves and Mortimer and loved it to pieces.
I was really lucky: my Jive Bunny records, that EMF single and the Britpop explosion gave me a founding in old-fashioned Sixties styler pop. That passion has led me down some really bizarre avenues, though there'll always be a special place in my heart for those early wonders.
Join in now: If hadn't been for Cotton-Eyed Joe, I'd been married long time ago. Where did you come from? Where did you go? Where did you come from, Cotton-Eyed Joe?