08.06.02020

Two and a half years ago an American musician called Dylan Seeger contacted us about an album of his called Claye. Presumably mistaking us for a respectable publication, he asked if we’d listen to it. I did, and I liked it. We exchanged emails, and those emails eventually took the form of an interview.

The whole business was quite unexpected, and quite lovely. Seeger recently released a new album, Metropolitan Hospital Center, and listening to its ornate, ruminative arrangements and lyricism got me thinking about the possibilities of the internet, and how rarely I take advantage of them.

Take a cursory look at people’s professed fantasies and you’d think everyone was simply born in the wrong place at the wrong time. If only we were alive in the Age of Discovery we’d all have taken to the sea to fill in the blank spaces on the map.

Take a cursory look at people’s online habits and you’d know the above is bullshit. I include myself in this assessment. Homebodies to the last, we visit the same handful of websites and trust them to aggregate everything we could possibly want to see and hear and know.

Given the astonishing size of the web it’s remarkable how little we explore it. Really explore it. Listening to Metropolitan Hospital Center, I am reminded of the thrill of the unexpected. Music like this doesn’t often find its way to Spotify playlists. A near delirious strain of baroque pop, I happen to find it quite beautiful. It’s off the beaten track, true to itself and all the more alive because of it.

I am familiar with Seeger’s work because of his enterprising nature, not my own. His albums are tropical birds that landed on my windowsill. In the five years we’ve run this website I’ve sought out a grand total of one artist entirely on my own — that is to say, not through a friend, through an algorithm, or through the artist contacting the website. That’s a meagre return by any standard.

The return is doubly depressing because that one artist I did stumble across on my own, Paul Marchesani, was himself fascinating and immensely talented. Under the moniker Forest Kids Collective he’s building a shared musical universe one album at a time. How wild is that? Such brushes with the unknown have been among my favourite experiences on this website, and yet I slip back into passivity — receiving music rather than finding it.

Anyone who reads my reviews here knows I’m resolutely joyless about a lot of what we listen to. I listen to Seeger’s new album and I am grateful for the gift of the internet, of the platform it provides to artists, and of the opportunity for connection it provides all of us. I am also reminded that if I want to be enthralled by music I should go find it, not wait for it to fall in my lap.

Now more than ever I wonder if we are too passive about the music we consume, too trusting of labels and the mainstream press to tell us who’s worth listening to. Where’s the adventure in that when there are weird and wonderful treasures like Metropolitan Hospital Center to be found out in the wild?

I think, really, that I am writing this for myself more than anyone else. There are a lot of happy accidents to be had online, art to see, voices to hear, knowledge to accrue. Rarely will they come to me. I need to make a habit of exploration, of taking the chance to listen to things without being told to first. Maybe I will.

If it helps fills in blank spaces on the map for anyone else, all the better.

04.01.02020

According to Jérémy Rumerio’s bandcamp page, This frilly ape plays ‘mainly sad, sometimes, absurd, ironic, self-derisory, aggressive, nostalgic, often pessimistic, tormented, anxiety-inducing music’. With a description like that I wasn’t totally sure what to expect, but the more I’ve listened to Lovely mutant cauliflower the more I think that bio is right on the money. The opening track has the sleaziness of classic Tom Waits, but with far more sonic weirdness. The guitars stagger like a drunken sloth, often sounding detuned and mutated, in a wonderfully warped sort of way. It’s mighty difficult to make out what exactly the vocals are saying, or how they’re doing it, but it certainly adds to the absurdity of it all. A right eton mess.

As the album progresses, things start to make slightly more sense. There’s a small monologue during “Spoilt for Choice” that makes for a really poignant moment, and it’s one of the highlights of the whole record. Stylistically, it’s difficult to place This frilly ape, though avant-garde is certainly a term I’d use to describe much of the tracklist. Part post-punk, with occasional measures of new wave and experimental metal. It’s quite the fusion of sounds, and huge credit goes to Rumerio for creating something so distinctive. It’s rather captivating, truth be told. And very fucking weird indeed.

The end of the 2010s is upon us, and you know what that means. Yes, as a music review site we are bound by obscure 16th century law to rank our favourite albums of the decade. So here they are, in all their glory . It wasn’t easy, but no arbitrary list worth making ever is. All kidding aside, there’s some absolutely stonking music here. It’s been a joy, and we can’t wait to hear what the 2020s have in store.

10. James Blake // James Blake

Andrew

James Blake has had quite the decade. Releasing his debut album in 2011, he’s since gone on to collaborate and produce alongside some of the decades finest musicians, lending his post-dubstep sound to hip-hop, R&B and film.

His debut set out much of what we’ve heard since: sub-soaked, synth-lead, soulful electronica. With standout tracks like “The Wilhelm Scream” and “Limit To Your Love”, the sound still enamours me to Blake and his decade of output, seating him firmly in my list of favourites.

Whether you find his music euphoric or unaffecting, or maybe you think he’s just a ‘sad boy’, it’s hard to deny the part James Blake has played in music this decade. His debut album still sounds terrific and enters my regular rotation frequently, and I have no doubt it will continue to into the future.

9. Cosmogramma // Flying Lotus

André

2010’s Cosmogramma is one of modern music’s most satisfying mutations. Electronica and jazz come together to form a sound that has become distinctly that of Flying Lotus. Though 2008’s Los Angeles was a fine record (one that flirted with the particles and details of hip-hop rather than jazz), it was the proceeding decade that would confirm Steve Ellison as one of the greatest working artists of his kind. It’s impossible to choose a standout moment on Cosmogramma, such is the quality of its construction. It was conceived as a single driving motion that thrives on intricacies, and of course benefits from merciless commitment to an overriding vision. A passion project that pays tribute to Ellison’s jazz heroes – including his aunt Alice Coltrane – with sheer style and scintillating confidence. Sure, it can prove to be a challenging affair at times, but let’s face it, the majority of the great jazz works always are, and Cosmogramma has certainly joined that illustrious bracket. It remains the most varied, complex and stunning work that Flying Lotus has released to date. It comes highly recommended to anyone with a remote interest in jazz, electronic or experimental music.

8. A Moon Shaped Pool // Radiohead

André

I liked A Moon Shaped Pool very much upon its release. I’ve since grown to love it rather dearly. Radiohead’s ninth studio album has aged like fine wine, and has unsurprisingly developed into a fan favourite. The general consensus is that it’s a great record; not as masterful as OK Computer, as innovative as Kid A, or as outright inspirational as In Rainbows, but rather brilliant regardless.

Following the slightly sterile and robotic nature of The King of Limbs, A Moon Shaped Pool was an immensely satisfying reversal. After the mischievously deceiving opener that is “Burn the Witch”, Radiohead turn to lush and ethereal arrangements that enhance the mournful tone of Thom Yorke’s lyrics. ‘Sweet Darling, have you had enough of me?’ he asks on “Decks Dark”, before turning to desperation and pleading on the long-awaited studio version of “True Love Waits”. Jonny Greenwood’s orchestral arrangements are a huge highlight, most notably the surreal conclusion to “Tinker Tailor Soldier Sailor”, one of many moments that traces back to his film work for Paul Thomas Anderson. A bunch of students, no more, 30 years after their formation, the members of Radiohead have become experts of multiple fields. Only recently has Ed O’Brien released his debut solo effort, which is dripping in the atmosphere that comprises A Moon Shaped Pool.

When bands begin to reach their latter years, the quality tends to drop, sometimes rather dramatically. It’s an absolute credit to Radiohead’s excellence that they are still capable of releasing a record of this capacity, and does no harm whatsoever to their long-lasting legacy. This isn’t the norm – bands aren’t supposed to be producing such stirring and diverse music after such a lengthy time together. Just further proof, if needed, that these gents are a once-in-a-generation group. And to think, there’s still more to come…

Read our full review of A Moon Shaped Pool →

7. Let England Shake // PJ Harvey

André

It feels like an age since Let England Shake was released. Unfortunately, the political and social landscape hasn’t much changed since 2011, making PJ Harvey’s eighth studio album more prominent and relevant as ever. Given the current climate, you’d think there’d be more in the way of protest records, but strangely enough Let England Shake stands as a unique and isolated release. The level of focus and stirring passion displayed on the album is unmatched. In our recent review, Fred described PJ Harvey’s vocal performance as ‘a Siren in the mist’, which is an utterly splendid depiction. The sultry and coarse days of the ’90s are over; here, she sounds like an oracle, spreading wisdom to those willing to listen. She still has the tunes to match, too: “The Words That Maketh Murder”, “The Glorious Land” and the brilliant title track rank amongst her finest moments. Bluesy alternative rock has made way for remarkable songs of demonstration, asking questions of the Western leaders who are responsible for such unrest. This is PJ Harvey 2.0, and it’s a beautiful thing.

Read our full review of Let England Shake →

6. Blackstar // DAvid Bowie

Fred

As goodbyes go, Blackstar couldn’t have done much better. David Bowie’s swan song was not just a fitting send off, it was a brilliant album in its own right. Striding forward from the shadows of Tony Visconti’s production, Bowie gave us one last show, showing all the audacity, courage, and vision that made him one of the world’s most beloved artists. Jazz meets rock and spoken word performance to produce something really quite haunting.

Although there are nods to the early days, Blackstar was no nostalgia trip. It looked death in the eye and opted danced in the void, looking ahead to the last. The sounds aren’t terribly cheerful, but the act itself is incredibly life affirming. Love, make, live, before it’s too late. You might not be as good as David Bowie – in fact, you definitely won’t – but how can you be sure if you don’t try?

Read our full review of Blackstar →

5. Channel Orange // Frank Ocean

Marcus

To say that Channel Orange was a game-changing moment in RnB and soul would be anything but original, but it bears mentioning all the same. Frank Ocean’s narrative-heavy approach to Channel Orange created an anthology of heartfelt explorations of love, sexuality, and the liberty of summertime, and Malay’s colourful production does an impeccable job of establishing a clear sense of time and place for each song. Its named features – Earl Sweatshirt, John Mayer, and Andre 3000 – each symbolise an element of Channel Orange’s wider identity, but this is always Ocean’s show. His vocals are tirelessly beautiful and effortless, punchy but featherlight, and their emotiveness breathe life and believability into the complex topics he wants to discuss.

The album, inspired by Ocean’s unrequited love for a man at 19, was groundbreaking – he was not the first openly gay or bisexual rapper, but his status in the industry delivered a tonic to the homophobia that has always, lamentably, been evident in RnB and hip hop. Unflinching and bold, Channel Orange raised the bar for songwriting and composition in electronic RnB that few have matched since. Seven years later, it still sounds fresh and unique – of a certain time but transcending it – and it has cemented Frank Ocean among the finest musicians of the age.

Read our full review of Channel Orange →

4. Good Kid, M.A.A.D City // Kendrick Lamar

Marcus

Kendrick Lamar’s discography is a barrage of hit after hit but, for me, the question of his very best always comes down to good kid and Pimp. Where To Pimp a Butterfly explores Kendrick’s philosophy of, and relationship with, society and the black experience in modern America, good kid m.A.A.d city is considerably more focused on the man himself. Littered with recordings and anecdotal bars that chart a course from Kendrick’s youth to the rise of his star, good kid is a deeply personal and colourful exploration of the things that matter most to modernity’s finest rapper. His friends, his parents, Compton, his craft, his worldview and the things that sculpted it tussle for attention while immaculate instrumentation and production transports you to an approximation of the world he knows best. Of course, the foundations of this album are in the immense quality of Kendrick’s writing and the precision of his delivery. Exercises in verbal gymnastics are at the core of every track, his flow dancing through metaphors and puns that come so thick and fast you can scarcely keep up. Never short of new things to say or hooks to explore, the showboating is always of a performer laying everything bare rather than an ego seeking praise. This album solidified Kendrick’s spotlight and has come to define modern hip-hop in its dynamism, curiosity, intelligence and charm. He, unlike many, has never failed to live up to the bar he set here.

3. Visions of a Life // Wolf Alice

Fred

This was one of those wonderful occasions where everything that could have gone right did go right. We saw huge potential in Wolf Alice’s debut, My Love is Cool, when we reviewed it in 2015, but I don’t think any of us thought they’d realise it so soon after. Everything about the album was a step up.

I think Visions of a Life is a seminal moment in modern British rock music. Suave, sexy, intimate, and ever so slightly deranged, the album took a tattered, threadbare genre and made it feel exciting again. Despite exploring a rather audacious range of sounds, the songs fit together perfectly, assured in their shared purpose. From rock epics to shoegaze daydreams, Visions of a Life goes all in, and the results are stunning.

The best thing about the record for me is the feeling that Wolf Alice has it in them to make something even better. Ellie Rowsell is a superb songwriter and frontwoman, and the band has formidable range. I wouldn’t bet against them going one better in the 2020s. And even if they don’t, we’ll always have this.

Read our full review of Visions of a Life →

2. To Pimp a Butterfly // Kendrick Lamar

Fred

This was the first new release we ever reviewed on the site. Talk about setting false expectations. Of the 100+ contemporary albums we’ve done since I don’t think anything comes close to the grace, power, and heart of To Pimp a Butterfly. Beautifully written and immaculately produced, Kendrick Lamar and his collaborators made a statement that puts most State of the Union speeches to shame. And there’s a strong case to be made this is not even Lamar’s best album of the decade. How nuts is that?

I honestly feel unqualified to write this, not that I’m under any illusions as to the importance of my opinion. I just don’t have the words to do justice to how good the album is. The best I can do is refer back to my first impressions five years ago. There’s on anger on Pimp. There’s despair, isolation, things that hurt more than I can imagine to say, but that understand need to be heard. There is also pride, salvation, and love, and the love shines through. This was my personal pick for album of the decade, and if anything I expect its stature to grow in the coming years.

Read our full review of To Pimp a Butterfly →

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1. …Like Clockwork // Queens of the Stone Age

ANDRÉ

…Like Clockwork was a second lease of life for Queens of the Stone Age. Following on from a couple of patchy releases, the band returned with newfound nuance and cohesiveness. Joshua Homme has always relished collaborations – you only have to look at the Dessert Sessions project, which he brands ‘the longest-running mixtape in existence’, to see that – and …Like Clockwork has a highly diverse, all-star cast. There are some familiar faces, with Dave Grohl and Nick Oliveri recalling the Songs for the Deaf era, and friendly acquaintances in the form of Alex Turner and Trent Reznor. More surprisingly, however, are the features of Jake Shears and Sir Elton John. Homme has always had an ear for a classic pop tune, and it’s no surprise that …Like Clockwork is the most melodically pleasing record QOTSA have ever released. It doesn’t have the intense, thundering highs of their early albums. Instead, it provides added depth, grace, and the potential for serious emotional impact. Coming after a six-year hiatus, the record feels like a rebirth. Homme’s songwriting is focused, whilst still retaining the magic that made the music so alluring to begin with. This is where he truly captured the original mission statement for the band: ‘to make something that girls could dance to, that had a freedom that Kyuss didn’t’.

QOTSA have always been a well-loved band, and their following has only grown since their debut. Still, despite the relatively significant success of Rated R and SftD, it seemed as though the band were rarely treated seriously enough, at least in the cliquey alternative music scene. I think …Like Clockwork is the record that truly earned the respect of critics. From dusty stoner rock, to moving piano ballads. The sensational, utterly breathtaking climax of “I Appear Missing” is symbolic of such evolution. This is the album that cemented their place as one of the finest rock bands of the generation.

FRED

I’ll be honest, I was surprised to see this come out on top. We all love …Like Clockwork, but the best of the decade? You know what, though, the more I’ve thought about it the more it makes sense. Sure, it doesn’t have the gravitas of To Pimp a Butterfly, or the poignency of Blackstar, or the ambition of Visions of a Life. And yet, I can’t point to a chink in its armour.

The dirt is there, the polish is there, the songwriting is superb, the production is perfect, and for shits and giggles every other rock star under the sun seems to make an appearance. There are few albums I enjoyed listening to and reviewing more than this one. Homme and the gang get everything just right. If rock and roll had a final form, it would probably sound a lot like …Like Clockwork.

Marcus

Six years and countless plays later, …Like Clockwork still astonishes me with its depth. This brief diversion in Queens of the Stone Age’s discography – a shift towards something gentler but more macabre – has an inherent gloominess to go with its bursts of energy and soulful lyricism. Its mystery is engrossing, from the twisted melody of “Keep Your Eyes Peeled” to the sombre piano notes of the closing ballad. Each track finds a new, haunted outlaw at some stage of their lives; heartbroken, seeking divinity, self-destructive, driven mad, yet all full of a distinct sense of vitality. Homme’s languid delivery empowers deft lyricism and endlessly clever wordplay, carrying such heart as to always feel genuine, and the accompaniments are relentlessly feral and alert. The dynamism of each instrument is staggering and evident across every song, with immaculately timed shifts in momentum delivering distinct and focusing emotional punches to the life-affirming and crushing glimpses of these outlaws’ lives. …Like Clockwork’s wisdom and personality round out an album unlike anything else QotSA have released, tapping into a wealth of ideas and mastery that elevates every moment into something resonant and spiritual. It may have found a home at the pinnacle of few Decade of the Album lists but, for me, …Like Clockwork is surely one of the finest albums in modern music.

Read our full review of …Like Clockwork →

It’s been quite a decade, folks. Congrats to those who made it to the end. Condolences to those who didn’t. Wherever you’re situated on (or off) the mortal coil I think we can all agree great singles are satisfying things to listen to, each one a sonic harbinger of albums to come. The 02010s had some doozies, and these were our favourites.

10. “Blockbuster Night, Pt. 1” // Run the Jewels

Marcus

Distilling all the best qualities of one of the decade’s finest and most significant new acts, “Blockbuster Night, Pt. 1” is the banger to end all bangers. Its guttural, whirring bass hook and punching percussion feel like a cheap ploy until the production’s depth is unleashed in its full, siren and castanet-infused fury; the pulsating energy of the complete package is nothing short of intoxicating. El-P and Killer Mike, completely tuned into each other’s frequencies, deliver some of their cleverest wordplay whilst cutting back and forth with leisurely, uncannily familiar ease. As ever, serious topics are covered with subtle jokes seamlessly weaved in. Its tongue-in-cheek aggression houses the qualities of a stand-up act and incitement to riot but, much like the rest of their output, the quality of the musicianship and severity of the message don’t play second fiddle to the humour. The result is a track that never feels illegitimate or set to suffer the almost inevitable redundancy of comedy rap, deploying an experience that can feel as meditative as it can energising and gut-bustlingly funny. “Blockbuster Night, Pt. 1” demands to be played again and again, never cheapened by repetition, always as fun as the first time.

9. “Surgeon” // St. Vincent

Marcus

Rhythmic flexibility, a staggeringly serene voice lacking any pretence, and an unerring commitment to genre-bending composition are part and parcel of a St. Vincent track, but in “Surgeon” she delivers some of her of her most spine-tingling and arcane highs. Building in complexity with perfect timing across its four-and-a-half minutes, “Surgeon” is a tour de force in bridging the gap between the weird and beautiful, the unfamiliar and instantly appealing. Its aquatic, sliding hook is gradually accented with twirling guitars, bouncing synths, and St. Vincent’s instinctive vocal harmonisation; it’s a pure joy to listen to. The sum is a track whose composition is eerily well matched to its subject matter – that of abiding for the sake of abiding, creating artificial peace by repressing personal disquiet – in being tranquil but stressed before becoming increasingly frenetic and unwilling to hide by the peaceful veneer. St. Vincent plays on the implied vulnerability of the track’s early stages with what becomes tantamount to an empowered, spiritual roar by the end, and the trademark intimacy of her style ensures it feels like a shared experience between artist and listener rather than a cry to the void.

8. “Soothing” // Laura Marling

Fred

Laura Marling has an uncanny knack for making human intimacy and warmth feel ice cold. As a Brit I’m all about that energy. “Soothing” is the opening statement of Marling’s 2016 record Semper Femina and it makes no bones about when listeners can expect. The combined force of the track’s instrumentals wouldn’t make a silk curtain flutter. It is so gentle, so restrained, and so light that you half expect it to fly away should you make any sudden moves. Marling has always been a bit of an enigma – Bob Dylan-esque, dare I say – but the beauty of her sound is as reliable as the sunrise (on a desperately chilly morning, with a hangover.) “Soothing” showcases that rather well, not least because it keeps you at arms length while it’s doing it.

7. “The Words that Maketh Murder” // PJ Harvey

ANDRÉ

Let England Shake was the first masterpiece of the 2010s, and it remains one of the most enduring and powerful records of a quite wretched decade. A poignant anti-war work constructed around an overriding sentiment that has only grown more significant with every passing year. It’s a big, British ‘fuck you’ to World leaders. Not many tracks capture the mood better than “The Words That Maketh Murder”, with the most striking of opening stanzas: ‘I’ve seen and done things I want to forget/I’ve seen soldiers fall like lumps of meat/Blown and shot out beyond belief/Arms and legs were in the trees’. This visceral imagery is contrasted quite wonderfully with a driving-yet-delicate instrumental, guided by the album’s main weapon: the autoharp. It’s an astonishing song, a passionate earworm that spares no punches, not least with its spectacularly sarcastic outro, as PJ Harvey asks with a sneer, ‘What if I take my problem to the United Nations?’. It’s becoming increasingly difficult to enjoy any real sense of pride as a UK citizen, but the lasting genius of PJ Harvey is a genuine beacon of honour and hope.

6. “Redbone” // Childish Gambino

Andrew

Donald Glover has put his hand to many successes this decade. Both in front and behind the camera, he’s left a trail of impressive work. But his music career under “Childish Gambino” has also excelled, culminating in most recent successes with “This Is America”, which set the Internet alight with its poignant video and controversial themes.

For me, however, “Redbone” is the track I’ve returned to since its release. Released ahead of 2016s Awaken, My Love!, this was a new direction for Glover, pulling the pace down and leaning into funky, soulful music. The central hook makes for an instant earworm, the satisfying bass leaps, twangs and squelches throughout, and the change in vocal style suits the track perfectly. The track made for a sleeper hit, only peaking months after its release, alongside the Internet finding a meme and a mashup or two to boot.

It also marks a more general return of funk and soul in the 2010s, with the likes of Thundercat lending his hand to some the best music to come out of the decade. With a wide variety of artists exploring this area of music, it’s a trend I certainly hope to see continue as we enter the new decade.

5. “I Sat by the Ocean” // Queens of the Stone Age

Marcus

“I Sat by the Ocean” features one of Queens of the Stone Age’s most iconic riffs, twanging and kicking alongside a striding beat as one of Josh Homme’s outlaws kills brain cells by the sea, pining for a lost love. The track’s tone is set with the speed and precision of its …Like Clockwork brethren, transporting you to the side of the narrator where he regales you with a sorry tale about love unrequited and as yet unforgotten. With a nervy, bouncing rhythm, Homme philosophises over the self-destruction of heartbreak and the bitterness can inspire. ‘Lies are a funny thing / They slip through your fingertips because they never happened to you,’ he laments, but he dwells on them regardless as he heads over the horizon is search of someone new. He can’t let go, and the memory of his love disturbs him when he least expects it; ‘crashing ships in the night.’ Outside the lyricism, which are sparing themselves, the composition is simple, straightforward and direct like in so many of QotSA’s best tracks. Combining the subject matter of the lyrics with a straightforward structure and buoyant guitar work completes the narrator’s characterisation with a peculiar, roguish optimism, and he departs having been charming and fun despite his sorrow.

4. “Ain’t It Funny” // Danny Brown

ANDRÉ

Midway through the superb, Jonah Hill-directed video that accompanies “Ain’t it Funny”, Danny Brown explains his adverse behaviour with a haunting confession: ‘I’ve been destroyed, and if I destroy, maybe I’ll feel ok’. This is a sentiment that echoes throughout the entirety of Atrocity Exhibition, one of the most thrillingly nihilistic albums ever released in contemporary hip-hop. No track represents the manic behaviour of Brown more than “Ain’t it Funny”, a hysterical banger driven by a pounding beat that contrasts wonderfully with the rapper’s acute and honest words. It’s an exhilarating listen; a steam train of memorable bars delivered in rapid fashion, and a candid perception of mental health. ‘Staring in the devil face, but ya can’t stop laughing/it’s a living nightmare that most of us might share’. A feeling that feels far too familiar for many listeners. It’s a downward spiral – we’ve just gotta figure it out. Brown is one of the very best at pairing the trouble of his lyrics with beats ridden in anxiety and tension, and no song showcases this better than “Ain’t it Funny”.

3. “Pyramids” // Frank Ocean

Marcus

“Pyramids” is one of the most elegantly crafted songs I have ever heard, cutting across time and locations as a pimp’s fascination with one of his prostitutes is detailed and dissected. The opening notes set a tragic tone while Frank sets the scene – a woman, “Cleopatra”, has been taken, and the balancing act of the subject being both a lost love and a lost possession is thrown to the fore immediately. As the percussion’s pace accelerates after the first dance hook plays, the narrator becomes indignant, incredulous, at his lack of control – and the song’s first half closes with the death of Cleopatra, the identity of her killer left to the imagination. The second dance hook plays (that melody never gets old), and the scene morphs. Where the song’s first act held motifs of Ancient Egypt, the scene is now of a motel room. Cleopatra is reborn and “she’s working at the pyramids”, switching the regality of Egyptian pyramids to the sordid tragedy of modern Cleopatra’s work. A warm synth accompanies a seductive trap beat as the pimp takes a bath with Cleopatra – objectifying her, idolising her, prizing her, before she returns from her pimp to the pyramids. John Mayer’s guitar croons as the pimp wrestles with his, and her, lot. Each stage of the story is backed by wildly varied tones and composition, driving through ideas while the pace is dictated by the story. It’s really something, and I’m certain I’ll still be trying to figure out its intricacies for years to come.

2. “Blackstar” // David Bowie

Fred

The centre piece of David Bowie’s farewell album had to be something special, and it was. All black velvet and voodoo rumbles, “Blackstar” put Bowie on the cutting edge one last time. Its thick, oozing jazz backdrop – partly inspired by Kendrick Lamar’s To Pimp a Butterfly, apparently – is haunting, as are Bowie’s lyrics, which he delivers with typical swagger. It’s a patient track, a lifetime in the making, and the final stretch provides a hell of a payoff. The synergy between the band, Tony Visconti’s production, and Bowie’s showmanship couldn’t be better. Equal parts dirge, tribal chant, and pied piper ditty, years later the track still sends shivers down my spine. Honourable mention also goes to the music video, which is pretty great in its own right.

1. “Don’t Delete the Kisses” // Wolf Alice

ANDRÉ

Do I think “Don’t Delete the Kisses” is the best song of the decade? Far from it. This is very much a sentimental decision. On the surface, it’s a simple-yet-stirring synth-pop ballad that deals in corny, romantic nonsense. But this is a state that we’re all prone to experiencing, even the most cold-hearted among us. There’s a real emotive, nostalgic quality to the track that has resonated with many of us on Audioxide, ever since its release in 2017. Ellie Rowsell’s words are unpretentious and incredibly honest – flaws ‘n all – and the frigidness of her spoken delivery gives the song that extra measure of power. The music itself, as gorgeous as it is, acts more as a hazy, mystical backdrop that allows Roswell to narrate so effectively. The final chorus, in all its stadium-pop glory, is capable of inducing the most potent chills.

“Don’t Delete the Kisses” may come as a curious choice, but it represents what Audioxide is all about in a nutshell. We reviewed Wolf Alice’s debut record upon its release in 2015, and we collectively grew to admire and cherish the band from that moment. Conclusively, they released what would be one of our favourite rock albums of the decade in 2017, Visions of a Life, the record that plays host to “Don’t Delete the Kisses”. As far as I’m concerned, they are still the most exciting young band that the UK has to offer. I cannot wait to hear what’s next.

Fred

The great songs of old almost feel mythical in their power. Top track lists are awash with odes to love and power and revolution (and heroin, whatever floats your boat). “Don’t Delete the Kisses” is not “The Times They Are a-Changin’”, but then we are not in the 1960s. Serving as the centrepiece of what I think is one of the 2010s’ finest albums, Visions of a Life, this is a track genuinely tuned into modern culture, as corny as it is heartfelt.

Listening like a shoegaze diary entry, “Don’t Delete the Kisses” is very lovely, but it’s not a masterpiece. It’s better than that; it’s honest. I think a fair few artists are too proud to talk about love in the context of modern technology. Snapchat and house parties don’t exactly scream romance, but this is the world we live in. Even I, with my black, shrivelled heart, recognise the sweet idiot neurosis Ellie Roswell describes. Here’s to love, however daft.

The album is dead, long live the album. We’d be lying if we said this year of our Lorde was bursting with instant classics, but that’s brought it’s own charms. This was a slow burner year, where the best albums were weird and wonderful rather than tour de forces. From newcomers to old favourites there’s been a lot to love and a lot to look forward to in the coming decade.

10. When We All Fall Asleep, Where Do We Go? // Billie Eilish

ANDRÉ

There have been an abundance of brilliant pop records over the past few years – momentous works released by the likes of Lorde, Robyn, and Janelle Monae, to name just a few – and once again we find ourselves with another teenage sensation on the scene. Billie Eilish is arguably the most exciting pop prospect since Lana Del Ray, and whilst When We Fall Asleep, Where Do We Go? sounds very different to Lana’s dreamy brand of baroque pop, there are certainly similarities. After all, we are experiencing the rapid rise of moody pop, where our stars sing about not only heartache, but anxiety and addiction. Here, a 17-year old Eilish inhabits a devious figure that harks back to the early days of Tyler, The Creator, whilst also delving into vital affairs such as suicide and climate change, all masked by a delightful goth aesthetic. This is a brave, thoughtful, and ambitious album, bursting with personality and packed with variety. As far as debut releases go, they don’t come much better, nor do they bring as much encouragement to aspiring stars. Eilish, alongside her brother, co-writer and producer Finneas O’Connell, have broken the rules and are setting the stage for others to follow. The influence of When We Fall Asleep could prove to grow with every passing year. The future of pop is in safe hands.

9. Anima // Thom Yorke

Fred

Ah, the Thom Yorke solo project. A rare beast – rather nervous and sickly looking it must be said – but keen in mind and heart. It’s no secret that I think Radiohead brings out the best in Yorke. He’s a key ingredient in a magic formula. Still, it’s a singularly nice thing to get him on his own from time to time, and Anima has enough verve to squeeze into 2019’s highlights.

There aren’t many surprises on the album, but it would have been a surprise if there were. Anima is the sonic equivalent of comfort food for Yorke fans. The beats tick, the vocals dance, and the synths shine. It’s a project that does exactly what it says on the tin, and made with quality ingredients (or one of them anyway.)

Read our full review of Anima →

8. uknowwhatimsayin¿ // Danny Brown

Marcus

The weight of expectation hung so heavily on this, the follow-up to Atrocity Exhibition, that you could be forgiven for expecting it to fail to match up. Ever the optimist, I had every faith – particularly in an era of hip hop where albums with shorter runtimes and tighter composition are frequently coming out on top. While there was no guarantee that Danny Brown would take this route, I was hoping he would; I’m so glad he did. If I could criticize his previous works it’d be in the occasional sense of bloat that diluted the excitement of listening to the bottled, self-aware madness that is Danny Brown. Here, there’s none of that.

Where AE was defined by the Jeckyll and Hyde of Party Danny and Comedown Danny, uknowhatimsayin¿ is devoid of either. This is Sober Danny, or at least Soberer Danny, but the shift isn’t unwelcome or negative. Instead, one of the finest rappers of his generation is simply turning more sharply to a side we’ve only previously seen in passing. He’s no less interesting; he finds more introspection in retrospection, and he retains all the character and cheek I’d be devastated to be left without. It’s a slower experience than his previous outings, the muted chaos apparent in the restrained but persistent and catchy hooks, but this draws sharper attention to the writing which, frankly, is the best he’s yet delivered. Tonal changes of direction seldom feel so smooth or sound so good.

7. Grey Area // Little Simz

Marcus

My personal album of the year, GREY Area is a coming of age for a British rapper whose promise has been evident from the outset. Through the convergence of hip hop, trip hop, British grime and R&B across its 35 minutes – and deft production solidified by the stylings of featured artists Little Dragon and Michael Kiwanuka – GREY Area lands upon incredible variety in energies, tones and contents without ever feeling scattershot or unfocused. Little Simz herself is bold is her writing and delivery, fearless in her subject matter, full of fun and resistant vitality that’s edged with a realistic and considered worldview. “I said it with my chest and I don’t get care who I offend”, she declares on the opener, and the self-assurance is evident in every element of GREY Matter’s composition.

There’s a force of will present across the album that never relents, a confidence that’s intoxicating, and it is deployed to staggering effect regardless of the singular track. Sherbet Sunset’s sincerity doesn’t feel cheapened by the poppiness of “101FM”, and nor does the latter feel less sonically or consciously credible when compared to the former. At this point it perhaps goes without saying that the beats, flows and hooks never miss a step, but I’ll say it anyway. Every track stands as a triumph alone, and the sum is one of the most exciting and innovative albums of recent times. I can’t wait to hear what else she has to say.

6. Titanic Rising // Weyes Blood

ANDRÉ

Truth be told, there were only a handful of records released this year that I was immediately captivated by. The latest project by Weyes Blood is one of the few. Titanic Rising is big, beautiful, and blissfully vast. It captures the essence of ’60s/’70s pop songwriting and carefully blends it with dramatic arrangements and modern electronics. It’s like listening to The Kinks inside a planetarium. The record sounds larger than life, yet it feels deeply personal. There are layers upon layers of sound, which only compliment the immense depths of emotion. To construct such a complex and varied album, and limit it to a lean 40 minutes, is a serious achievement. Natalie Mering crafted these songs and tasked them with lofty ambitions, those that go far beyond what you’d usually expect from chamber-pop. While it may not be flawless from beginning to end, Titanic Rising benefits hugely from such a strong, passionate desire to make a powerful piece of work. It stayed with me from the first listen, and will likely go down as one of the enduring records of 2019. This is Weyes Blood putting her stamp on the World, and it’s a better place for it.

Read our full review of Titanic Rising →

5. Crushing // Julia Jacklin

Michael

The title does not refer to a crushing sadness, although it could easily be mistaken for doing so. Certainly, the opening track, “Body”, a sombre and plainly autobiographical number that describes in vivid, excruciating detail the beginning of a breakup, seems to anticipate much of what follows, which often strikes the tone of a raw confessional. Predominantly, Jacklin assuredly works here in the mode of bruised, perceptive, defiant folk ballads that often gesture towards deteriorating or otherwise complicated relationships, and the intimidating process of moving away from familiar ways of interacting with the world.

Compositionally, Jacklin mostly offers here a collection of straightforward slow burners, but they gamely support her real talents: her incisive lyricism, capable of isolating a whole spectrum of feeling and experience in a single line; her wounded vocal performances, and, in turn, the surprising, bold flourishes that reveal that it is, after all, only a performance. So, yes, one could plausibly interpret this as a record that exorcises all the crushing sadness of a breakup – and, make no make no mistake, Jacklin has produced here some of the most emotionally devastating pieces I’ve heard all year. I would, however, argue that Crushing is diminished when pigeonholed as a mere breakup record. It would be fairer to say that what Jacklin articulates here with astonishing clarity is the difficulty of negotiating suffocating external and internal pressures – all those, ahem, crushing expectations within which one could easily acquiesce and lead a small life.

It is not sad, but wise; it may not have all the answers, but it is nevertheless the work of someone who learned some valuable lessons when working with and through confusion, guilt, and grief. Above all, it is about renewal, about getting back in touch with oneself, about the burden of listening to and nurturing one’s needs rather than reflexively supressing them for the benefit of others. It is the work of someone who is able articulate the journey through uncertainty and towards hard-won self-acceptance with unerring candour.

Read our full review of Crushing →

4. All Mirrors // Angel Olsen

Micheal

Of all the records listed here, All Mirrors is the one with which I am least familiar, having only encountered it during an end-of-year cramming session in November. In my efforts to catch up with what has been written about the record, it has been curious to observe that critics have taken to describing All Mirrors as ‘cinematic’, as if this adjective identifies or illuminates anything specific about the record. One suspects that these references to cinema are intended to evoke a sense of scale, as this is unmistakably Olsen’s most grandiose and bombastic record to date – you know, like My Dinner with Andre.

The gothic, baroque pop found here marks a bold departure from her previous work – which often unfairly cast her as sadness’ guitar-wielding muse – largely because of the twelve-piece string section that constitutes a fully integrated, essential competent of most every track here, as opposed to a mere embellishment or tonal bedding. Guided by the lavish compositions of Ben Babbett and Jherek Bischoff, the strings interact in violent, unexpected ways with Olsen’s remarkably malleable voice and the gauzy synth textures brought into her sonic palette by her previous record, My Woman. The effect is often as alarming and cacophonous as it is arresting, able to carry the full weight of the record’s outsized drama and emotion (which in turn is nurtured by the morbid, wildly melodramatic sensibility of producer John Congleton, who is best known for producing St. Vincent’s finest records).

It is a noisy, angry record that demands attention and shocks you into the moment, stressing Olsen’s lyrical preoccupations with anxieties and assumptions that diminish us and those we love—a preoccupation that is perhaps best articulated by the desperate, romantic final track, “Chance”: ‘It’s hard to say forever love/Forever’s just so far/Why don’t you say you’re with me now/With all of your heart?’ Certainly, when very little in our lives and in our relationships is certain, all we have is a moment that we too often fool ourselves into thinking beyond; All Mirrors has the clarity, the presence of mind, and, above all, the sheer force to pull us back there. What a precious gift that is.

3. Assume Form // James Blake

Fred

I’ve not always had the kindest things to say about James Blake’s past projects. I’ve likened them to carpet samples and beached whales, among other things. Imagine my smugness then when Blake not only comes out with his best record to date, but acknowledges preceding works had the very failings I was complaining about.

Assume Form is a tighter, warmer, and more focused glimpse into Blake’s world. The record showcases Blake as a songwriter as well as a producer. Instead of hiding behind idiosyncratic beats and slack loops, he opens up. The results aren’t perfect, but they’re often lovely. “Where’s the Catch?” is as good a song as you’re likely to find from 2019, and there’s a few more where that came from.

This was the first time we reviewed a James Blake album and I felt excited rather than annoyed. It genuinely feels like he has grown as an artist and a person. What a lovely thing. I just hope he has the courage to keep going. Assume Form is great in its own right, but I very much hope it proves to be a major step towards something special.

Read our full review of Assume Form →

2. There Existed an Addiction to Blood // clipping.

ANDRÉ

If I were listening to There Existed an Addiction to Blood during a nighttime exploration of a cemetery, I’d be incredibly suspicious of each and every grave I walk past. Fortunately, I’m not nearly brave enough to do such a thing. In any matter, clipping’s latest record is terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure: a delightful homage to horror heroes such as Wes Craven and John Carpenter. Those lone, repeated piano notes that open up “Nothing is Safe” set the tone for the entire experience, with the inclusion of multiple twists and turns along the way. Tension lingers in every track, established by cinematic instrumentals and enhanced by frightful tropes and inventive sonic textures. The role of rapper Daveed Diggs switches between being a narrator – cold and calculated in delivery – and a man possessed by evil. Both roles are captivating, and tremendously supported by the devilish soundscapes created by William Hutson and Jonathon Snipes. It’s true that, aside from outstanding instances of innovative production techniques (“Run for Your Life” is an essential listen on headphones), there’s very little about the album that one could claim as original. Of course, to brand this as a criticism would be missing the point: this is a tribute to the most ghastly of Worlds, executed brilliantly by one of the finest acts in the experimental hip-hop scene right now. An incredible exercise in immersion.

Read our full review of There Existed an Addiction to Blood →

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1. Igor // Tyler, The Creator

FRED

Tyler, The Creator has quickly become one of those artists you put time aside for. Every new release promises quality and a fair bit of the unexpected. IGOR delivered on both counts. Somehow managing to sound beautifully monstrous, the album’s not as easy on the ears as Flower Boy, but what it lacks in suaveness it more than makes up for with originality. Hip hop has seldom sounded more off-kilter.

This won’t be everyone’s favourite Tyler album – hell, I’m not even sure it’s mine – but for me its audacity is part of the charm. Who else could write a love song like “EARFQUAKE”? Or provide the final flourish of “ARE WE STILL FRIENDS?” Originality is hard to come by these days, but Tyler, The Creator has it coming out of his ears. And my favourite thing about it is he doesn’t do it to be different; he does it to be himself.

Michael

Bearing in mind that Tyler, The Creator spent the better part of the 2010s playing hip-hop’s increasingly obnoxious enfant terrible, and how suddenly he appeared to emerge from his cocoon of juvenile provocation as a magnificent queer butterfly on Flower Boy, one would be forgiven for being slightly sceptical of IGOR. Of course, Tyler’s coming out was not actually all that sudden – he’d been referencing his sexuality for years prior to Flower Boy with varying degrees of explicitness – but his impish persona, aligned with his regrettable penchant for homophobic slurs, were sufficient for any allusions to be mistaken for distasteful gags. (This, of course, exists alongside other racial and generic factors.) If, like me, you are also queer and have previously been hurt by his language and his glib attitude, there may still be lingering concerns that the gag may just be more elaborate these days – that, rather than merely hurling the word in any which direction, he’s now finding it funnier to play the faggot in public. So, it’s complicated.

But it’s also rather simple: it’s about a boy who loves another boy who still loves his ex-girlfriend. The IGOR persona is an obvious but nevertheless witty choice in this context: Tyler casts himself as the obsequious and odious assistant, unctuously devoted (despite some reluctance) to the enablement of his master’s ghastly experiments. He’s playing a version of himself here that’s lovelorn and needy, performing songs that shuttle through joy, longing, confusion, and regret – as one would expect of what’s putatively a breakup record – but, crucially, also ugliness, revelling in the monstrosity and perversity inherent in desire that others may consciously overlook in a bid to save face. (This may actually be where Tyler’s queerness most clearly reveals itself—you know, beyond the songs about being in love with a dude.)

The notion of being dedicated to the pleasure of others is similarly found in Tyler giving himself over to a more vulnerable form of expression than ever before, becoming in earnest the warped popstar he threatened to become on Flower Boy, as well as earlier tracks like “IFHY”. Indeed, what is perhaps most surprising is that Tyler has made a record that, despite its occasional flirtations with hip-hop bangery (“What’s Good”), may be best categorised as neo-soul or even alternative – R&B. It’s smooth, gorgeous, and emotionally potent – undoubtedly his most beautifully composed and generous record yet. It’s a work of supreme craftmanship, effortlessly synthesising myriad recognisable influences and feelings into a gnarly iridescent sound that feels at once distinctive and genuinely accessible, motivated as it is by Tyler’s knack for a killer hook and his abiding commitment to manifesting robustly the universal emotions at play in each song. So yes, it’s simple: it’s a magnificent pop record, don’t overthink it.

2015 // 2016 // 2017 // 2018 // 2019

The role of singles has changed massively in recent years, but they still tend to lead the charge during an album’s full release. In 2019 we got some pretty unconventional warfare. From haunted hip hop rides to lunar cruise muzak, this will likely be the most un-single-like list of year-end singles we ever do, but it’s been that kind of year, and if the music’s good it can sound however it damn well pleases.

10. “101fm” // Little Simz

Marcus

That kick drum. For me, Little Simz is easily the most exciting British rapper on the scene right now, and “101FM” exemplifies her best qualities: finely honed delivery, intricate lyricism, and reams of personality that evoke both the complexities of Little Simz’ native London and the wisdom that transcends her years. The hook, reminiscent of some digital approximation of eastern instrumentation, adds the welcome cheek and vibrancy to certify “101FM” as both a banger and an emblem of the (successful) creativity she so relentlessly delivers. With this atmosphere in place, the exposing guide through elements of Little Simz’ past is made to be comfortable and inviting where the subject matter and her braggadocio might err into the opposite on their own. Not only that, but it’s a damn fun time.

9. “Two Halves” // Richard Dawson

Michael

It is perhaps a small cause for concern that Richard Dawson is gradually making a home for himself in the respectable confines of BBC 6 Music’s playlist. We’ve all been hurt by once-treasured musicians who have conflated accessibility with smoothed edges and a flattened-out artistry, who have traded in a broader appeal for what made them so distinctive and appealing in the first place. The prospect of Richard Dawson – a truly a singular artist who has spent much of the decade on the outskirts of the British music business making severe experimental folk records – taking a turn for the Elbow would be too much to bear in a year that has taken so much from us. Moreover, though I do not begrudge his success and very much enjoy his radio-bothering work, there is always a selfish part of me that longs for Dawson to stick to unwieldy, beautiful numbers that could capture the essence of all human relationships in, say, a twenty-one-minute story about an ill-fated trip to Middlesbrough for a treasured parmo.

Granted, as “Two Halves” so wonderfully demonstrates, Dawson’s growing embrace of the warm and the melodic has not lessened his grip on his richly detailed songwriting and his extraordinary ability for observing the minutiae of British life. Here, uses the dismal arena of Sunday league football as the stage for a wry, lived-in, and oddly touching father-son narrative, taking the perspective of a young footballer talking us through the unfortunate events of a game while engaged in an unspoken, one-sided psychic struggle with his overbearing father, who is watching from the touchline. It elaborates with hilarious specificity a trivial but nevertheless devastating instance of personal failure, an eminently relatable moment awash with the shame of feeling as if you’ve let a loved one down (which is separable from actually letting someone down). Yet, it is a rousing tune, armed with Dawson’s most generous vocal hook, it merrily skips along with the narrator’s anxious internal monologue, guided by the tremulous, tremendous thing that Dawson so often turns his guitar into, which still furnishes the longtime admirers and fussy worrywarts like myself with all the wonky flourishes that have always marked Dawson’s music as such a thrilling, mercurial spectacle.

8. “Movies” // Weyes Blood

ANDRÉ

Though it’s something I scarcely confess nowadays, my musical life began with Muse back in the day. As such, I am rather drawn to dramatic excursions, particularly those with symphonic elements. It comes to no surprise, then, that Weyes Blood had me at those opening arpeggios. The stunning centrepiece of her 2019 record Titanic Rising, “Movies” is a gorgeous piece that stands as my standout musical moment of the year. A song of two halves, one shifts from the sensation of gently floating in space, embracing the serenity, to suddenly descending back down to Earth at an alarming pace, with all of life’s precious moments flashing before your very eyes. It’s a truly magical piece of music, fashioned beautifully inside six minutes. This is Weyes Blood flaunting her musical prowess, and rightly so. Few songs have grabbed me recently quite like “Movies”. I will no doubt continue to cherish it for years to come.

7. “Doorman” // slowthai

Marcus

slowthai’s “Doorman” is comfortably the most moreish grime track I’ve ever heard. From the outset its biting, droning bass hook revs up and down while the creative percussion adds finesse to the relentless aggression. The lyricism has the subtlety to find yourself picking apart its meaning whilst daydreaming, and the voice cracks that pepper slowthai’s unforgiving delivery add tremendous weight to the track’s overarching, buoyant character. Bookending the raucousness are sad but good natured vocal clips that add emotive weight to slowthai’s message; the humanisation of the rapper’s fury might not be vital to the track’s quality, but the authenticity is welcome nonetheless.

6. “Andromeda” // Weyes Blood

Fred

This was a textbook example of a single promising more than the album delivered. The space western drift of “Andromeda” promised so much, feeling at times like a kind of melodic postcard. The song’s immaculate, dreamlike arrangements shuffle along beautifully beneath its vocals, and the whole affair manages to come off leisurely yet expansive, like a cruise through the Horsehead Nebula. It’s a gorgeous single, though it was a shame Titanic Rising wasn’t quite able to capitalise on it.

5. “All Mirrors” // Angel Olsen

Fred

To my mind All Mirrors by Angel Olsen was one of the runaway winners of 2019. Its gothic brand of synth pop was ornate, grand, and at times utterly captivating. Nothing showcased that better than the title track. “All Mirrors” storms through its four-minute runtime like a tsunami with a train to catch. Olsen’s vocals soar above a cacophony of synthesisers, echoing the likes of Kate Bush and Bjork while while keeping her own qualities at the forefront. The track stands tall on its own, but it sounds even better as part of the album. I look forward to revisiting it in both contexts in the years to come.

4. “Nothing is Safe” // clipping.

Marcus

The more numerous the plinks, the greater the dread. Cinematically composed, “Nothing is Safe” is a masterclass in building, relieving, and escalating tension. Composite parts – the repeated piano note, the humming synths, the restrained use of trap percussion, the organic acceleration and deceleration of rapper Daveed Diggs’ delivery – are engaged with such precise timing that no end of listens will deliver shivers to your spine. The chorus drops in with incredible force, a worthy payoff for the tirelessly layered production. Atmospherically, “Nothing is Safe” is emblematic of the wider success of clipping’s latest album; a creative and inspiring approach to horrorcore – interspersed with what sounds like dogs barking and primal maracas – that gives the impression of demons either being summoned or slain.

3. “Pressure to Party” // Julia Jacklin

Michael

Being a record of deteriorating relationships and intense introspection, Julia Jackin’s Crushing is understandably bereft of hits, bangers, or much else resembling a traditional single. For the most part the record simmers with melancholy and quiet intensity rather than boiling over. “Pressure to Party” was not the first track to be released from Crushing, but it is perhaps the most obvious candidate; after all, it is one of the record’s few tracks blessed with a driving energy and something resembling a tonal brightness – an approximation of rollicking, frenetic garage rock that invites you to tap your feet and maybe even sing along. But it’s also somewhat deceptive: it isn’t merely energetic, it’s utterly relentless, not resting once during its three-minute duration. It has Jacklin spilling over in the face of innumerable expectations, occupying the fraught space between the recognition that one needs to move on when mourning the loss of an emotional limb, and the reality that one is presently unequipped to function as a person in the world because of that loss.

It’s just about the most anxious song about depression, a simple but nevertheless extraordinary articulation of need told through Jacklin’s aching, vulnerable vocal performance (which is joined in miraculous harmony halfway through by Georgia Mulligan on backing vocal). There’s some wonderful genius – hey, let’s call it generosity – underlying Jacklin’s decision to deliver some of her most plainly desperate lyrics in the form of an anthem, one with which you may unexpectedly catch yourself singing along, the sort with which scores of people will sing along at her live show. After all, many of us will felt the need to shut the door on the world at some point in our lives. What Jacklin quite miraculously does here, then, is remind us that we’re all fighting battles of varying secrecy, and invites us to join in her calls for empathy.

2. “Petty Thieving” // FEET

ANDRÉ

Sometimes it takes years to get a song in shape. Hell, sometimes it even takes decades. FEET originally made movements on the scene with the song “Petty Thieving” back in 2017: it was raw, sincere, and sprightly, equipped with a pre-chorus that threw seriously delightful nods to the early days of The Strokes. Adolescent garage rock done right, basically. This year saw the release of FEET’s debut record, What’s Inside is More than Just Ham, which came armed with a moderately reworked version of their breakout tune. The structure is refined, the guitars chime with enhanced personality, and the vocal performance thankfully retains the wit and charisma of the original. Put simply, it sounds better than ever before. Not a single rock song has excited me as much as “Petty Thieving” this year, nor has a debut rock album left such an impression on me since IDLES and Wolf Alice. Fine company indeed. If you’re a fan of The Stone Roses and early Blur, FEET are your next favourite band.

1. “EARFQUAKE” // Tyler, The Creator

FRED

This is no banger. Nor is it an earworm. In fact, I’m not sure what it is. I like it though. IGOR was another impressive outing from Tyler, The Creator, and “EARFQUAKE”, in all its stop-start glory, managed to distill the album’s main qualities in a way that almost made it seem approachable. In other words, it’s tender, off-beat, and charmingly strange. It wouldn’t be ‘single material’ for most artists, but for Tyler that made it all the more perfect. IGOR is a strange world and it needed an ambassador with a deft touch. Suffice it to say, “EARFQUAKE” delivered.

Michael

It should be noted that, despite placing as our favourite single of the year, “EARFQUAKE” topped none our individual list, instead appearing somewhere in the middle of most of them. In truth, it is not even my favourite track from IGOR (which would be “Gone, Gone”). “EARFQUAKE” could therefore be considered the champion of consensus in a year that has not, at least in our particular sphere of musical taste, yielded an especially strong collection of singles, which can at times seem like a dying form. Still, even if we grant that fortune has played its part here, we should not downplay the significance of this consensus – I would argue that it speaks volumes of Tyler, The Creator’s growing prowess as a pop songwriter.

2015 // 2016 // 2017 // 2018 // 2019

06.10.02019

This is part of a series of articles in which we reflect on video game soundtracks. The pieces examine the musical content of the score and analyse the effects it has on the game.

Every so often a game comes along that really jibes with people’s imaginations. Mirror’s Edge is one of those games. Released in 2008, the first-person parkour adventure served up a gorgeous blend of art style, story, gameplay, and music that led to millions of sales.

To my mind, what’s so compelling about the game is the complete lack of ego or cynicism that went into its making. It is not a perfect game, but the creative vision behind is as clear and fresh as a spring day. No aspect of the game is inflated or muscling in where it shouldn’t be. A spirit of camaraderie underpins the entire mood.

If I had to describe the appeal of Mirror’s Edge in one word, it would probably be ‘fluidity.’ The soundtrack, composed by Magnus Birgersson, aka Solar Fields, is tuned perfectly to the game’s tone. Elegant, adaptive, and constantly on the move, it is proper parkour music, shaping itself around the terrain, characters, and events that drove the story along.

Reflecting a world

It was a stroke of genius for DICE to approach Birgersson about composing the Mirror’s Edge soundtrack. Solar Fields’ blend of electronic and ambient lends itself to the game’s world. Anyone who has played it will remember its sleek design, splashed here and there with bright colours. The tone is distinct, and neatly outlined by protagonist Faith Connors in the opening scene:

We exist on the edge between the gloss and the reality: the mirror’s edge. We keep out of trouble, out of sight, and the cops don’t bother us. Runners see the city in a different way. We see the flow. Rooftops become pathways and conduits, possibilities and routes of escape. The flow is what keeps us running, keeps us alive.

Gloss with an unconventional twist was what Birgersson  brought to the table, and he regularly visited the DICE offices to see how the game was progressing, and how his music complimented the action. The result was icy, technical beats threaded with warmth and space. The OST reflects the game beautifully.

Mirror’s Edge is a lean game. The palette is largely white, with dashes of colour here and there. The story, which can be completed in around eight hours, mostly comprises of running around. Indeed, although there are guns in the game, you can complete it without firing a single shot.

The lifeblood of the gameplay is the energy and drive of the runners, who, as Faith Connors puts it, see the world differently. For them the shimmering city is their playground, and the excitement for the player comes from navigating it. The soundtrack needed to mirror that. (No pun intended.)

Sonically it’s all there. Solar Fields had a glassy, modern sound to start with, and he tempers it beautifully for Mirror’s Edge. Tracks are modern and pristine, with more organic elements sprinkled in. Take “Jacknife” for example, which shimmers along relentlessly, but offers the odd oriental twang to break the pace. Or “Heat”, which devolves into little gadgety glitches at its end. Or “Ropeburn”, which offers respite just by bringing some warmth to the table.

None of these tracks are memorable in ways that you might expect from albums, or even film soundtracks, but then something would be wrong if they were. The Mirror’s Edge OST rides the same edge Faith does, between the gloss and the reality, staying out of trouble and out of sight.

Parkour music

The sound is not the main strength of Birgersson’s work. That would be its adaptability. More than most games the Mirror’s Edge soundtrack had to shape itself to rapidly changing circumstances. It is, in effect, parkour music. It isn’t just true to the aesthetics of the game, but to its principal themes and characters. Anything can be a path, and the player sets the pace.

All the tracks are relatively long, allowing for different scenarios to play out, with different segments blending together when trigger points in the map are reached. In a lot of ways the tracks mirror the levels they were written for. They are playgrounds.

It is not restrictive, the goals are just different. If the Mirror’s Edge OST was something you’d listen to on its own, in many respects it would have failed. It is incomplete without the game it was made for, just as the game would have been incomplete without the music. Birgersson says as much himself:

Music should add another dimension to the game, not take it over. I don’t believe that game music should be listened to like an album whilst playing, here it has a different function. For me and my compositions for the Mirror’s Edge games it was all about capturing the mood and the feeling and translating these into music to enhance the experience for the player.

That is the real charm of the OST for me. While maintaining his creative independence, Birgersson also bought into the mood of the game, shaping the music to fit its world.

Keep Faith

The Mirror’s Edge OST is a testament to collaborative game design. Different teams were not kept in their bubbles. Interaction was encouraged, and the proof is in the pudding. You get a game that has aged very well, with a soundtrack that fits with its tone and enhances its gameplay.

There’s a long, storied history of incredible video game music, but I do think Mirror’s Edge coincided witht the beginning of an era where it generally became more subtle, like a dancing shadow of the game proper. As games became more sophisticated, so too did the role of their soundtracks.

Indeed, it occurred to me while writing this that the three pieces Andre and I have written so far about video game music (Twilight Princess, Fallout 3, and this) focus on games from 2006 and 2008, when the seventh generation of consoles was getting into the swing of things. That’s admitedy a pretty small sample, but maybe soundtracks were stepping up their game around that time, or rather, stepping back.

Birgersson himself has noticed a shift in the way video game music has been treated both inside and outside the studios:

There is a huge interest today in video game soundtracks compared to say 15 years ago. I think it is also due to the fact that the game development studios today acknowledge and include the music as a big part of the overall experience which improves the quality for the gamer.

Video games in general have earned more cultural prestige in recent years, in no small part due to their soundtracks. I’d consider Mirror’s Edge one of the trailblazers in that sense, in its own subtle way. It’s one of those games that stand tall in people’s memories, alive and wonderful, imperfections and all.

08.09.02019

For reasons known not even to himself, Fred decides to disparage the memory of George Orwell’s essay ‘Confessions of a Book Reviewer‘. Scathing reviews of this piece are welcome and deserved.

In an expensive yet strangely characterless flat in some important city or other a man sits unblinking before a computer screen. His hands tremble over the keyboard in anticipation of words that have not come for hours and will not come for hours yet. Countless pairs of headphones litter the floor and one wall is piled high with speakers. After years of listening and thousands of pounds of debt incurred, our hero has resigned himself to the fact that most music sounds irredeemably awful.

And yet he must write, for he is a music reviewer and the world waits with bated breath for his verdict on a smorgasbord of songs he’s barely had time to listen to once. More often than not the prospect of listening a second time fills him with unspeakable dread. It is exhausting to be so unaffected so often. There are no words for his indifference, so he must invent them. A thesaurus tab is open on his computer. It his always open. Words like ‘texture’ and ‘immersive’ and ‘emotive’ have lost all meaning. The album he is writing about has been out for two hours. Before the end of the day he must know how he will feel about it for the rest of his life.

This man began with innocent intentions. He liked music, he liked talking about it. His favourite albums made him feel rather good. Music was wonderful. What he had failed to consider was that this favourable picture of the sonic world was formed of a small minority of quality artists. It has long since dawned on this unfortunate fellow that most albums do not nourish the soul or give strength to the heart. Indeed, most may as well not exist. But they do, and they pine for someone, anyone, to review them. They are leeches competing for the reviewer’s thin, watery, highly caffeinated blood.

Several reputable music review websites have solicited this lonesome man’s services over the years. He adjusts his voice to each, for one daren’t stray far from the official tone. Smarmy here, hysterical there, submissive everywhere. He once reviewed the same album for two different publications and came up with two wildly different scores, sincerely believing both. Whatever consistent opinions he may have once held are gone. It is no matter. He has found people only read music reviews to be upset by them.

Occasionally, in a fit of desperation, he can publish a meme or a GIF or similar contrivance as his review. Some may be fooled into thinking this is clever, others will roll their eyes and move on. Most will never read his review so he figures it’s worth it from time to time. Such stunts spare him the chore of writing several hundred words effectively saying, ‘Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo.’ Not that he is averse to terrible albums. The truly awful ones are a gift. They allow him to at least feel something, even if it is only a yearning for sweet, sweet death.

He looks out of the window at a pale sky and reminisces about that one album he genuinely liked a year or two ago. What was it called? Was it real? Would he enjoy it as much now? He doesn’t want to find out. He has ruined enough things for himself already. He has not paid for music in months. He feels bad about this sometimes, though not enough to pay for music. What little sympathy he has for musicians is quieted whenever he meets one in real life, which is rarely.

The internet and advances in technology are marvellous of course, our friend concedes, but it does seem a shame to him that so many more people are able to make and distribute mediocre music, presumably to mediocre listeners. What does that make him? Some kind of mediocre weathervane? It doesn’t bear thinking about. At least he’s not making reaction videos.

12.07.02019

I started listening to Bob Dylan about four years ago, having put a few of his albums (pilfered from my Dad’s collection) onto my iPod Classic before a trip through Eastern Europe. It didn’t feel pretentious at the time, I swear.

I think Blonde On Blonde was the first album I tried, and I found it to be pretty difficult listening. Bad singing, abrasive harmonica, overly long songs, etc. For some reason I persevered, and it wasn’t long before I was searching for Dylan box-sets on Amazon (still the best purchase I ever made).

There aren’t many musical discographies quite so gargantuan as Bob Dylan’s, containing an almighty 38 studio albums. On top of that, he’s put out 15 live albums (comprising 68 CDs), and 14 volumes of his Bootleg Series (that’s another 58 CDs). It turns out you can have too much of a good thing.

Anyway, here are Dylan’s 38 studio albums ranked from worst to best. I’m fairly sure most of this ranking could change tomorrow, but #38 and #1 are set in stone.

38. 38. Down in the Groove (1988)

Not many people have heard of this one, and rightly so. It’s Dylan at his most disappointing, following up 1987’s (mostly) mediocre Knocked Out Loaded with something even worse. He’d clearly decided to stop trying. The only track worthy of note is the jaunty “Silvio”, co-written with The Grateful Dead. It’s fun and features several ‘woop-woops’, but it’s not very Dylan.

37. 37. Triplicate (2017)

After releasing two whole albums of syrupy Sinatra covers that nobody really wanted, Dylan thought he’d release a triple album with even more syrup. It’s an overwhelmingly long record (30 songs), and the plodding instrumentation doesn’t do much to keep listeners engaged. Triplicate’s opening track, “I Guess I’ll Have To Change My Plans”, is pleasantly upbeat, but after that it’s a dreary road ahead.

36. 36. Fallen Angels (2016)

The second album of Dylan’s ‘Sinatra period’ is a marginally more interesting affair, but it’s lacking a lot of inspiration. Fallen Angels beats Triplicate only by being less tediously long. “Skylark” features some nice guitar work, and “That Old Black Magic” injects some energy at the end, but the album is little more than an elderly man indulging himself.

35. 35. Christmas in the Heart (2009)

Bob Dylan singing Christmas songs just seems wrong. People generally assumed that this album of hymns, carols, and popular festive songs was ironic, but Dylan insisted otherwise. Although hard to believe, apparently he was actually feeling genuinely merry — and generous too, giving 100% of his royalties to various homeless charities. Dylan growls his way through the record, his voice often contrasting terribly with the angelic chorus of backing singers. The only song worth listening to is “Must Be Santa”, which is just jolly good Christmas fun.

34. 34. Under the Red Sky (1990)

After 1989’s Oh Mercy, which was hailed as something of a comeback, fans expected a lot more from its follow-up. The most striking thing about Under The Red Sky is its weirdness; it’s dedicated to his four-year-old daughter (“Gabby Goo Goo”), it’s full of unexpected cameos (including Slash and Elton John), and half the songs feel like nursery rhymes. The opening track, “Wiggle Wiggle”, features what might be Dylan’s worst ever lyric: ‘Wiggle wiggle wiggle like a bowl of soup’. Under The Red Sky’s better points lie in the organ-driven “Handy Dandy” and the up-tempo “God Knows”.

33. 33. Dylan (1973)

This self-titled album was compiled and issued with no input from Dylan himself, and it’s quite easy to tell. He had recently left Columbia Records for pastures new, leaving behind a bunch of half-hearted covers that the label decided to monetize. It’s a nice collection of songs, although never anything more than that. “Sarah Jane” and “Mr. Bojangles” are fine covers, but other songs (e.g. “Big Yellow Taxi”) make you realise why this material was shelved in the first place. Perhaps Dylan’s multicoloured rainbow hair on the album’s cover is the only real highlight here.

32. 32. Empire Burlesque (1985)

This was when the Eighties really got to Dylan. He took a handful of half-decent songs and almost ruined them with crass, overblown production. The album opener, “Tight Connection To My Heart”, is a fantastic, summery number, but the record is mostly a disappointment. Bizarrely, the album closer, “Dark Eyes”, is a purely acoustic song, breaking away from the rest of the album’s nauseating production. It’s a plaintive, stripped-back tune that shows you just what Empire Burlesque could have been.

31. 31. Knocked Out Loaded (1986)

To put it simply, Knocked Out Loaded is good for one track; the 11-minute epic “Brownsville Girl”. Co-written with playwright Sam Sheppard, it might be Dylan’s best song from the 1980s (competing with 1983’s “Blind Willie McTell”). It’s as overblown as anything from Empire Burlesque, but in “Brownsville Girl” the contrived gusto feels essential, from the high-powered brass and energetic backing singers to Dylan’s vivid, melodramatic lyrics. In his swooping visions of vast, sunbaked deserts, faded car seat covers, and fraught love, Dylan creates some unforgettable images. Elsewhere on the album, the music is fairly routine and indifferent (including three covers). “Knocked Out Loaded” is ultimately one great song with a lot of baggage.

30. 30. Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid (1973)

Speaking of one-song albums, no Dylan record is more reliant on one track than Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid, his half-instrumental soundtrack for the film of the same name. Amongst some pleasant flute music and uninspiringly-named cowboy songs (“Billy 1”, “Billy 4”, “Billy 7”), there is “Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door”. During Dylan’s fairly unexceptional period between the late ‘60s and mid ‘70s, this song stands out as a bafflingly brilliant outlier. Guns N’ Roses tried their best to make it their own, but the understated, tired vocal delivery in Dylan’s original is impossible to beat (yes, that’s right: an uncoverable Dylan song).

29. 29. Shadows in the Night (2015)

Shadows in the Night comprises ten Frank Sinatra covers, although Dylan saw things differently, claiming: ‘I don’t see myself as covering these songs in any way. They’ve been covered enough. Buried, as a matter of fact. What me and my band are basically doing is uncovering them’. Irrespective of whether they are covers or not (they are covers), Dylan does an excellent job; the weariness (and surprising tunefulness) of his voice, combined with the record’s gorgeous instrumentation, creates a reflective, late-night atmosphere. What the ten songs lack in punch, they make up for in serenity — particularly “Stay With Me”, “Some Enchanted Evening”, and the closing “That Lucky Old Sun”.

28. 28. Good As I Been to You (1992)

Dylan’s first solo acoustic album since 1964 was never going to be quite as good as Another Side of Bob Dylan, but it was a respectable effort. The stripped-back vibes allowed Dylan to demonstrate his underrated guitar work, which is actually quite good. With its mixture of traditional British and Irish folk songs and bluegrass standards, the ambitions of Good As I Been To You are fairly modest, but the performances are solid. The album probably peaks at “Canadee-i-o”, an emotional tale of one woman who masquerades as a sailorman in order to travel to Canada, which Dylan sings quite beautifully.

27. 27. Saved (1980)

Saved is the middle album in Dylan’s ‘Christian trilogy’, which is unfairly seen as a black mark on his career (it’s dark grey, at worst). There are exceptional songs on each of the three albums — it can just be difficult to spot them amidst all the evangelical chaff. In the case of Saved, perhaps Dylan’s most overtly Christian album, the highlight is undoubtedly “Pressing On”, a triumphant, stirring gospel number that builds and builds. “Covenant Woman” is also worth a listen, but beyond that it’s a mostly unremarkable record.

26. 26. Together Through Life (2009)

‘You are as whorish as ever’, Dylan tenderly tells his addressee in “I Feel A Change Comin’ On”, the standout track on Together Through Life. While it’s certainly the weakest of Dylan’s golden run of late albums (starting with 1997’s Time Out of Mind and concluding with 2012’s Tempest), it’s still a decent offering.

The album comprises a bluesy bunch of songs, co-written with The Grateful Dead’s Robert Hunter, and they’re all given the right treatment by Dylan’s suitably gravelly voice. Things also get pretty lusty on this record — check out “Shake Shake Mama” for evidence.

25. 25. World Gone Wrong (1993)

Dylan’s follow-up to Good As I Been To You was another album of traditional folk songs, but it comes with a little more depth than its predecessor. The themes are darker, the musical textures are richer, and Dylan’s liner notes (probably his best since the ‘60s) cite possible sources for every song.

For the most part, World Gone Wrong is a beautifully sad record, and it was probably Dylan’s most consistent work since the early ‘80s. The album’s centrepiece, “Delia”, features a simple but exquisite refrain on acoustic guitar, and some fairly desolate words (‘all the friends I ever had are gone’).

24. 24. Slow Train Coming (1979)

Slow Train Coming certainly surprised a lot of people, launching Dylan’s ‘Christian trilogy’ with serious enthusiasm. The fervent evangelism of the lyrics can put listeners off (you’re made to feel very bad for not believing), but there’s a small handful of fantastic songs on this album.

The record peaks early with “Precious Angel”, which features some gorgeous high-pitched twiddling on the guitar by Mark Knopfler, six verses of vivid lyrics, a little bit of brass, and an uplifting chorus. The closing track, “When He Returns”, is another beauty, but the remaining songs aren’t much to write home about (especially the extremely dull “Man Gave Names to All The Animals”).

23. 23. Shot of Love (1981)

The third instalment of Dylan’s ‘Christian trilogy’ is undoubtedly the best; it’s more consistent, more eclectic, and Dylan actually sounds like he’s enjoying himself. There’s muscle and swagger to the music here, something that barely exists on Slow Train Coming or Saved. It’s an album of hard drumming, big choruses, and colourful lyrics (mixed in with a few softer tracks).

One particular highlight is “The Groom’s Still Waiting at the Altar”, where Dylan experiments ambitiously with the number of syllables he can fit into each line (he tries spectacularly hard). The Shot of Love sessions produced outtakes that really shouldn’t have been left behind, including the truly spectacular “Caribbean Wind”.

22. 22. Self Portrait (1970)

What do you do when you need to get rid of your maniacally obsessive fanbase? You release an obtusely long, 24-song album full of weird instrumentals and covers that alienates everyone, of course. It certainly worked in the short term (‘What is this shit?’, wrote Greil Marcus at the time), but over the years Self Portrait has become a cult classic amongst Dylan fans — the session outtakes even got their own volume in the official Bob Dylan Bootleg Series.

Bob should have known better, really. There’s certainly a fair amount of mediocrity to navigate (you could easily trim the 24 songs down to 12) but, as with most Dylan records, you’ll still find a few gems. The folky “Alberta #1” and “Alberta #2” bookend the album nicely, Dylan’s cover of “Let It Be Me” is gorgeous, the 1969 live version of “Quinn The Eskimo” is fun, and the strings in “Copper Kettle” are beautiful.

21. 21. Tempest (2012)

With a name like Tempest, people quite reasonably assumed that this might have been Dylan’s final album (given that The Tempest was the name of Shakespeare’s final play), but the subsequent splurge of Sinatra cover albums has put that charming idea to bed. Dylan himself rebuffed the idea with a bit of grammatical pedantry, pointing out that his album is not called The Tempest but ‘just plain Tempest‘.

The album features Dylan’s roughest vocal performances (the opening verse of “Pay In Blood” could reduce a small child to tears), but for most of the album this gruffness matches the music perfectly. The epic, 14-minute title track is a highlight, narrating the story of the RMS Titanic in 45 evocative verses, intertwined with some lovely violin solos.

20. 20. Modern Times (2006)

Modern Times continued Dylan’s late purple patch, which began with 1997’s Time Out of Mind. The irony of this record is that there isn’t much that’s modern about any of the songs, with many critics having found umpteen uncredited uses of melodies from traditional songs, and words from poets as old as Ovid.

Nevertheless, Dylan’s never been a stranger to lifting from old source material, and Modern Times is a first-class collection of jazz-infused folk (or folk-infused jazz, take your pick). “Thunder On The Mountain” kicks off proceedings with style, simmering for a few seconds before launching into an irresistible beat. It’s probably the best song on the album, and the lyrics are wonderfully weird (‘I’m wondering where in the world Alicia Keys could be’).

19. 19. Bob Dylan (1962)

Considering Dylan’s reputation for great songwriting, it seems strange that his debut album should contain just two original compositions: “Talkin’ New York” and “Song To Woody”. Dylan moves through 11 traditional folk songs with infectious enthusiasm, as if he’s planning on making a career out of it.

The harmonica playing is breathlessly energetic (check out “You’re No Good” and “Gospel Plow”), and the singing sometimes lapses into yelping. Most of the songs are strung together by an intense focus on death and burials, which makes for some cheery listening. “Baby, Let Me Follow You Down” is probably the best performance on the album, featuring some of Dylan’s finest fingerpicking and smoothest harmonica.

18. 18. Oh Mercy (1989)

The one benefit of having multiple career dips is that they set you up for multiple career comebacks. After Dylan’s ‘return to form’ with Infidels in 1983, he went on another spree of average albums until Oh Mercy brought it to a halt. Dylan teamed up with U2 producer Daniel Lanois to create a record that took everyone by surprise — because it was good.

Oh Mercy certainly didn’t break any new ground, but it gave fans ten original songs that sounded like Dylan was putting in the effort again. Lanois’s production gives the album a dark, brooding atmosphere, something Dylan himself quite accurately described as ‘swampy’. Check out “Most of the Time” for the best bassline in a Dylan song.

17. 17. John Wesley Harding (1967)

After a bad motorcycle crash in 1966, Dylan’s music took a serious stylistic turn. In stark contrast to his trio of mid-60s rock albums, John Wesley Harding is austere and stripped back. Dylan sounds tired, his voice is strained, and the instrumentation is sparse. The songs themselves are a mixed bag, ranging from the fairly forgettable (“Down Along The Cove”) to the downright magnificent (“All Along The Watchtower”). Of course, Jimi Hendrix quickly identified the best song on the album, recording his dazzling version of “All Along The Watchtower” less than a month after hearing it. It’s got to be the greatest Dylan cover of all time (and there’s a lot of competition).

16. 16. Nashville Skyline (1969)

This record certainly gave fans a shock. After almost a decade of rock and folk, Dylan produced an album of lovey-dovey country music. To make things even weirder, he replaced his trademark, sandpapery drawl with a soft croon, which suited the bluegrass sound but certainly didn’t suit the man himself.

At just 26 minutes, Nashville Skyline is Dylan’s shortest album, comprising nine love songs (including a reworking of 1962’s “Girl From The North Country” as a duet with Johnny Cash), and a jaunty instrumental. Of course, the big standout track here is “Lay Lady Lay”, originally intended for the Midnight Cowboy soundtrack but submitted too late. It’s one of Dylan’s most perfect singles, combining exquisite pedal steel guitar and cowbell percussion with some masterfully simple songwriting.

15. 15. The Basement Tapes (1975)

When four exceptional musicians (most of the Band) came to stay with an exceptional songwriter (Bob Dylan) in his home in Woodstock in 1967, something good was bound to happen. The result was a sprawling, raucous, laughter-filled, genre-spanning treasure chest of more than 100 songs, comprising rootsy blues numbers, traditional folk ballads, and some superb original compositions.

It’s a relaxed and improvisational affair, with loose guitar playing, impromptu harmonies, and lyrics that switch randomly between the silly and the surreal. Amidst a wealth of outstanding tracks, Dylan wrote two of his greatest choruses, featured in the feel-good singalongs “Million Dollar Bash” and “You Ain’t Goin’ Nowhere”.

14. 14. Planet Waves (1974)

Following on from a substandard couple of albums, Planet Waves really stepped things up. Dylan reunited with the Band to produce a proper rock record (his first since the mid-60s), filling his songs with electric guitar, organ, and drums. What’s more, Dylan sang like he meant it, particularly in the two versions of “Forever Young” (one’s slow, one’s fast) that come consecutively in the middle of the record. The two tracks compete to be the best on the album — and you might say they both win, depending on what mood you’re in.

Dylan almost left the slow version of “Forever Young” off the album when his friend heard it and accused him of having turned mushy. Yes, it’s mushy, but sometimes that’s what the people want; Planet Waves was Dylan’s first album to reach number one on the US Billboard chart.

13. 13. Infidels (1983)

Infidels was yet another ‘return to form’ for Dylan, following on from his unpopular Christian trilogy. He made a decided move away from evangelizing, which happily coincided with some of his best songwriting since the mid-70s. What’s more, after struggling to find a producer for the album (Bowie, Zappa, and Costello were all unavailable), Dylan got his hands on Mark Knopfler, whose contributions on guitar would become a big part of the record.

However, it’s actually the work of Mick Taylor that provides the album highlight, his brilliant flourishes on guitar combining with Dylan’s vivid, lyrical brilliance in “I And I”. Bafflingly, Dylan couldn’t find space on Infidels for “Blind Willie McTell”, an atmospheric, piano-driven number that deserves a space on any Dylan album. It’s one of his greatest compositions, and nobody’s sure why it got left behind.

12. 12. Love and Theft (2001)

Dylan started the millennium with a bang; Love and Theft really packs a punch. During a press conference in Rome shortly before the album’s release, a reporter told Dylan that it was ‘the first Dylan album you can dance to’, to which he replied: ‘Oh, I’m sorry’. People weren’t ready for the raunchy swagger of Love and Theft, especially given the largely slow, reflective nature of its predecessor (1997’s Time Out Of Mind), but nobody was complaining, either.

The songs are mostly a mix of electric blues, roots rock, and punchy folk (with a bit of jazz thrown in). Amidst the record’s noise and fun (“Lonesome Day Blues” has both of these in abundance), there is the magnificent “Mississippi”; a jangly, five-minute number that Dylan rescued from his Time Out Of Mind outtakes. The song ranked a respectable 260th on Rolling Stone’s list of the ‘500 Greatest Songs Of All Time’ — not bad for a man who was supposedly 25 years past his prime.

11. 11. New Morning (1970)

New Morning is probably Dylan’s happiest album. It marked a shift to a more ‘conventional’ style of songwriting after the silliness of Self Portrait, and Dylan sounds quite cheery about the whole thing. The music has a soft, inoffensive sound, and Dylan’s singing is the least contrived of his career — no nasal drawl or soft croon, just straight-down-the-middle singing.

Most of the songs are simple, piano-backed pieces (sometimes piano is the only backing you get), but it’s when the whole band comes together that the album really enters its stride – particularly in the uplifting title track, and the excellent “The Man In Me”. There’s a time and a place for Dylan’s challenging side, but it’s not here.

10. 10. Time Out of Mind (1997)

The artistic comeback of all artistic comebacks, Time Out Of Mind showed the music world that Dylan still had it. Joining up once again with U2 producer Daniel Lanois, Dylan put out his best record for over 20 years. From the menacing “Lovesick” to the vast, 16-minute “Highlands” (Dylan’s longest song), there isn’t a weak track on this record. Lanois’s trademark ‘swampy’ production washes over every song, blending together distant guitar sounds and muffled drum beats seamlessly behind Dylan’s voice.

Amidst all the great songs, there is one masterpiece: the sublime “Not Dark Yet”. It’s a stunning reflection on mortality, featuring echoing guitar chords and some of Dylan’s most philosophical lyrics, including the ominous refrain, ‘It’s not dark yet, but it’s getting there’. Strangely, Dylan was so unhappy with Lanois’s production on Time Out Of Mind that he’s been his own producer ever since.

9. 9. Street-Legal (1978)

Street-Legal was Dylan’s seriously underrated switch to pop-rock, marking a conscious shift to a more tight, polished, and commercial sound. The joyous atmosphere of the album has a strangely addictive quality, and Steve Douglas’s regular bursts of saxophone are timed to perfection.

Tracks like “Changing of the Guards” and “No Time to Think” have a hypnotic repetitiveness, and they’re some of the most lyrically ambitious songs that Dylan ever put on record (the rhyming of ‘decoys’ with ‘turquoise’ is particularly imaginative). Billy Cross’s guitar solo in “True Love Tends to Forget” is another highlight, along with the triumphant album closer, “Where Are You Tonight?”, which Dylan sings with infectious energy.

8. 8. Another Side of Bob Dylan (1964)

Recorded in just one evening, Another Side of Bob Dylan was Dylan’s final album before going electric. In hindsight, the signs were all there; he adds piano to his music for the first time, he sings about sex, and he stops addressing any big political issues (‘there aren’t any finger-pointin’ songs’, Dylan told The New Yorker at the time). Almost half of the album is a little frothy, particularly the first three tracks, but the other half of the album is magnificent: a tour-de-force of vivid lyricism and ingenious songwriting, ranging from the dazzling verses of “Chimes of Freedom” and “My Back Pages” to the near-perfect “It Ain’t Me Babe”. Dylan left behind some superb outtakes from the lone recording session, including “Mr. Tambourine Man”, which he wisely chose to revisit a year later.

7. 7. Desire (1976)

There’s a lot going on in Desire. Dylan co-wrote the album with theatre director (and clinical psychologist) Jacques Levy, so it’s no surprise that the album begins with stage directions: ‘Pistol shots ring out in the barroom night. Enter Patty Valentine from the upper hall’.

The opener, “Hurricane”, is one of Dylan’s greatest storytelling songs, combining his fiercely-delivered verses and Scarlet Rivera’s swirling violin with a foot-tapping rhythm, plus a seriously catchy chorus. The narrative style of the song sets the tone for the rest of the album; Dylan tells tales of Egyptian tomb raiders, Italian mobsters, Mexican outlaws, and – on a more personal level — his wife Sara (who he would divorce a year later).

Rivera’s violin snakes its way through every song, joined by a rather international ensemble of instruments along the way, including mandolins, congos, accordions, and bouzoukis.

6. 6. The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan (1963)

This is the album that turned Dylan into ‘the Spokesman of a Generation’. Following on from his largely covers-based debut, Dylan tried his hand at songwriting and found out he was rather good at it. Before his 22nd birthday, Dylan had crafted three timeless folk anthems; “Blowin’ in the Wind”, “Masters of War”, and the lyrically spellbinding “A Hard Rain’s a-Gonna Fall”. In his poetic visions of apocalypse, nuclear war, and widespread human suffering, Dylan well and truly staked his claim as the most important songwriter of the 1960s.

The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan also has an equally brilliant romantic side, found in songs like “Girl from the North Country” and “Don’t Think Twice, It’s Alright”. As the album continually switches between the political and the personal, it feels as if Dylan is still working out exactly what he wants his focus to be.

5. 5. The Times They Are a-Changin’ (1964)

Just half a year after the release of The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan, the up-and-coming singer-songwriter put out his third album, and it was decidedly darker than its predecessor.

The Times They Are A-Changin’ is a bleak, powerful record, painting scenes of crushing rural poverty, murder, racial injustice, and bitterly collapsed relationships. The instrumentation is sparse (Dylan plays nothing more than his acoustic guitar and harmonica for the entirety of the record), but there’s a stark beauty to it.

From the rousing, title-track opener to the concluding “Restless Farewell”, the album is a stunning piece of work, perfectly showcasing Dylan’s knack for emotional storytelling. His fictional tales are evocative stuff (particularly “Ballad of Hollis Brown” with its grim conclusion), but it’s when Dylan eventually turns to the real life murder of Hattie Carroll that the record truly peaks.

4. 4. Bringing it All Back Home (1965)

Ironically, Bringing It All Back Home was very unfamiliar territory for Dylan. After four albums of hard-hitting protest songs and folk ballads, he took a left turn and switched to rock ‘n’ roll.

The first half of Bringing It All Back Home is a crashing, thumping performance of first-rate rock songs, beginning with inimitable “Subterranean Homesick Blues”. In this tour-de-force of vehement folk abandonment, Dylan talks proto-rap style through four quickfire verses, punctuated by delicious blasts on his harmonica.

The second half of the record is a far less ferocious affair (there are no drums or loud guitars), featuring a run of four near-perfect songs. “Mr. Tambourine Man” is the best one there — made beautiful by Bruce Langhorne’s delicate accompaniment on electric guitar — but it’s in excellent company. Lyrically speaking, things don’t get much better than the nihilistic poetry of “It’s Alright Ma (I’m Only Bleeding)”.

3. 3. 3. Highway 61 Revisited (1965)

With “Like a Rolling Stone” at the start and “Desolation Row” at the end, no Dylan album (or, perhaps, any album) wields better bookends than Highway 61 Revisited. Bizarrely, “Like a Rolling Stone” started out as a 20-page poem (‘a long piece of vomit’, as Dylan described it) before becoming a brilliant, sneering slice of rock ‘n’ roll.

At the other end of the record, “Desolation Row” is an entirely different kettle of fish, comprising 11 glorious minutes of ethereal lyrics, Charlie McCoy’s sublime improvisations on acoustic guitar, and two blistering harmonica solos at the end. Dylan populates the song with an ambitiously wide-ranging cast of characters, including Biblical figures, eminent poets, English outlaws, American actresses, and Shakespearean heroes.

At the heart of the album is “Ballad of a Thin Man”, Dylan’s fiery attack on a certain ‘Mr Jones’. He plays lead piano in this song, slamming his way through sombre chords and lampooning his target. It’s brilliant stuff (and Dylan’s first song to feature a middle eight). After Highway 61 Revisited, Dylan would never get rock so right again.

2. Blood on the Tracks (1975)

It’s fascinating what marital estrangement can do for your creativity. In 1975, a year after the passable Planet Waves and with his marriage to Sara Lownds on the rocks, Dylan released one of his greatest records. Blood on the Tracks is a stunningly beautiful, mostly stripped back album, comprising ten outstanding songs that are all as good as each other. Many people have assumed the album is autobiographical (Dylan’s son, Jakob, has described the songs as ‘my parents talking’), but Dylan himself has quashed the idea, claiming that it was inspired by the short stories of Anton Chekhov.

Either way, Blood on the Tracks is a far cry from Dylan’s esoteric lyrics of the 1960s, focusing almost entirely on the painful erosion of love. Some songs deal tenderly with the subject, such as the captivating “If You See Her, Say Hello”, while others take a more bitter approach, particularly the indomitable “Idiot Wind”, which Dylan practically howls his way through. By the final few verses of the album closer, “Buckets Of Rain”, Dylan sounds totally spent, as if he’s just completed some kind of catharsis.

1. 1. Blonde on Blonde (1966)

This is Dylan’s magnum opus: a sprawling double album of coruscating folk-rock utterly unlike anything else on record. More than a decade after its release, Dylan himself reflected: ‘The closest I ever got to the sound I hear in my mind was … in the Blonde on Blonde album. It’s that thin, that wild mercury sound. It’s metallic and bright gold, with whatever that conjures up’.

To realise the sound in his mind, Dylan took an unconventional route; he went to Nashville and hired country musicians to play a rock album. The record is a brilliantly versatile mix of bluesy, folky rock ‘n’ roll, opening with the raucous, brass-backed “Rainy Day Women #12 & 35” and closing with the enchanting carnival music of “Sad Eyed Lady of the Lowlands”. Dylan’s lyrics oscillate between the visionary and mystifying to the downright bawdy, colouring the record with colloquialisms, poetic expressions, and dozens of eccentric characters.

If there’s one song that lifts Blonde on Blonde above Blood on the Tracks, it’s “Visions Of Johanna” — the surreal, seven-minute ramblings of a man utterly incapable of taking his mind off Johanna. Backed by Joe South’s rhythmically perfect bassline and Kenny Buttrey’s understated drumming, Dylan drawls his way through the greatest lyrics of his career, stopping only for flourishes on his harmonica. Not many musicians have mastered the art of the double album, but Blonde On Blonde is a decent template to follow.

15.04.02019

Streaming services like Spotify have revolutionised listening habits. Anyone, anywhere, can listen to just about anything. In 2012, David Byrne wrote that music risked becoming a soma-like drug. Today his concerns may be the reality.

In 2012 David Byrne asked whether music had become a ‘soma-like drug,’ a kind of emotional medication. He was referring to Aldous Huxley’s dystopian 1932 novel Brave New World, in which soma subdues society’s passions and keeps people apart. Faced with the rise of digital distribution and personal audio players, Byrne saw a similar fate awaiting music.

Streaming services like Spotify were in their infancy at the time. Now they dominate the music industry, and Byrne’s concerns are more relevant than ever. Technology has revolutionised music consumption. Exploring the new terrain through the lens of Brave New World can help us guard against missteps. Now more than ever music is treated like a drug. If we are not careful, we risk becoming dependent.

In Huxley’s novel soma is a government-issued drug. It is the lubricant of Brave New World’s docile society, offering concentrated, controllable doses of instant gratification. It calms the angry and appeases potential upstarts. ‘Take a holiday from reality whenever you like, and come back without so much as a headache or a mythology.’ Taken in moderation it sounds like the perfect drug: ‘Euphoric, narcotic, pleasantly hallucinant.’ Indeed, that’s the idea. Citizens can pop pills and drift away for an hour, a lifetime, however long is needed to forget the strains of everyday life.

Eighty years after Brave New World was published, David Byrne — of Talking Heads and big suit fame — compared Huxley’s drug to music listening habits in the digital age. In his book How Music Works he wrote:

In Brave New World, Aldous Huxley imagined a drug called soma that blissed everyone out. It was like taking a holiday, and you could regulate the length of the holiday by the dosage. Has technology turned music into a soma-like drug? Is it a pill you take that is guaranteed to generate a desired emotion — bliss, anger, tranquility?

This was in 2012, when services like Spotify were in their infancy. At the time Byrne was more concerned about MP3 players. He was wary of lonely listening: ‘Private listening could be viewed as the height of narcissism — these devices usually exclude everyone else from the experience of enjoying music.’

Today streaming accounts for over 75% of music industry revenue. There are over 370 million mood playlist listeners, and that number increases by the day. That’s hundreds of millions of listeners with bottomless supplies of emotional supplements in their back pockets.

Music streaming, fronted by Spotify, has grown astronomically in recent years. It is the most popular method of listening to music. Practically any song we want is seconds away, ready to transport us wherever we please.

This is, of course, largely an enormous privilege, another endless resource of the Information Age. But like any frontier space there is room for misbehaviour. The format’s immediacy echoes that of soma:

… if ever, by some unlucky chance, anything unpleasant should somehow happen, why, there’s always soma to give you a holiday from the facts. And there’s always soma to calm your anger, to reconcile you to your enemies, to make you patient and long-suffering. In the past you could only accomplish these things by making a great effort and after years of hard moral training.

Music is a cathartic medium. Through it we find shared experiences, common goals, an assurance that our feelings are not unusual. That’s not all music is, but that’s a large part of it. Who of us hasn’t turned to music to soothe anger or nurse a bruised heart? Who of us hasn’t been on a Spotify holiday?

Byrne’s concerns stemmed from the idea that music could be treated as a kind of supplement, a drug with which we banish turbulent thoughts and feelings at three minutes a hit. As the Controller says, we leave mess behind. ‘What suffocating intimacies, what dangerous, insane, obscene relationships’ we shed. The poor schmucks of the past ‘were forced to feel strongly.’ Now we can drown out the voices before they even become a whisper.

As with soma, this is made possible by the immediate gratification music streaming services allow. The controllers of Brave New World knew this well. ‘Feeling lurks in that interval of time between desire and consummation.’ Tension gives rise to action, be it destructive or constructive, but Spotify limits the opportunity for that process to play out.

There was a time when access to music was limited. Bob Dylan had to travel for years to hear the music that lured him out of himself. Nowadays no time need pass between a feeling and the ‘treatment’ of that feeling by music. Sad? Whack on the ‘Sad’ playlist. Got a crush? Four hours of ‘’80s Love Songs’ await. In Brave New World a riot is quelled with a ‘portable Synthetic Music Box.’ Today all we need is an iPod. And what’s worse, we do it to ourselves.

As with the stupor of opium, soma is an insular experience. The only communal purpose it serves is in helping people tolerate their lot — and each other. It serves the mood of the individual. So too with music, and the rise of playlists reflects that. Playlists surpassed albums in popularity in 2016. Spotify literally has playlists that cater to generic moods. Here lies a dose of melancholy, there of adventure. It has even started to learn the moods of its listeners based on listening habits.

Dependency is valuable. Get too used to holidays and one comes to rely on them. Three grammes of soma can send you ‘for a dark eternity on the moon.’ Is that so different to a trip to the Dark Side of the Moon? The result is the same. Need a tranquilliser? Hallucinogens? Stimulants? Whatever you like, it’s in the bottle somewhere. A dose of Spotify a day keeps the blues away.

The other key aspect of modern music consumption forewarned by Brave New World is the disposability of the artist. Authorship is unimportant. Music in Brave New World is a science, not an art. At one point the book describes London’s Bureaux of Propaganda by Synthetic Voice and Music. ‘Above were the research laboratories and the padded rooms in which Sound-Track Writers and Synthetic Composers did their delicate work.’ Not so outlandish in a time when Spotify is developing AI that composes music.

Feeling is much more important than meaning in Brave New World. Meaning gives rise to questions of meaninglessness, which are again inconvenient. As Huxley puts it, music in Brave New World appeals not to the mind but the ‘bowels of compassion.’

Weighed against Huxley’s world, one wonders whether the endgame of Spotify and services like it is mediocrity. Revisited for a time turns its attention to the art of selling. There Huxley summarises the threat most succinctly. ‘There are no masterpieces; for masterpieces appeal only to a limited audience,’ he writes. ‘The ideal is a moderate excellence.’

For music to be used reliably as a ‘soma-like drug’ it must be predictable, prescribable. Look again to the mood playlists that dominate Spotify listening habits. Are they polished? Professional? Fit for purpose? Sure. Few would argue otherwise. But masterpieces? The very idea seems silly, like a Michelin Star buffet.

In Revisited Huxley muses that ‘the twenty-first century, I suppose, will be the era of World Controllers,’ of social engineers. As more and more people fall under the Spotify spell, one can’t help but wonder if much of music risks meeting a similar fate. The adventure of discovery can give way to the convenience of weekly deliveries, and when things don’t feel quite right, the ‘Unhappy’ playlist is just a click away.

Has modern technology made it easier to consume music in ways analogous to soma? Yes. has technologreally turned music into a soma-like drug? In some ways. Music means different things to different people. It is not my place — or anyone else’s — to say what music should or should not be. That is one of its many beauties. Relying on art is not the same as relying on a drug, not that there is an inherent vice to either. You’d be hard-pressed to find someone who thought the printing press turned literature into ‘a soma-like drug,’ or that widely available canvases have wreaked havoc on society.

But changing times do call for a certain amount of vigilance. We are at the beginning of a new age. Spotify, for all its potential, does at times seem destined to suffocate the wilder fringes of music consumption — to make good on David Byrne’s worries. As millions of listeners make their way through the world with earbuds in and music blasting, one can be forgiven for thinking Aldous Huxley’s soma holidays are alive and well.