Literary & musical retrospective 2010

This time I really will keep it brief, and hopefully focussed less on the items and more on the process of reading & listening itself. Truthfully, this year I had half a mind to not bother with this retrospective, but I suppose they have their uses. Giving up is probably akin to admitting that time has won, and that there's no hope in keeping track where it all goes. But that's a battle I've always intended to win, and so here we are!

If you've stuck around for long enough, you might remember that '09 was a pretty poor year on both cultural fronts, for a variety of reasons but primarily because things weren't quite clear upstairs. I can't say that things are much better now, but I seem to have accepted this as a state of quasi-normalcy. So I did fare a bit better this year, though nowhere near the heights during my undergraduate years, steeped as they were in obsession and free time. On reflection, it appears that I only had my first serious taste of Philip Roth, The Go-Betweens and The Triffids this year, all three now crucial components of my cultural and mental makeup. (It really is surprising that all that happened this year; I told you these retrospectives were useful!) There isn't anything coherent tying these fellows together ('cept Quality, of course), but that is to be expected. As always, there were other first-timers too, but perhaps one sign of things being not as strong as years past is that for these, the signal is extremely weak: yes, I did read Old School, but I don't think I can say anything more about it. (And yet somehow I did write a post about it earlier this year...) I might even have tried some Pynchon, but found it utterly incomprehensible. I have enough trouble getting through my many unlistened Tom Waits albums, so somehow I doubt I'll be revisiting him anytime soon.

Given the addition of the GB's and Triffids to my musical map, in the uppermost echelon of my preferred artists I now have a pretty impressive triumvirate of Australians (the third's Nick Cave, of course!). I wrote a stirring, gripping piece about counterlives recently, where I asked what good it all was. Obviously I should've noted that at the very least, this life has allowed me private access to a very worthy collection of music. If we say that the '60s were for the English, the '70s for the Americans, it's clear where the '80s belonged. (Please don't think about that too long, lest you find innumerable counterexamples that completely destroy the careful symmetry of the sentence.) Who knows where the real gold of the '90s is to be found, then? At the very least, it's nice to think that these artists partially validate the mythos of the Outsider. Given only snapshots of trends in rock music overseas, and a careful sample of "historic" records - I think Dylan is a common favourite of all three, and probably Lou Reed - they managed to create a personal, unique response to the world. So maybe isolation is necessary after all; I've conjectured about many modern artists being overburdened with music, to the point where every note sounds like a deliberate homage to something from the past. They should all clearly relocate to New Caledonia.

Here seems an appropriate venue to ponder aloud the question of why one bothers reading or listening in the first place. "To understand yourself" has a nice ring to it, and seems plausible on first consideration. And while that may be the goal we should strive towards, I feel as though my use of the arts is much less noble. At times it feels as though I'm amassing the greatest ever arsenal of quotes, turns of phrase, and melodies so as to wear as a proud badge to tell people of my innate greatness. While I'm at it, I may as well admit that I imagine some fair maiden swooning at the prospect of finding such a fine catch. ("Come to think of it, yes, my eyes are desert sand!") I suppose there's a bit of this confusion in everyone who takes the arts seriously, at least when you're young. The problem with music, much more than books, is that it's so easy to consume, or so one thinks: just hit play and sit quiet for three quarters of an hour. Consequently, it's really easy to give muddled goals more chances than they deserve to take over. In reality, of course, music isn't that easy, at least not when it's worthy of serious thought. I think this harsh reality is what sometimes thrashes against the childlike hunger to devour everything, an impossible ideal that perhaps seems most within reach when it comes to music. After all, one only need sit quiet for the rest of one's existence; not too shabby if it means eternal salvation!

I suppose we also look to the arts to teach us things about life. I've spoken about songs enough throughout the year - suffice to say my romantic repertoire grows stronger by the hour - but books were useful too. It's a stretch to say I was "taught" anything, but at least I managed to see the potentially troubling conclusion to my current plan for dealing with romance. Zuckerman's stories from Roth's Exit Ghost may be the saddest I've read in a long time, and wonderfully capture the laughable, beyond-pathetic nature of the heart, but how we are bound to it anyway. Zuckerman is commanded by the "ghost" of his desire, and sees no way of proceeding but to write his fantasies down. Despite his complete consciousness as to the impossibility of it all...somewhere, he feels they may become reality yet. (Reminds you of another talented modern author's work, perhaps...?) This odd distinction between fiction and reality, which sometimes feels like it can be breached - been there, Nathan! The relentless pursuit of this barrier, no matter how obviously foolish the task appears - (oh God...) been there! The book really did make me feel I ought to be around authors more, because they're the only ones capable of even contemplating the same degrees of madness that pass through my mind everyday. I don't know if Roth wrote from experience or imagination here; probably the latter. But I'm sure he'd be happy to know it is possible for it to be the former.

Next year? I intend to use the good response to '09 to leap into new and strange waters. That means all the Ballard and Dead Can Dance money can buy. And thanks to that blasted Hornby, all the Haydn and Dickens I can stomach, I'm sure.

Literary retrospective 2008

Ok, this is probably going to be borderline ridiculous. I can't even pretend there's a tradition to uphold here, either. There is egotism, though, as noble a force as any.

Last year's reading list was rather average, as you might have guessed. The one positive was the conscious move away from the Western canon, which I was inexplicably stuck for longer than is healthy. It turns out that, as I suspected, there have been good novels since 1930 too. I'll probably get around to re-reading Kafka and Camus someday, but at the moment I'm going to continue trying to spread out. This pretense of being a classicist when it comes to reading was really stifling me, and I've been enjoying my nascent journey in the rest of the literary world.

If I had to pick a favourite among this year's limited batch, I would have to say it was Paul Auster's New York Trilogy. There are two very personal metrics I have for measuring the "meaning" a book has for me. First, at least temporarily, my view of the world is forcibly moulded into whatever the book decides. Invading my dreams is a good start, but sometimes I also imagine that I have read something that has elucidated very deep truths about life that I have long suspected, but never been able to put down in words. It's the point of all books, I suppose, except that this sort of thing is rarely achieved. Auster's book is the first since Crime and Punishment where, on reading it, I started feeling as lost, confused, and unhinged as the narrator(s); that is a huge compliment, incidentally. It is easy to simply state that the world is chaotic, that life can sometimes be mysterious, etc. I think to have the idea really resonate, however, requires considerable skill. In Auster's case, I particularly liked how the stories abjured notions of identity, in particular the unforgettable (and rightfully unexplained) moment where the mighty Quinn witnesses two identical versions of the man he is set to follow.

Second, great books often convince me that as long as I find enough of them to read, I'll never lose the dream of someday writing of similar worth. I remember feeling the old itch to start writing even around 50 pages in, and by the end of it I imagined it was one of those stories written "for me", which I could imagine arising out of my consciousness, even if I might not be able to express the story as compellingly. Something about the way the characters were simultaneously lost, and yet almost walked into the pit willingly really resonated. (That's not necessarily a good thing, but I'll put it down to my lack of clear mental separation between what I feel and what I think others feel.) I've only read one more Auster (The Brooklyn Follies), which is good but not as good as this. Still, it also has these elements of chance, luck, and ponderings on fate that made the trilogy so compelling. If more of Auster's work is in the same vein, I might have found a new idol.

Number 2 for the year was probably Hemingway's For Whom The Bell Tolls: a great example of a book that I had been intending to read for a long time. Fortunately, the heightened expectations from the waiting were matched by the book's quality. I should note that I didn't really take all of it that seriously: yes, you wouldn't find a female character like Maria in a modern novel, but I forgive the novel because of the time it was written. Perhaps even for the time it was a little chauvinistic, but it's enough of a gray area for me to ignore it. I had heard a lot about the tight writing style of the book, which I initially imagined might make it quite pedestrian, even banal. But, it turns out that Hemingway is more talented than I am, because he uses the style to complement the sections where we hear the characters think, assessing and reassessing situations. An interesting way to relate to characters: my poor book-memory can't recall a similar device put to such effective use. The other plus in the writing is that it is extremely readable, probably because it is fairly heavy in dialogue. And finally, it all works towards that"hell of an ending", as McCain put it.

I was very disappointed with Murakami's Norwegian Wood, one of those books I'd meant to read for at least a couple of years; I was so focussed on finally getting my hands on it that I didn't even consider the possibility that I would actively dislike it. The style is fine, actually - it is absolutely distinctive, and it's the sort of thing that one can imagine being really engaging. Alas, only "imagine", because the story itself I found rather irritating. Toru's constant "trysts" might be seen as normal, given the time the story is set in. You could make a case for it, but I still found it quite distasteful. Instead of being sensual (which I could understand), it came across as just lascivious; I was especially fed up with the events of the last few pages. Like I said, though, the writing style is interesting, so once I've managed to put aside my disappointment, I might try the Wind Up Bird Chronicle.

It took a surprising amount of perseverance to get through a Huxley book I hadn't previously read - Time Must Have A Stop. I felt I pretty much have to, given that I was thinking a lot about time at one point during the year, and was eager to find anything that resolved the olde quote: And time, that takes survey of all the world / Must have a stop. "Must" - the "must" of one who knows, not one who hopes (I think the book brings this up towards the end). I don't have a lot to say about the book, except that I am glad to report that, on the whole, I liked it. I was worried that I would find Huxley's style positively callow, because the "me" who liked his books four or five years ago was very easily impressed. I initially did find myself cringing a little - the classic Huxley signposts like casual discussions about art at the dinner table, for example - but this passed. I think that Huxley's writings are still instructive because, while he sometimes does let the ideas get in the way of the novel, these ideas are still pretty interesting. They aren't just adolescent mysticism, because they are consciously about the interplay of art and science. The issues he deals with still haven't been answered, really; and while his personal views might not be novel, I can't deny that I still find reading his little essays-masquerading-as-novels quite enjoyable. Phew! One idol still intact. If I ever have the strength to go back to Hesse, I hope I can say the same thing!

I'll stop here, I think; while I did actually read a bit more than the above list might suggest, few of the other books had a particularly strong impact on me. All "good", but I have trouble enough writing about books I really like. Predictions for 2009? With the discovery of a nice little bookstore near where I live, I'll probably end up reading more semi-modern books; Updike, anyone? And while this is a little bold, I think I'll end up nominating Cat's Cradle to be my favourite book of the year. Were I a baser man, I would've cheated and included it on this list. But as proud defender of the sacred traditions of the retrospective, I shall wait for the next year to arrive, and see what competition Bokonon might face.

Musical retrospective 2008

Traditions are traditions, and I've always been fairly dutiful in following them through. But I have to admit that part of me is a little embarassed with this retrospective, for fear of how it holds up to scrutiny in the future. One of the small things I've learnt through blogging is that insight is pretty much always callow in some regard. Which would be fine, but it can be embarassing when one thinks "Well, this time around I'll be sober and thoughtful", as I often do. Not that that's going to stop me writing anyway, of course...

Anyhow, this year I want to make it brief, even though volume wise I probably heard and thought about music much more than in recent memory. (Things have been going well in my attempt to stop my ridiculous under-listening habits of yore.) When reflecting over the year, I can think of three artists that define it for me, and all three seem to have a devoted underground following, but next to no "mainstream" recognition, which I use to include the roughly-agreed-upon canon of alternative rock music. I speak of John Prine, Sparks, and Ween. As coincidences go, it turns out that I have only three albums from each of them, but they are of more than sufficient quality for them to have worked their way into my personal list of greats. I've found their music gripping pretty much the whole way through, which happens rarely.

I think John Prine amazed me the most, because he is a stunning talent in a field I thought I knew quite well (the broad umbrella of singer-songwriter). The genre is known for its occasional excesses and overambition, yet Prine, by seemingly working within its most modest of settings, manages to create some of the most endearing music I've heard to date. (In any genre, might I add; while I dislike high praise in general, I really can't deny that I've felt this for nearly a year now.) What I find interesting about Prine's music is that the lyrics never fall into the trap of equating good songwriting with good poetry. Needless to say, they remain resonant nonetheless; all delivered with simple melodies, very hummable, but never frivolous. Songwriting wasn't meant to live on the page (not exclusively, anyway) - though it sounds trite, it is meant to be sung, to project words and give them meaning with melody and cadence. Several times, lines from songs resonate not just because they are a clever turn of phrase, but because they are accompanied by something memorable in the music - be it the melody, or even just the delivery. Prine's songs are masterful examples of these. I'd like to describe the music as "honest", although I'm not sure I can explain what that really means. I suspect that it's just a way to say that the music has Quality. Not something that you can actively achieve in music, but it seems that for his first three albums, Prine had this completely nailed down. It begins with the debut, of course - what an album! More high praise - to date, it's easily one of the most "mature" debuts I've heard. Wisdom is one part of it, but like I discussed with the lyrics above, it's also a matter of knowing what one's strengths are, and sticking to that. Like a couple of other great albums, it begins in the most gentle and welcoming way possible ("Illegal Smile"), rather than trying to floor you immediately with greatness. The greatness in this case is simply the endless stream of classic songs, with lines that resonate far longer than you might imagine the first time around. My final praise - it is one of those albums I wish I could hear again for the first time. (I've turned into one of those sycophantic reviewers, haven't I?!)

Of the three, maybe Sparks are the ones whose lack of success is the most puzzling. Prine we can sort of excuse because he was so without ostentation in a time that seemed to demand it (glam rock, etc.). And Ween, well they came out in the 90s, and, er, of course, their first song was called "You ****ed Up". But the success of Roxy Music and Queen suggests that the world was more than ready for Sparks. (Incidentally, I found it frustrating reading reviews of Kimono that accused them of being Roxy rip-offs.) Three years is a long time in music, agreed, but I don't quite see what changed from '71 to '73. Regardless, they seem immediately like one of those bands that can't possibly make a bad album (I've read that that's not true, but I hope my meaning is clear). The voice is the first element that grabs interest - while Kimono and Woofer are still fine showcases of it, it's the debut where it most powerful. My initial listens of Sparks were downright baffling; here was this remarkable voice, and it was put to the test in the craziest of songs. And the lyrics, far some being obscure and unsettling, which would fit in fairly naturally with the song structures, are consistently hilarious. Who can compete with Sparks for humour? TMBG, who I believe cite the band as being a big inspiration? Randy Newman, perhaps; but even he probably didn't have it in him to write "Here Comes Bob" (that song, man...seriously!). But the last ingredient is that the songs are simply melodic, which is one thing that prevents Sparks from being another difficult or unrewarding experimental band that is hard to get into. Indeed, while I disliked Kimono initially, I found myself unable to deny the very strong and consistent set of melodies that Ron writes with seeming ease. When all these things are combined consistently, it makes for some rather endearing music. You can't just shelve it as quirky, experimental, or listenable. It is all those things, plus enjoyable - can you ask for more?

I very recently expressed pure admiration for Ween, and I find myself often feeling like I should write more words of praise for Dean & Gene. I think part of the reason is that, of all decades, they started in the '90s - trends and times were not on their side, but talent sure was. It seems to me that there have been a number of "retro" groups since (and possibly before), although few display Ween's command of both breadth and depth. (My limited understanding is that most retro groups focus on '60s psychedelia or pop.) There is the backstory that GodWeenSatan consisted of selections from hundreds (thousands?) of hours' worth of tapes that they had recorded through their teens. It makes me wish I had the opportunity to spend hours on end putting the thoughts in my head on tape - would such rigorous practice create a songwriter out of me yet?! It clearly paid off for Ween, and I feel that they'll probably end up being one of my favourites from the '90s. Like Sparks, the one thing you can't deny is Ween are melodic, ridiculously so - without this crucial fact, their homages (or parodies, if you like - though I think that's extremely unfair) would not be worth very much. Indeed, I'd wager that this is essentially what will convert most people to the group, once the initial shock wears off. Can it really be the case that a duo that seems to embody the worst type of frat humour is capable of writing better 'tunes that hordes of more earnest competition? I think the surprising answer is yes.

(All this praise, but I must still admit - I'm still a bit scared of The Pod and its brothers.)

Aside from the holy trinity of '08, I think that Warren Zevon impressed me the most. When I purchased his debut, I really paid it very little mind, and was prepared for a pleasant distraction. Which is indeed what I first found, and how I shelved the album after a few listens. But something made me go back to it, and I became convinced that people who wrote good things about Zevon weren't just buying into the image - the classic artist troubled with personal demons, in this case alcohol the major one, who creates art from strife - he really does have something meaningful to convey. He seems to have a nice balance of the serious and the sweet -his ballads are really quite wonderful, and unabashedly set in the classic style of the love song. They also seem to be littered with great lines ("Time out of mind", which, knowing Dylan, probably inspired that famous album). (Also, if it helps, did you know he was tutored by Stravinsky?)

And finally - let me write very briefly about them classical tunes, which I surprisingly managed to stay interested in the year through. At the start of the year, Pyotr Ilyich's Piano Concerto No. 1 gave me hope in two things: that the genre clearly had something grand to convey, and that there was a chance that I would end up appreciating at least a bit of it. I spent the year searching for something similar, that I would immediately respond to. In hindsight, that's probably a bit too impulsive; and heck, that doesn't even work with popular song, so there's no reason to assume . But, all that being said, there were two other pieces that I liked more and more with each listen: Schubert's Unfinished, and Holst's The Planets. The former, what can I say, immediately gripping and a piece I cannot imagine even a complete neophyte not liking. And the latter, well - if my foray into the classical world only ends up introducing me to this, I'll have little cause for complaint. I dislike the overuse of words like transcendent, because it ought to be reserved for pieces like this.

And what of the year ahead? Hmm. Funkadelic, Zappa, and Drake? And you know, I might get around to finally hearing some indie classics that I've constantly denigrated without listening to them (I defend this most of the time - I only do this if there are sufficient warning signs). Most of all, I hope I can continue revising my stance on various issues related to music (such as my revelation about the place of lyrics this year), in hopes of becoming a more discerning listener.

Literary retrospective 2007

Yes, the first of its kind in these parts, and more a conscious attempt to inspire me to read more in the coming years. Let the fear of having a blank retrospective keep me up at night, giving plenty of time for going through my latest whimsical read!

Now, unlike the musical retrospective, which distinguishes itself with its clearly mature and philosophical views of albums, songs, and what have you, this is decidedly the work of a neophyte. So do forgive any clumsiness in the writing, not to mention the sparsity of what I have to work with. While I didn't read a whole lot this year, there were a couple of good periods when I had lots of spare time that I filled with my old pastime.

The short yet dense Notes From Underground really captivated me at the start of the year, but I hope I didn't completely misunderstand it, because I found some parts of it unbelievably funny. I recall the description of the UM pacing up and down for hours on end to be particularly amusing. But on the other extreme, the way he expresses a choice towards the end (no spoilers!) was one of the saddest things I read all year. I read it twice just to check whether the fool hadn't done it, hadn't thrown away all he had, but...to no avail.

One of my occasional "random" reads, with no compelling backstory behind them, was Londonstani. Well, alright, that isn't entirely accurate, because my interest was piqued by a list that ranked it one of the best novels by an Indian author, but that doesn't seem particularly interesting. Anyhow, after reading it I wrote about how I felt somewhat unsatisfied; yes, the twist at the end is very well done, and yes, it does turn a lot of things on their heads. But I didn't like having to grapple with all the loose threads by myself, and I certainly didn't think that the twist made all of them irrelevant. Maybe I didn't appreciate the implications fully enough - unlike S, I really didn't feel like it questioned a personal prejudice or way I see the world, but perhaps that's because my prejudices are so entrenched as to seem normal, eh? ;) The writing itself is realistic and "authentic" enough, but you're probably going to have to embrace the volte-face with open arms to really love the book.

I came across Farrukh Dhondy entirely by chance - for whatever reason, he became the reigning expert on the racial row that ensued in the Big Brother house. He rose to the occasion, starting with the immortal (paraphrased) lines: "As I read about this, I felt like Napolean, watching the ruins of Elba". Anyone capable of beginning an interview with a line like that is clearly special, and so I became obsessed with him for a fair bit. It was cemented when, again by pure luck he contributed an opinion piece in the newspaper. Once again, he started off strong by providing an answer to Yeats' famous question in "The Tower", that asks where the imagination dwells. At this point, I simply had to read something of this man, and so found some of his writing with a bit of effort.

I like Poona Company better, though I usually seem to love well-crafted short stories (do they remind me of aspirations I once held?). The rich childhood stories cannot help but remind me of my own, even though mine are relatively tame. My favourite in the collection is the final one, "Rose de Bahama", which manages to be profoundly sad yet inspiring - depending on my mood, one trumps the other, but I'd like to think the inspiring is the overall winner. Indeed, let the Bahama ride again. I only realized that this means there is an obvious connection between my idiosyncratic favourites for song and story of the year. This be the year of empathy, 'twould seem.

Ah, and there was that existential explorer, Patrick White, who was introduced by way of a discussion of The Solid Mandala, which sounded like just the ticket for a pseudo-intellectual like me - dense, impenetrable, and about the natures of man and art. Wary of starting off with a cold shower, I instead went after Voss, the tale of the German explorer who tries to make it across the desert in a great existential quest, where the desert in all its sparse majesty is to reveal the truth about the human condition and Voss' place in the world. It is a very dense novel, but not entirely impenetrable. The power of the writing is inescapable, as it the harshness and horror of the descent into isolation. Or is that the descent into the human heart? It grapples with too many ideas for me to have grasped them all, or even notice them all, but the staggering force of it all was something else. Like I mentioned in my "review", the three stages of the book neatly reflected the stages of my journey in reading it, with the section in the desert being as unforgiving to read as the travel that is detailed. Clearly the most challenging read of the year, but consequently one of the most special ones.

There was more still, but nothing that particularly springs to mind as being strongly memorable or important. I'm aware that I have work to do yet when it comes to reading, because I probably heard more albums than read books - and given how little I listen to these days, that isn't a good sign. Perhaps the coming year needs more of a break from the classical canon, which is beautiful, touching, inspiring and everything, but inescapably consuming and occasionally dense. I'd hate to end up only knowing about the many books that capture my attention, but which I never seem to get the time to read.

Musical retrospective 2007

Lord knows that another slow musical year hardly deserves an entire post dedicated to it, but now that it's so deeply entrenched in the rich, historical tradition of this blog o' mine, it seems unfair not to indulge once again. So here I go.

Yes, as hinted in the prologue above, I think there has been an exponential decrease in the volume of music in my life, but as I argued a few times with S, this doesn't mean that it matters less to me. It's a truism that what really counts is how much you engage with whatever you do or experience, and so I don't think things are all that more different in the only sense that really counts. Maybe I seem to talk about the same artist or album a lot, but I enjoy this deep study of a few specific things. Early on, I was too entranced by the thought of having an "opinion" on anything and everything that critics and listeners deemed "important", or just "worthy of one's opinion". Nowadays, I have (consciously?) shifted away from that. There really isn't an obsession any more to know about, say, all the Can records (nothing against Can, they're just an example of someone a fair ways outside my sphere), or the true progenitors of each and every genre, or what album best captures the end of the '70s, and so on. The sort of encyclopaedic knowledge that many listeners possess is beyond me, should I want to keep my methods of detailed analysis; and at the moment anyway, this is the way I'd like to go for a while longer.

Indeed, I think I've become somewhat elitist, but it's not in the usually understood sense - yes, much to my shame, I do sometimes clutch onto certain records and think that my knowledge of them puts to shame the idols that others erect, but this happens less nowadays (through training!). The elitism I deal in is mostly about me not caring - not caring about things like I mentioned previously, as opposed to the many I see who wear their knowledge with pride, but express their knowledge in such an unconvincing way that I suspect their treatment of the music is mostly peripheral. By which I mean it really does sound like it has just been on in the background, and whatever half-baked impression it creates is put down as a definitive opinion. I tend to imagine then that these listens are simply so that an opinion can be formed and put forth proudly, to increase one's cred or whatever. I sometimes like to imagine that my level of distancing somehow puts me "above" such listeners, but I recognize this as a failing - I think elitism is almost always the wrong way to go. In this regard, I need to interact with people I perceive to have fallen prey to this "affliction", because I sense that at least some of them possess a far greater appreciation than my flippant judgement allows. Really, it's the same old issue of my inability to take music in large quantities, making me overly defensive and desperate to seek out flaws in the patterns and habits of the majority.

Ideally, I suppose I'd like to be able to keep the deep study but also stamp out the remains of my "preservation" principles (which earlier posts will tell you refer to a ridiculous policy of saving albums for "just right" occasions, that invariably never turn up). I'm looser about them nowadays, but I still find myself not listening to certain albums for no rationally defendable reasons - what I tell myself is essentially along the lines of "Wait till it comes to you", but it sometimes never does. Of course, changes in my environment this year mean that finding time for such leisures as listening to albums may become scarce, but I hope that whatever time I do find is put to proper use. Not quite a resolution, but it's something I'd like to put into practice, so that if nothing else, next year's retrospective is more interesting ;)

Onto the records then? Let's see, memory (and the archives) tell me that last year was Simon's, due to the sheer number of his albums I listened to, and the one before it the Roxy's, which was the result of just one album. This year? No clear "winner" as such, but if we go by my favourite album this year, I guess it'd have to be Morrissey. Which is surprising, because I long thought that his solo career was a step down from the days of the Smiths, but that was based on hearsay, and no actual listening of my own. You can't compare the two, of course, but Viva Hate is the Queen Is Dead of his solo career, in my opinion; by which I mean that it's an album where everything seems to turn out just right, and it just so happens to be his first solo album. This was one of those albums that just presented itself to me in the most unlikely of places, and I got it expecting some competent experiments by Morrissey to try and see what he could do without the Smiths. Instead...! I might be the only one who thinks it's as potent as his Smiths lyrics, but that's in no small part due to the fact that I love the underappreciated songs, treated as frivolous distractions by most reviewers. I hesitate to dwell on them too much, for fear of sounding as though I have completely lost it - after all, these are songs that people either cite as being exactly the kind of nonsense that makes Morrissey's solo career nothing compared to the Smiths', or simply don't bother to mention. But..."Little Man, What Now?", as I noted in my RYM musing, I firmly believe captures a more fundamental and deeper sense of sadness, empathy, and failure than simply the tale of a once famous TV star. I once thought it was an example of excellent sequencing, following the wonderful opening track ("Alsatian Cousin"), until I found myself listening to it more than the other tracks! And "Break Up The Family", which walks by without troubling many people, is another song I find moving for rather personal reasons. For whatever reason, I really respond well to the "growing up" that the song seems to suggest (yes, of course there are parallels with my own journey, which obviously creates special bonds). Objectively speaking, I could probably do without some songs towards the end, but they don't really matter during the listen. By the time the end comes, I feel so satisfied that they happily pass by without a hitch.

Viva Hate's cousin also got a lot of listens - Bona Drag is like Hatful Of Hollow (I can't stop the Smiths comparisons, it seems) to me, in that the reason I like it so much is basically due to a few of the songs being flat out great. As singles compilations go, of course one can argue about some of the other ones being relatively weak, but I'm far more lenient on these sorts of albums in this regard. The wit and humour! Beautiful. One disappointment was Vauxhall and I, however, which I was expecting to be his masterpiece, but which turned out merely good. Actually, it may well be a personal masterpiece, and I can easily imagine him thinking it to be his best album, just looking at how it expressed his state of mind at the time. I normally join the artist in such cases and appreciate it from "their" point of view, but not this time I'm sorry to admit. Yes, there are three excellent songs that make the album well worth any fan's time, but I cannot see it as his finest hour the way most fans do. For me, it's Viva Hate (assuming of course the people aren't lying to me about Kill Uncle, say).

More exploring of old favourites was done with me pal McCartney. For once, I can claim to be relevant in that I did hear Memory Almost Full, released this year. And it's pretty good. I remember thinking that most of the panning reviews were probably the result of very cursory listens, because none of them seemed to pay any attention to the very respectable tracks I found only over a long stretch. The day after release saw RYM filled with reviews dismissing it as mediocre, which I found quite unfair. Agreed, no-one's going to cite this as the Ram of this century, but I don't regret making time for this at all. And yes, I should get around to Chaos And Creation sometime...

Red Rose Speedway, which I packed away with bitter disappointment last year, made a huge turnaround. I now consider it, in a word, grooovy! It's actually interesting in its construction, for I find that the album gradually gets better and better as it moves along, until one reaches "Little Lamb Dragonfly", which is unjustly unknown, for it is one of the best ballads McCartney wrote. After that, the material stays at a basically equal level, until the ending medley which is silly, simple, yet oh so melodic and interesting. I don't mind the potpourri nature of it all, because the sections are just delightful. Particularly "Lazy Dynamite", which comes off as one of those melodies you feel you've always known (McCartney does that a lot with me), and also the unabashedly sweet "Power Cut". You don't have to tell me that the pieces couldn't have survived by themselves, but it doesn't really matter. The stitched together suite seems rather at home among the rest of the tracks, and I don't doubt that this positive end note has no small part to play in making me consider Rose a fine, fine album. Sure, as an Amazon reviewer pointed out, there must've been a lotta drugs going into the album, and sure, it can sometimes be messy, but neither of those things come across in a negative light for me.

As I was preparing for this retrospective earlier, I was thinking that Tug Of War might be Viva Hate's prime competitor, but somehow as time has passed, the album has fallen ever so slightly from my heart. But it's still in a fine place, because I think it's the most consistent McCartney got since Ram (yes, in saying so I conveniently ignore the ones I haven't heard, writing them off as possible gems for die-hards that can't possibly be revelatory - such is my arrogance). The other thing that really strikes me is how well-crafted and complex the songs are - there isn't anything that I'd call straightforward pop, as everything has just that little extra twist that you only realize after many listens. I still think of the album very highly because it is just so consistent. But (you knew it was coming!), the one complaint I can make is that there isn't anything, well, truly special. A "Little Lamb Dragonfly", if you will, is missing, even if all the tracks are as good or better than your average McCartney song. "The Pound Is Sinking" is my favourite, as a McCartney mini-suite typically is, and the third verse is the most powerful moment on the album; but I suppose even this beautiful number can't provide the required elevation. And so, Tug sits in the second level, behind Ram, but perhaps unfairly, alongside something like Red Rose, which is so sprawling and loose that it feels just wrong to put it alongside so tight and meticulous an album. Yet how can I deny the emotional resonance of Rose!?!

Given the volume of his work I listened to last year, it isn't surprising that I eased up on Paul Simon this year. But I still had the energy to hear There Goes Rhymin' Simon, whose association with me goes back many a year, and whose first listen was such a letdown that I don't think I brought myself to mentioning it in last year's retrospective. But time dealt with this injustice, as I got around to retrying the album, and finding myself liking it more with each subsequent listen. What I once took to be missteps from the brilliant constructions on Paul Simon slowly revealed themselves in their own way. Yes, there is some filler that I cannot deny, but one cannot deny something like "Tenderness", which displays all the characteristics that I loved off the debut. Nor something like "Was A Sunny Day", which seemed to be nothing more than a simple reggae shuffle the first few times I heard it, but somehow started to shine through the rest of the material later on. Probably one of the earliest examples of his writing being obtuse - of course I don't know why she calls him Mr. Earl! A commentator on GS' site remarks how it seems to take a meaning of its own, which is something I am fond of quoting, even if I don't know how far one can take the argument.

Ah yes, I also filled in some gaps in my Cave collection. Henry's Dream seems a fitting enough successor to The Good Son, though it's really nothing like it at all. The imagery is at its most vivid, but the music is back to Tender Prey days, and interestingly enough I don't find myself listening to either record all that much. Which is not to say I dislike either; I pretty much agree with the view of Prey being a career highlight. It did take time to appreciate the more aggressive style of Dream, but I think it was worth it, just to understand Cave a bit better. But there's no escaping your inlication, and I'm not entirely sheepish to admit that I usually return to the softer ballads ("Straight To You" and "Loom Of The Land"), even though "I Had A Dream, Joe" has also left quite an impact on me.

Strictly speaking, I haven't given Let Love In enough of a chance yet, but as of now I think it to be a fair to good album, all things considered. Lord knows there are enough good songs on here to justify its place in Cave's catalogue, but right now, something just seems missing. It might be that I've been reading too many reviews, because I'm not sure whether the lyrics are great or if there is a lot of the same old material being repeated. I hope time and wisdom will help me decide this matter. And I hope time will afford a listen to Your Funeral...My Trial, which I've only heard the one time, and so really don't have much to say about. But (I can't resist)! "The Carny"! A very impressive first listen it was.

You know, usually albums that get their first listen in late October/November end up basically stranded in no man's land, getting passing mentions in respective retrospectives. Cave's fine double album, Abattoir Blues/Lyre Of Orpheus deserves not such a fate, and even though I don't think I've listened to it enough, I know enough about it to affirm those who praised the first disc. The second? Moments of greatness, but a lot of it is currently wringing on my patience a little bit. "O Children" just about makes up for it though. One of the best for sure, "Hiding All Away", is just a joy to listen to, even though I initially found it terribly boring and meaningless. We'll get to the ending later, but I should first mention that even without it, I'd still love the song. The intonations can't help but remind me of Dylan, as do the images; hilarious, as Nick rarely is (I like how he emphasises that he really isn't in the oven, for instance). As for the ending! I obviously didn't see it coming, and it's interesting how it seems to put what came before it in a completely new light. The next listen gives the seeming nonsense more of a message (or perhaps that's part of the charade?). Thank the lord he can still write songs like this!

Lists!

Favourite album: Viva Hate I think, but I won't reflect on this for too long.

Favourite songs (standard):
1. Afterglow (Small Faces)
2. Tenderness (Simon)
3. Little Lamb Dragonfly (McCartney)

Favourite songs (idiosyncratic):
1. Little Man, What Now? (Morrissey)
2. Lazy Dynamite (McCartney)
3. Ouija Board, Ouija Board (Morrissey)

Best discovery: Though I didn't talk too much about them above, I'll say The Small Faces. Like the Roxys before them, they came out of nowhere and floored me.

Best rediscovery: Red Rose Speedway, as noted above.

Best opener: Hmm..."Alsatian Cousin"? Not a particularly strong year for my album openers, because as much as I like the song, it isn't a master-stroke.

Best first listen: I'd probably go for Tug Of War, even if it didn't end the year as high as Viva Hate. Even now I can't escape the amazing melodies. And I try!

As always, I love the predictions for next year! Once again, I failed to do most anything on last year's predictions (although I did get some Cave albums). Perhaps next year will feature...more Randy Newman and John Prine? That's all I got, I'm afraid - things aren't looking up for the year ahead!

Musical retrospective 2006

It is always interesting to reflect on the musical year, as it seems to reveal things that are on one level remarkable, but on another seem rather ordinary. For instance, the past year is memorable in that I managed, in the space of 8 months or so, to develop a near complete Paul Simon collection (barring the soundtrack to One Trick Pony; but to make up, I have the VHS of the movie...), and I am not sure how to react. Sure, it is quite a collection, and I would not say it is money wasted. At the same time, it is maybe a little scary how resolute and determined I was towards a goal that is inherently ephemeral; I am almost left asking "And where has this got me?". But in truth, as the man said, maybe I think too much for my own good.

About his catalogue, then - it is very good, certainly a worthy successor to the Simon & Garfunkel one, and in keeping with the ancient tradition of me discovering an artist's entire catalogue in the span of year, it has basically overshadowed all other competition (although I do think about the Moz a fair bit, but anyway). Not that I mind, since it is quite a rewarding collection of songs the man has penned. And funnily enough, some of the most memorable ones come from a seemingly inconsequential album from 2000, You're The One, which makes it all the better, seeing as how I have discovered a lost trove of negotations & love songs that even Simon fans write off as a desparate attempt to reach the commercial mass. I'm not all that sure that it did (reach the masses, that is), you know, but although I see where they're coming from, it does nothing to dilute my love of the album. It is in keeping with my discovery each year of an album that is in some way magical. It may not be his best album (Graceland), or even my favourite of his (Hearts and Bones), but it is his most mysterious, and possibly his most consistent.

I do not think it wise to spend a lot of time analyzing lyrics and the like, because they need the warmth of the music. I will say that he is a fine lyricist, and certainly one of the more unique ones I've heard. I'd wager that a lot of people understandably, but mistakenly, judge him solely on Graceland for lyrical talent - and I don't think it is wholly representative of what he can do. "Graceland" is a fine song lyrically, and it is clear enough that you are dealing with an interesting songwriter ("I Know What I Know" and "Gumboots", for instance, are not conventional songs), but he has done other things. If you take Graceland alone, you would miss gems on his debut, Paul Simon, which was good enough to make Robert Chrisigau smile. "Mother and Child Reunion" is obviously excellent, "Duncan" slightly less obviously so, but my secret treasures here are "Run That Body Down" and even more esoterically, "Papa Hobo" ("It's carbon and monoxide / The old Detroit perfume"). There is more still to be found on Hearts and Bones (what immediately comes to mind are the title track, and "Train In The Distance") and You're The One ("The Teacher", and of course "Hurricane Eye"), but it gets a bit tedious listing out all the well written tracks after a point. Suffice to say, he can write, and in my book he is nowhere near being the simple Dylan follower he could so easily have been painted as when he started out. In fact, his catalogue is done a favour by the fact that by the time of his first album, he had already been writing for quite a few years with Simon & Garfunkel - as a result, he starts off quite polished already, having matured as a songwriter.

Not that there was no-one else in the year. The Moz, as I mentioned, was always around in spirit, even though I only really listened to Your Arsenal, one of those "good but not great" albums. The big figue at the start of the year was McCartney, with London Town, which belongs in the same category I guess, but which deserves a bit more recognition for the fact that there are so many good songs, even if he doesn't seem to be able to produce that one truly blissful song, as he did on all previous albums I've heard. But "London Town", "Famous Groupies", "Deliver Your Children" and, of course, "The Backwards Traveller"? Well, any album with all that is worth whatever other flaws it may possess. There was more McCartney, you know - Venus and Mars, to be precise, which was a disappointment though; take "Call Me Back Again". The first ten seconds seem to set up something truly special; I seem to have a soft spot for '50s rockers as done by either of the Beatles' frontmen. But then it turns into something merely listenable, for me anyway, and the opportunity seems lost. There are some highs - "Love In Song" is a great song, the kind I missed on London Town, but in all I just went in expecting too much. I think it needs a little time and perseverance, and as such it is not a bad album.

Oh, and there was some Dylan too. To be precise, some bootleg songs that have really taken me by surprise. I usually don't have the patience to listen to outtakes and demos and what have you, and haven't yet felt the need to explore these alternate catalogues of artists. If I were to do it for anyone, it would be Dylan of course, and so I dutifully listened to some of the songs on The Genuine Bootleg Series (don't be fooled by the "genuine" in the title, though, this is not an official release). It was better than expected, and unearthed some truly good songs that ought to be on some official release. I really liked the version of "Blind Willie McTell" that finally made me like the song (the one on the official bootleg series just seemed ok to me), but certainly the best discovery was "I'm Not There". I've seen it described as Dylan's most "musical" song, which may well be true, but for me it confirms that there is some sort of genius to the man. It is hard to put one's finger on it, but I felt that it was truly a stroke of luck to come across it, and at the same time it was shocking that a normal Dylan fan could go through his/her life without ever hearing this song. Somewhere in Invisible Republic, there is a quote from a book whose narrator hears the song playing at a party, and then proceeds to tell the person next to her (to paraphrase) "This may be the finest song ever written". With a quote like that, even if you disagree, you sometimes stop to wonder...

The miscellania include Eno's Here Come The Warm Jets (which for some reason doesn't click just yet) and Prince's Purple Rain (bought solely at the behest of the 'Capn, and it has turned out to be surprisingly good), but not much else. Although I did have a brief revelation after seeing a Beach Boys documentary, wherein I felt that they were musical geniuses I had unjustly neglected. I came upon their Good Vibrations boxset, which I will try to listen to more in '07 (thus far, I am happy at finally having a version of "Heroes And Villains", which is funny and catchy; a rare mix!).

A slowish year, but not slow enough to make me skip the lists.

Most rewarding purchase: Paul Simon's Paul Simon, which I got on the heels of listening to Bridge Over Troubled Water. I was greeted with "Mother And Child Reunion", and the rest is history.

Favourite album: Paul Simon's Hearts And Bones, which I have come to think of as one of those "songwise perfect" albums, where there is nary a weak number in sight. Musically and lyrically, a true gem, and rightfully a fan favourite.

Favourite (standard) songs:
1. Bob Dylan, "I'm Not There" - Unfair, really, because it seems like one of those songs from a different plane
2. Paul Simon, "Think Too Much (a)" - When you manage to hit home lyrically and do it in an interesting manner (I'm almost sure the musical effects are courtesy of Philip Glass), you usually get my attention
3. Paul Simon, "Slip Slidin' Away" - Don't be fooled, it is serious, even though it is effortlessly melodic

Favourite (esoteric) songs:
1. Paul McCartney, "The Backwards Traveller" - It's only 1 minute, but this is an esoteric list
2. Paul Simon, "Papa Hobo" - The feel is enough to carry the song
3. Bob Dylan, "I'm Your Teenage Prayer" - It is always nice to hear Bobby having a good time, because it often results in memorable songs

Most wrongly dismissed (by the public) album: In my opinion, Paul Simon's Songs From The Capeman, which I love for reasons I cannot explain. I actually tried to find out more about the theory of doo-wop to see why something so simple can feel so powerful, but I was unsuccessful. "Adios Hermanos" and "Satin Summer Nights" have been stuck in my head for a long time, with no sign of tiring.

Most satisfying re-evaluation: Nick Cave's No More Shall We Part, which I once thought was dull and "samey-sounding". Uh, right. "Fifteen Feet Of Pure White Snow" is the work of a genius, and I find myself oddly captivated by the striking piano notes in "The Sorrowful Wife". "As I Sat Sadly By Her Side" is still my favourite here, and is probably too good an opener in that it sets too high a standard for the rest to follow. Still, the album is far more enjoyable than I thought.

Most amazing first-listen: Close - I would call a tie between Paul Simon's "Adios Hermanos" and John Cale's "Dying On The Vine". The latter features a delightful piano melody that reaffirmed my interest in classical music - it reveals that the instrument needn't only be used for slow ballads.

---

It's interesting to note, by the way, that I should be completely neglecting Surprise, Modern Times, and Ringleader Of The Tormentors, the actual '06 releases, but I guess that is the way I am with music (always one step ahead of the pack, you see).

There are no particular predictions for next year - last year's, by the way, were dismally wrong, for I did not purchase a single album by the Cocteau twins, Sparks or Ween. I suspect the Cave collection may see a new addition, and maybe a Prince album here and there, but otherwise who knows? Things are getting out of hand in the "to listen to" department - I probably have enough to get me through the whole year, but what fun would that be?

Musical retrospective 2005

Is it about time for a retrospective for the musical year? No? Oh well, I really don't feel like writing anything else at the moment, so this will have to do.

I mentioned in an earlier post that a concern this year came with the lack of listening to things I bought, all in the holy name of preservation. There is now anecdotal evidence to suggest that this is in fact a continuing problem, one that I will probably have to solve by putting more worth in singles and listening to tracks in their miscellaneous glory. But even with this issue, there were some nice enough finds which I shall document for posterity's sake.

I'm often amazed by how skimp my collection actually is in terms of depth, for anytime it grows, it seems to be entirely breadth-wise. Why is that? No doubt due to my love of experimentation, eh? Perhaps it indicates that I get bored far too easily with most things, and so most artists see me obsess enough over one album so as for me to buy it, after which no further mention is made. The best example are those crafty LS boys (Lynyrd Skynyrd, doncha know). There was a time where I was hell-bent on hearing every single one of their songs on the radio so as to judge which of their many albums I should purchase. Naturally their first and most famous one would be the start, but "Double Trouble" wasn't on it, so surely there would be many more to follow, right? Haha, surely you jest! For what followed was a paltry two listens to the first album, whereupon I promptly forgot about them completely. As for a reason why, 'twas purely down to a personal whim, borne perhaps out of a disappointment over "Simple Man" or something. It's possible to listen to samples so many times that when the real thing comes on, it seems limp and somehow not nearly as good. I can't rationalize it at all, I'm afraid (after all, there are some mighty good songs on that first album, you know; "Tuesday's Gone", now that is a lost classic). And so it went that I moved on to bigger and better things in my mind...such as, say, that punk-poet Patti Smith, who suffered a similar fate after Wave failed to impress on two (or was it three? It might make all the difference!) listens. It just goes on and on from there, I'm afraid.

The other side to this is that I treat most new music with wary caution. I'll never forget "Send Me No Wine", for aside from being beautiful, it was the song that made me admit to myself "Alright...so maybe these guys aren't so bad after all". I started off treating the Moodies as competitors to the Beatles (and as such constantly rejected their melodic prowess), and so with every song, there was a part of me that went "Bah, that was no good! "Day In The Life", now that's a song!". Insane, no? It's yet more prominent when music is recommended, but I think the underlying issue here is fear of some already existing idol being shown-up by someone "better" - I seem to be saying "No no no, my idol is still the best, this is just a weak imitation!". Fear! A John Cale album, and a probable reason for one of my particularly neurotic tendencies.

So what did we have this year? It's hard to believe that it started off with Unknown Pleasures, because it feels like that one's been around for a long time. This is such a consistent little album it's amazing - there are no major misses, everything is nice and to the point, and it's very hard to feel let down after a listen. Granted, I can't get into the lyrics at all, but it doesn't matter, because it's the actual music that I dig. Some see Curtis as having some of the best lyrics in rock, but me, I don't see it sadly. What he sings is often too abstract and intangible for me to be able to appreciate. The combination of the music and the lyrics works well, of this there is no doubt, but I couldn't like a Joy Division song on the basis of lyrics alone; but like I said, it's not as much of a loss, because the music is nothing short of fantastic. The emphasised bass works surprisingly well, and when the guitar takes center stage, it's usually amazing. Who would've guessed that you could make an album where it's the bass that provides the hook? Certainly one of the best bass lines I've heard in my short musical life is that of "She's Lost Control" (which, incidentally, is a nice of example of the guitar really making itself felt when it bursts onto the scene - a Kinks riff and a mesmerising bass, how can you go wrong!?!). If I had to pick a favourite, it would be "Shadowplay", if only for the intro where the bass is shattered by the guitar. What a moment, and what an album!

What to say about The Good Son? I seem to talk about it every other post. Why in God's name? Heck, who knows, but let me say that the album isn't yet one of my favourites. When I think about the individual songs in isolation, they all seem good, but every listen has left me a little, well, disappointed. As though I'm expecting some great aural revelation or something! It's unfortunate, really, because there's some great stuff here, but alas, I seem to unable to judge it for what it is, instead choosing to pile on unneeded matters of circumstance. My fondest memory of it, though, is coming home tired one evening and then, after listening to this mellow album on my bed, suddenly feeling as though I had been granted a second burst of energy. You know, thinking about "Foi Na Cruz" again just makes me wonder why I don't love this yet. There are many positive memories, but where's the love? Damn, and "Sorrow's Child", that takes a few listens, but man, that hook will reel you in. Maybe I was wrong, maybe this is a favourite, except it just hasn't dawned on me yet.

By far the biggest surprise of the year was Roxy's For Your Pleasure. When I first listened to it, I was left wondering "Where the hell did that come from?"; I didn't expect that something so amazing could come from people I hadn't heard of at all; clearly, I still over-estimate my still fledgling knowledge of rock. From the moment the main hook of "Do The Strand" hit, I could tell there was something here, and chided myself for letting this album sit in my house for a year, unlistened to. It's true, with repeated listens, you tend to pick out a few weak moments, but I miss experiences like this. I went it having no idea who these Roxy guys were, having no idea what this album was or what kind of music was played, and when the music played - damn. They don't make moments like that anymore. Funnily enough, even though the follow-up, Stranded, is easily more consistent on a song-by-song basis, it's definitely not as enjoyable to me as this one is. You can sit down to Stranded and be entertained the whole way through. "Street Life" features a pretty synth riff, and a catchy melody, and "Mother Of Pearl" is one funky tune, but it isn't quite the same. The mood isn't there - when you start off FYP with "Do The Strand", you know there is nothing else like this. And "Beauty Queen" comes on, and there is hope for the world! And of course once "Editions Of You" takes its turn, you're in space, and everything starts to make sense. Damn, I'm forgetting what I was talking about, but this is great stuff.

Skylarking gets the most rewarding whim-purchase award, what with its collection of immaculate pop songs. Loose conceptuality is something I'm always game for, but I mainly went in expecting some strong hooks, and was not disappointed. The opening combo of "Summer's Cauldron"/"Grass" is the most charming one I've heard all year (although "Foi Na Cruz"/"The Good Son" may be the one that puts me most at ease). I remember that at the time I bought it, I was a little tired of experimental and revolutionary rock. I wanted something simple and melodic, no doubt feeling the dizzying after-effects of Ram. I didn't know much about XTC, but a positive review or two was enough for me. I chanced my hand and was duly rewarded. I wouldn't say this has great (pop) songs - nothing in the vein of "Uncle Albert", say - but it is chock-a-block with many very good ones. "That's Really Super, Supergirl", for instance - the heck!?! Why is it so likeable? Ahhh, music, the most mysterious of masters...

Somewhere in between the first and second half of the year, along came Quadrophenia, making a dramatic return. I heard it late 2004, but was so disappointed that I included it on my RYM list of albums I haven't been able to appreciate, much to my chagrin. I decided to give it another shot, and I think it was a gloomy Saturday morning that I gave it another spin. I set aside a good hour to let the album sink in, and the result was fantastic. Perhaps it was just the mood I was in at the time, but the experience was like no other. My memories are too complex to be put into words, but I do remember reeling from the bass-lines on a couple of the songs, and just totally digging the synths that Townshend uses with great success. I can't say if it's the rockers like "The Real Me" or the denser numbers like the title track that I appreciate - all I know is, the sign of a great album is when it is able to make you feel like no other can make you. Sometimes, you can't even put into words what this feeling is. It doesn't make for particularly interesting reading, I'll admit, but how is one supposed to accept the burden of putting into words something so other-worldly? Let me at least say that when the crescendo of "Love Reign O'er Me" hits, I really do feel like I've been through an opera. I have no idea if this is the height of art-rock, but to me, this is as good an example as any of a rock album that is perfectly on-par with a piece of art in terms of the feelings it can get out of me.

The second half of the year belonged to Morrissey, of this there can be no doubt. There's a review of Hatful Of Hollow that is yet to be completed, but I love that the album reintroduced me to the power of the single. It's funny to think that a single album could cause so much adulation on my part, in fact I can't quite understand it myself. On the basis of this alone, I proceeded to get most of the Smiths' catalogue within the next few months. Put it down to the power of the Morrissey - that guy can write. And sing, incidentally - there's nothing quite like Morrissey crooning on "Reel Around The Fountain".

Edit: Whoah, whoah, whoah. How could I forget? Eno's Another Green World should've been the first album that came to mind when I compiled this list. This is a great album. In fact, it's one of the greatest ones I've heard in a while. Were it not for For Your Pleasure blowing me away the first time, I would have no qualms naming this the best album I've heard all year. Again, objectivity be damned - yes, like Pleasure, towards the end it loses its bite. Much as I like "Everything Merges With The Night", I can't argue that it is anywhere near the same level of, say, "In Dark Trees". Oh man, what a song. I can't think of talking very much about the songs themselves, because this is going to be my reaction. "In Dark Trees", "St. Elmo's Fire", and, perhaps most of all, "The Big Ship"? Achingly beautiful, each of them. I've never listened to ambient music, well, ever, but some of these make me want to change that. I hear it sometimes said that the pop songs are out of place here, but I lurve "I'll Come Running" - I read somewhere about how Eno mastered the pop-format by this stage, and it seems rather apt! What a perfect little pop song! I think the pop and the ambient pieces work together nicely; after all, it gives one the opportunity to go from the blissful "St. Elmo's Fire" to the gloomy yet beautiful "In Dark Trees". It's fitting that Eno played a big hand in For Your Pleasure as well - perhaps the second half of the year was Morrissey's, but the year itself was Eno's it would seem!

Who to look out for next year? Ween are very much on the top of the list, simply because of GS's reviews. I can't help myself, I have to see what the fuss is about. The Cocteau Twins, even if it's just because of "Carolyn's Fingers". Perhaps Sparks and Steve Harley, if I can find them, but at the moment nothing else seems to come to mind. Thankfully, when I'm armed with money and go inside a music shop, potentials come out of every corner, so here's hoping that the coming year isn't a dull one musically.

Bah, I can't resist, pointless list time:

Best album I heard: Roxy's For Your Pleasure. I can't help it, this album just totally overwhelmed me. Like I said in the edit, Another Green World comes pretty darn close to winning this award, but since FYP was what immediately came to mind, I'll take that to mean that I somehow have a deeper reaction to it. Objectively, it tapers off to the end, but as an experience, I can't get away from those first six songs. The last two don't grip, but I need a bit of a breather and a light let-off. Those harmonicas on "Grey Lagoons" are cool enough.

Best song I heard: I don't like this award, it's way too difficult. If I must choose, it would have to be the Smith's "This Charming Man". I have no idea why, but this song really seems to resonate with me. I haven't been able to rationally analyze it, but after a point I've just given up and marvelled at how something could affect me so. If I were to debate on whether a single can be a piece of art, perhaps this would be my choice. The opening, with the beautiful jangly guitar that seems to bring the imagery of the words to life ("Punctured bicycle / On a hillside desolate"), is one of the finest things I've heard in a while.

Then again, there is "The Big Ship". I don't even bother rationally analyzing this one, it's simply the greatest instrumental I've ever heard. Soul-cleansing.

Edit from the future: Uhm, hello, "Editions Of You"? It still is one of the most unique and friggin' brilliant songs I've ever heard. Perhaps now you see the problem with trying to choose a best song, there simply are too many of them!

Most neglected album: The Kinks' Arthur. I didn't even mention it here, even though "Some Mother's Son" was the focus of a post earlier in the year. I don't know why, but something just hasn't clicked with this. But there are moments, there are moments that make me think that there really is something great here. "Shangri-La", for instance, ooh, now that can give you goosebumps. I owe it to myself to hear this more often.

Best song by an artist I thought I knew all about: Simon & Garfunkel's "Leaves That Are Green". As for why I thought I knew all about S&G, despite only having listened to Bridge Over Troubled Water, well... A charming little song with lyrics I wish I wrote ("I was twenty-one years old when I wrote this song"...!).

Song I should love more, but don't: Cave's "The Weeping Song", no doubt. Great lyrics, catchy melody, what's not to love about it? I like it, I like very much in fact, but I somehow don't love it, and to me, this is a mystery.

Favourite Morrissey moment: Hey, the guy deserves a special place all for himself. Hard to pick, but have you heard "Panic" lately ("Hang the DJ!")? There's something about the "And I wonder tooo myself" line that I just love - somehow sad, yet the delivery cannot be matched. To quote a fellow blogger, unbelievably profound.

Song that made me wish I heard the album earlier: Strange award, but it would probably be "As I Sat Sadly By Her Side", off Cave's No More Shall We Part (review pending!). I was tentative of the album for no particular reason, but then as this opened up proceedings, I was left rueing that I doubted the Cavemeister.

Realities. Some mad hysteria in the morning hardly seems real during the quiet contemplation of the evening. Images are playing back, and I sit and tell myself it isn't me I am seeing. It is dead quiet, and I feel the onset of a cold. An ill-lit room is no comfort as I continue this mental fixation. Let it go, I want to say, but things are never as easy as that. It doesn't matter, those words against your character that may well follow. It is not me, I say, it is not me. I give the monster a name, and the madness clears.

It strikes me - it's because the morning was disrupted. Warm cup of coffee in hand, and totally tranquil...no, that moment is now gone. Till next week then. As night approaches, things give way in my head, and I begin to wonder what is real.