It's that time of year again! Time to take stock, to look back, to make a big list of the year's best music and put it all into some sort of order. Here's a rough schedule for The Album Wall's End of Year Week 2015:
Today: Top 20 Songs of the Year (20-11)
Wednesday: Top 20 Songs of the Year (10-1)
Friday: Top 10 Albums of the Year
It's been a heck of a year, musically speaking, and we've got a lot to get through between now and Black Friday, so let's jump right in. Here's the first half of my 'Songs of 2016' list:
20) Wish Upon a Bar by Frog
(from Kind of Blah)
Verbose, slow-building indie rock? Slurry wordplay on a Disney classic? The sense - implied by the warm, glowing sound and made explicit by the second verse - that all of this is happening around Christmastime? It's like this song was made for me.
We've (almost) reached the end of April, and it's been a month of freshness and newness and sunshine all around. Here are 10 of the tracks that have soundtracked the last 30 days or so for me.
We'll start, perversely enough, with the closing track from Cloud's new album (which I reviewed earlier this week). I don't know for sure that this song's title is a Mario Kart reference, but I fervently hope it is.
Released in 2011, Everything's Getting Older - a collaboration between Scottish jazzman Bill Wells and Arab Strap vocalist Aidan Moffat - was a rather surprising listen. Not simply because it mixed Moffat's gruff storytelling with something new (Wells's rich, lovely jazz licks), but because its grotesquely detailed cover gave absolutely no indication of how comforting the songs underneath ultimately were. Yes, there were sobering ruminations on our slow, inexhorable march towards the grave (The Copper Top), but Moffat made sure to remind us that life was nevertheless worth living. Few songs, for example, make me feel as happy and at ease as The Greatest Story Ever Told:
"Look after yer teeth"
In fact, I frequently reach for Everything's Getting Older at bedtime - I find that it always sends me into a peaceful, untroubled sleep, which is no mean feat for an album about ageing.
By the time you read this, I will be in Scotland. Sarah and I have taken the week off work and gone away to the land of her fathers, where thistles and white heather flourish on the banks of Irn-Bru rivers.
In celebration of this much-needed holiday, I thought I'd take a little meander through the Scottish portion of my The Album Wall. Bonnie Scotland has contributed a surprising amount of smashing music to my collection over the years, and it's high time I acknowledged that fact.
Mogwai are the obvious starting point. The first 'Gwai album I bought was Come On Die Young -you may remember that I blogged about it back in January - and since that happy little slab of sunshine first disappeared into my CD player, I've enjoyed a long and lusty affair with the band's music (I'm actually listening to Rave Tapes, their latest album, as I type this). Seeing them at Cardiff's Coal Exchange on the Mr. Beast tour was a truly monstrous, mammoth experience; thinking back, I'm kind of surprised that my ears ever stopped ringing after Glasgow Mega-Snake.
But Mogwai are only the tip of my Scotrock iceberg! Arab Strap are almost as well-represented on my CD rack, and that's a pretty inspiring achievement given that the first AS album I heard was purchased on an uninformed whim. I remember picking up The Last Romance from a record shop in Inverness (or possibly Aberdeen...this was quite a while ago) because I wanted to sample the local music and I though TLR's cover art looked pretty cool:
I was instantly a big fan of that album, especially the neckbreakers (Speed Date and If There's No Hope For Us), which still rank among my most-beloved Arab Strap tracks of all.
After The Last Romance - which, fittingly, turned out to be the final Arab Strap album - I leapt into the band's past, starting with the career-spanning compilation Ten Years of Tears and gradually picking up their studio albums when the chances presented themselves. Philophobia is my favourite now, with its slow-burning arrangements and Aidan Moffat's lyrics at their hilarious, brutally honest best.
Of course, Moffat continued to make music under his own name, and I've got two smashing post-Strap Aidan Moffat albums on the rack: Everything's Getting Older and How to Get to Heaven from Scotland. They're both real gems; I've already written a track-by-track dissertation on what EGO means to me, but How to Get to Heaven... is equally close to my heart, so be sure to check that out if you haven't before.
Looking somewhat further north, we come to Colin MacIntyre, a.k.a. Mull Historical Society. I first got into MHS because Loss, MacIntyre's first album, seemed to be on every Amazon list I encountered (Listmania was an important source of good albums in my early days - OK Computer, for example, was purchased off the back of many, many Listmania recommendations). I got it cheap off eBay, and I strongly suggest that you do the same; MacIntyre's peculiar brand of everything-but-the-kitchen-sink Hebridean pop is irresistible, and while the albums that followed are very good too, Loss remains his magnum opus.
Of course, if we're talking about my 'early days', we must touch upon Travis. I loved Flowers in the Window long before I knew what a Radiohead was, and their Singles compilation was one of the first things I thought of once I'd decided that, yes, buying CDs was something I did now.
Like The Great Beyond by R.E.M. and Sitting Down Here by Lene Marlin, Flowers in the Window was one of the songs that really caught my ear when it was in heavy rotation on Radio 2 back in my primary school years. Happily, Singles turned out to be one of those albums where you're familiar with more songs than you realised - neither Coming Around nor Why Does it Always Rain on Me? were new to me, and they sat quite nicely along cool new discoveries like Re-Offender (love the chorus), The Beautiful Occupation (love the verses), and Happy (love it all over).
Sticking with the theme of early discoveries, let's talk about Idlewild, baby. The Edinburgh outfit were the first band I ever saw live (they supported R.E.M. at the Millennium Stadium back in 2005), and while my mind wasn't exactly blown at the time - I was very, very far away from the stage, in my defence - I grew to love them soon enough. I got The Remote Part for Christmas that same year, and loved it from top to bottom, from the first snare drum crack of You Held the World in Your Arms to the last, stunning chords of epic closer In Remote Part/Scottish Fiction.
I eventually arrived at the noisier end of Idlewild's catalogue, where 100 Broken Windows and Hope is Important reside. It's hard to choose a favourite from Idlewild's first three albums, but I feel like 100 Broken Windows might edge it; it's the perfect combination of chaotic, punky Idlewild (as captured on Hope is Important) and big, skyscraping Idlewild (who came into their own on The Remote Part).
It's been a while since Idlewild put out an album, but the band's constituent members have done some good stuff too. Guitarist Rod Jones has a band called The Birthday Suit, who are pretty excellent:
Roddy Woomble has done some solo stuff, too. I don't actually have any of his albums - packed with folky loveliness though I'm sure they are - but I did see him play in Aberdeen shortly after the release of My Secret is My Silence in 2006. That gig was remarkable enough, with virtuoso backing musicians and cool, stripped-back versions of some Idlewild favourites; however, the support band made it even better.
I don't think Foxface are still a going concern, but that's certainly a shame if so. They had this sort of angry folk-rock thing going on - their album is called This is What Makes Us, and I'd definitely recommend it. You can get it on bandcamp - click here if you fancy.
The last band I'm going to talk about are a far more recent find. Last time Sarah and I were in Scotland, we went to a record shop in Glasgow called Love Music. I asked the guy what he recommended, and he introduced me to Woodenbox with a Fistful of Fivers. His description of them (I don't remember it word-for-word, but it involved the words 'gypsy' and 'trumpet' in fairly close quarters) was enough to sell it to me, and fortunately, my faith was rewarded:
As per usual, I can't find the best songs on YouTube (ugh, what a hipster I am), but take my word for it - Home and the Wildhunt is a great album that deserves your attention. The best ones, of course, are the ones that push the trumpet to the fore, like spaghetti western suicide song Hang the Noose and the strutting, self-assured Twisted Mile.
It seems a shame to stop this blog post now, with so many great Scottish acts left unmentioned. This has become quite a long one, though, and so the likes of Camera Obscura, Frightened Rabbit, Belle & Sebastian, The Murderburgers, The Aliens, Errors, Cosmic Rough Riders, My Latest Novel, Kid Canaveral, The Pictish Trail, Edwyn Collins, Franz Ferdinand and Alasdair Roberts will have to wait until the next time I go to Scotland. In the meantime, I'm off to see what's new at Love Music...
A track-by-track look at the 2012 Scottish Album of the Year and what it means to me.
Tasogare/Let's Stop Here
When I first listened to Everything's Getting Older, I was lying in bed in a cottage in Scotland (appropriately enough). Sarah and I were on holiday with my family; we were staying just outside of a small town named Dollar, and we visited several Scottish landmarks during our stay, including the Wallace Monument and the Falkirk Wheel. I put this album on for the very first time one morning when Sarah had popped off for a shower, and the lusciously lovely piano lines that kick off the record will now forever remind me of curling up in that big white duvet in a Scottish holiday cottage.
I didn't even notice the join between these two tracks at first - the opening notes of Let's Stop Here sound like an extension of Tasogare - so that's why I've lumped them together here. I listened very intently to the lyrics of Let's Stop Here, a story about Aidan Moffat meeting up with an old crush and nearly getting it on with them but calling it off because he's grown up and moved on and fallen in lurve with someone else. I'm not used to hearing the protagonists in Moffat's songs do the right thing, so those last three words put a big smile on my face.
Cages
As a twenty-two year old man, I ought really to identify with the bit about getting drunk and eating pizza more than I identify with the bit about having children and going to the supermarket. Sadly, this song doesn't make me want to go out and get wrecked; it makes me wish it were Saturday, so that I could go to Asda and do a big shop. Sigh.
A Short Song to the Moon
I wasn't bothered by this one, until I saw it live. The Miniature Music Press dispatched me to review Wells and Moffat's show in Cardiff last year, and their rendition of this song was an unexpected highlight. It was bouncy, it was upbeat, and it ended with a super-hot extended trumpet solo. Spectacular.
Ballad of the Bastard
I was staying at Sarah's house one night - her stepbrother had gone off to university, so I ended up kipping in his recently-vacated bedroom - and unable to sleep, I found myself reaching for the iPod. I listened to Last of the Country Gentlemen, and when that didn't send me to sleep, I stuck Everything's Getting Older on. In contrast to Josh Pearson's frail, winding wailsongs, this album sounded very to-the-point indeed, and Ballad of the Bastard - the album's weak point, for my money - sounded particularly clunky that night. It's grown on me since, but it's still my least favourite.
The Copper Top
During one of my many visits to Spillers Records in central Cardiff, I spotted a new release from Arab Strap frontman Aidan Moffat. It was a collaboration with someone named Bill Wells, but more excitingly, the CD came with a free business card for a fake funeral director's business. I was eager to make the purchase, but my friend Cliffey, who was with me at the time, convinced me that I shouldn't buy an album that could, for all I know, be complete rubbish just because it comes with a free piece of card.
And so I kept my cash in my pocket and headed back to the student house in which we both lived. Shortly afterwards, I found myself sitting in my squalid little room, watching the video for The Copper Top on YouTube and wishing I'd taken the risk.
I eventually received the CD as a birthday present, in case you're wondering.
Glasgow Jubilee
This was the song I showed Sarah on Spotify to prove what a great album Everything's Getting Older is. It's a fair bit more rocked-up than the other tracks, and I decided that it would be the most immediately ear-catching. She loved it, incidentally, and she quickly learned the words so that she could growl along in a fake Glaswegian accent.
(If You) Keep Me In Your Heart
I didn't drink until a couple of years ago, but now that I have a job and responsibilities and stuff, I feel obliged to make the most of every non-school night by at least trying to get drunk. These recent attempts to become an alcoholic have coincided with a sharp upturn in how frequently that 'last drink before bed' line pops into my head. It's got a strangely romantic, intimate ring to it, all the weirder for being cooed by a gruff Scotsman.
Dinner Time
My parents still live in the house I recently moved out of, but that's still the house I picture myself returning to when I listen to this song. They'll move out one day, and I can't even begin to imagine how the house will end up looking when somebody else owns it. I probably won't go as far as breaking back in to take a peek, mind.
The Sadness In Your Life Will Slowly Fade
This one's been a fixture of my iPod playlist recently, and so I now associate it pretty closely with catching the train home from work. The stuff about struggling through the day cuts very deep by quarter to six in the evening.
The Greatest Story Ever Told
One Friday night, not that long ago, I went to my friend Mark's house for drinks and chat. Having enjoyed plenty of both, I trudged back home at something like four in the morning, enjoying how completely deserted Cathays was at that hour. I had my iPod to keep me company, and I decided that Everything's Getting Older would be the perfect small hours companion for my walk home - Aidan Moffat, with his friendly Scottish accent and conversational tone, makes for great company when there's nobody else around.
This song was especially heartwarming on that particular evening, and when Mr Moffat tells you to 'look after your teeth', he says it with such gravitas - like it's the last piece of advice your father offers you before succumbing to some terminal disease - that you'll never forget to brush again after hearing it.
And So We Must Rest
And here's why this album is the perfect 'just before you go to sleep' listen. Aidan Moffat croons you nodwards with minimal backing, and no matter what time is was when you started listening, it's time for bed by the time he's done.
