They remain the most obligatory, and yet still infuriating, opening statements that morph into questions after being introduced: “So, you’re into music...so, what’s the best album of all time?” often followed with the related “Music’s so shit now…why don’t they make records like Sgt Peppers/Dark Side Of The Moon/OK Computer/*insert title from questioner’s generational era* anymore?”
Before you ask, my stock answer to the first usually runs
something along the lines of “Born To
Run/London Calling/Hourly Daily/Yankee Hotel Foxtrot/*insert title from
questioner’s generational era*” ,
although it doesn’t really matter what you say – they’re often just looking for
the chance to argue their favourite, and/or disagree vehemently with your
choice: “The Clash? Come on, they were crap compared to the Pistols,
maaaaaaaate….”, and go from there. My response to the second query is usually
the somewhat more snappy: “Well, it could be that it’s not 1967/1972/1994
anymore, chief…” which thankfully usually leaves me alone with the cabanossi
and cheese at the party.
Conversely, the need to know about the new hits its peak
around now, with the equally obligatory end-of-year ‘Best of…’ lists. There’s conventions here too: you’ll forget the
one that came out in January, the work-experience writers will deliberately
pick something from out of their comfort zone of music to show how ‘open-minded’
they are to an audience that really doesn’t give a shit: the guitar music guy
will throw in Gambino or Kendrick, the electronica fan will namecheck Gang Of
Youfs’ emotionalism. Because they think they should. And I’ll still stand by
Frank Ocean’s Channel Orange being a
terrific record of its time, transcending all pigeonholes. And, of course,
somebody will loudly and angrily squawk ‘Whaddabout….?’ as you’ve missed their singular
favourite. Come at me, bro.
But, as ever, the 1-to-10 list has always shit me. Music as
a ranked and competitive thing has always struck me as a bit silly. So, I’m not
doing one. And you can’t make me. However, there are 2018 records that are
affecting in various ways, that you probably should know about – and who’s
gonna tell you if I don’t. Then there’s that one that I actually might call my
favourite of the year, but I won’t mention contradicting myself if you don’t.
Now, when you reach the time where the media outlets talking
about you preface your name with ‘veteran’ - although I much prefer ‘venerable’,
it giving me an adjectival flavour of a monkish aesthete, which you’ll admit is
me all over – you may crave the familiar. So, a couple of these names may have
appeared in rants, screeds, or dribbling words of praise from me before –
although this year’s works may have come with some sort of twist or another.
Thus, things I’ve listened to a bit, and you probably should too:
Tell Me How You Really
Feel was the apt title for Courtney
Barnett’s (surprisingly-not-all-that-) difficult second album. At times blunter
and more angry than previously, she could still be wry and observational - but
appropriating Margaret Atwood’s line “…Men
are afraid that women will laugh at them. Women are afraid that men will kill
them..." had more people hear it - and hopefully understand it - than
ever before. While that’s Courts’ #2 record, Warm is probably about the 20th to have Jeff Tweedy’s name on it – although a little bizarrely the first
collection of new and original material with just his name on the marquee. He philosophises
and ruminates on a stroll around the human condition, perhaps revealing a
little more of his songcraft and wordplay than he would have with the sometimes
intimidating virtuosity of Wilco in the room.
Getting even more minimal, and even more in contrast to what
went before, St Vincent recast the
shiny technological art-pop of Masseduction
as Mass Education – basically the
piano and guitar sketches of the songs. Never has an album of ‘demos’ been so
austerely beautiful, and so totally different to the final (or maybe more accurately,
the ‘other’…) result. Further blurring of gender roles and musical styles to
crystallise an artist’s identity came in Janelle
Monae’s Dirty Computer – the best
Prince album this century, not the least due to some posthumous input from the
little purple himself. And from purple to Blue
Poles, Jack Ladder made another
album suitable for moody brooding. Touchstones: Bowie, Cohen, Ferry, things
dark and crooning. This he does very well. Also contains some Benet and
Callinan, as it should.
As for songwriters who know their history, and increasingly
their place in it, Elvis Costello
gave the faithful the health scare to just worry about how much we might miss
him, and presented an album to make us appreciate him again now. Look Now was Declan at his most crafted.
At times baroque, with a tumble of words, other times just utterly graceful and
gliding, it’s the record to put next to the glistening ‘80s gems like Imperial Bedroom and King Of America. Yeah, that good.
Having waded through my pleasure in all of the above, then there’s
the one so original that three months on I’m still working it out. Emma Louise is already ‘successful’ –
in the sometimes odd terms of music in the 21st century: Label-signed,
‘hit’ songs of chart position, even that one that got used in a perfume
commercial and as meaningful mood-setter on an episode of Grey’s Anatomy. That was Jungle
– you’ll need that as a trivia quiz answer one day, I imagine.
So, with a new album to do, she debunked off to Mexico, and made
Lilac Everything, a record of her typically clever and well-made pop songs –
including one called Mexico about debunking
off to Mexico to get over a busted heart. So, autobiographical broken
relationship songs? Yeah, maybe – but maybe not.
Some previous messing with the technology of recording had
seen Emma discover the perfectly monikered effect of ‘dragging’ – slowing and
down-tuning her voice to an veering-to-male-sounding croon so distinctive she
even gave it a name as a different identity. ‘Joseph’ delighted many, and
equally upset some of the faithful who lamented the loss of her more usual
bell-like clarity. But the artist went with idea for whole record. And it so
works.
But yeah, it would have just been a gimmick – albeit a
pretty good one – if the songs couldn’t stand on their quality. Falling Apart, Wish You Well – yep, crumbling emotions and eventual acceptance still
often make the best tunes, gender irrelevant. Although get to Never Making Plans Again, with its
soul-ly tinge - and if the handlers haven’t got around to offering it to Adele
or Norah Jones, they’re not earning their money.
You need to hear this record. Make up your own mind about
the central conceit of it, or just listen to something truly original.
Visions of sugarplums, customers.
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