BEST OF 2011: List Anxiety, Near-misses and why I love Huw M

The list is done, the end of year compilation is complete and the festivities can begin. Except, how did I miss out the Wild Beasts album from the Top 30? Why didn’t the Huw M album come out a little earlier, as it would have been guaranteed a good placing? What do I write about now that I’m not knee deep in a list? Ah, list maker’s anxiety has set in. Watching music journalists, music makers and music fans on Twitter over the last week or so, it’s been a familiar tale of people realising either that they’ve missed out something crucial from their list or that they simply can’t boil down what they like into a manageable ten, twenty or forty. For some reason, it matters. Not to everyone, admittedly, but to those of us who try to fill our days with as much music as humanly possible, the opportunity to present our likes in a clearly defined format is exciting and important. Partly, it’s another way of showing the world who we are, and it also allows us an opportunity to range scrupulously over our music, revisiting albums we’d forgotten or never quite clicked with. It’s an event.

This year it seemed particularly difficult to do: on the one hand, because of how many utterly wonderful albums have come out and, on the other, because I’ve been hoovering up new music for the last twelve months. The vinyl revival (hey, good name for a radio show) has continued apace to the point where pretty much any alternative music gets a release on the magic wax. Indeed, but for my still not especially forthcoming right ankle, I could lay out my entire Top 30 on the floor, on vinyl, for a real-life version of that montage picture I made for the Spotify list. I rather like that. Ok, not all of these records have recent prime-quality pressings, but the vast majority sound wonderful on the superior format. An album like ‘C’mon‘ is absolutely suited to the inherent warmth that format affords, likewise the magical ‘Tamer Animals‘ by Other Lives.

Anyone who looked at the list I produced in July, as a half-way point round up of the year in music, will notice that both Alessi’s Ark and Elbow slipped from the top ten to outside the thirty come December. Alessi’s Ark simply got worn out, and I still wonder if I’ve been unduly harsh. Elbow, however, I’m struggling with a little. It’s sonically outstanding, just like ‘The Seldom Seen Kid’, but ‘Build A Rocket Boys!‘, from its missing comma onwards, just seems a little to poised. I find myself listening and thinking, ‘ah, there’s man of the people Guy Garvey extending some syllables in a matey fashion’. I’ve always loved Elbow. I adore their debut and ‘Leaders Of The Free World‘, and regular readers will remember that ‘The Seldom Seen Kid‘ just pipped Laura Marling to the top of the 2008 albums list. Whether it’s overexposure, less exciting songs or a little bit of music snobbery kicking in, I seem to have lost the bug. My first listens left me cold – which, having been tasked with reviewing it, was an immediate puncturing of the bubble – but then it grew and grew, a more subtle offering than its predecessor. Now though, I’ve no idea. Sometimes music doesn’t make sense, does it? I’m sure it’ll click at some point. Feel free to give me some pointers.

And then there are the ‘too late’ brigade. For most people, that means albums released in the last weeks of December, although for music monthlies it means mid-October onwards. This year, The Black Keys‘ cracking ‘El Camino‘ came out slightly too late to make the cut, its insane vinyl price not exactly inviting last-minute good will. It’s a great follow-up to ‘Brothers‘, to which I came rather late, with a punchy and brisk flow of soulful blues-rock. Let’s face it, if you know what The Black Keys sound like, it sounds like that. If you don’t, then I think soulful blues-rock is a fair summation.

The most unlucky release is the glistening majesty in musical form that is ‘Gathering Dust‘ by Welsh folk charmer Huw M. You may remember that his last offering, ‘Os Mewn Sŵn’, appeared in my 2010 list after I chanced upon it during a visit to Spillers Records. This latest offering takes everything that made that album so special and develops it a little further. Whether its the gently swaying ‘Brechdannau Sgwar‘ or the wonderfully simple opener ‘The Perfect Silence‘, ‘Gathering Dust’ is blessed with both melody and absolutely stunning instrumentation. Featuring mandolin, cello, sitar, French horn, melodica and a good old Hammond organ, this is clearly not a balls-out rock record, but it is one of the most delightful folk albums of 2011, and would likely have been in my top ten had it come out in October. It bothers me that it’s not in there. It shouldn’t, but that’s list anxiety for you. Still, it’s a good way to use any Christmas money/gift vouchers/rent money you might have left after the big day. The aforementioned Welsh palace of glittering musical delights will be able to assist you with that and the debut. Honestly, if ‘For While I Wait For You To Sleep’ doesn’t get the hairs up on the back of your neck then your beauty regime is too intensive for us to ever be friends.

If you’ll forgive the phrasing, I think I’m almost done mopping up. The ‘Fame Studios Story’ boxset on Kent Records is a match for the sublime ‘Take Me To The River‘ set which they issued a few years back and the For Folk’s Sake Christmas album just nudged out Emmy The Great and Tim Wheeler‘s stonking ‘This Is Christmas’ effort for festive release of 2011. Say hi to the multiple remaindered copies of the She & Him record in Fopp in February for me.

The full list is still available for your perusal and I continue to invite your lists ahead of the December 31^st deadline, when I will pick one lucky poster and send them a Low Anthem rarities 10”, a copy of the The National‘s double A-sided 7” and assorted other promo gubbins. It’ll be my pleasure. Thank you for reading this year, and for sticking around during the drought. This isn’t me entirely done for the year, but Merry Christmas to you and yours. Have fun!

The Just Played Verdict: Sarabeth Tucek ‘Get Well Soon’

I first happened upon the charms of this particular artist when skimming through one of Spillers Records’ weekly mailouts at the end of 2007. Ashli was wildly enthusing about Sarabeth Tucek and I clicked through to listen to a few samples before ordering the CD. Some months later, whilst visiting Britain’s finest city, for Wales’ largely mediocre rugby, I popped into Spillers, situated as it still was then on The Hayes, for a quick rummage in the vinyl racks. Happening upon a vinyl copy, I was overcome with a sense I’ve since learnt to not even fight: the need to have a record I love on my favourite format, despite already owning the tunes. As I took it the counter, Ashli began wildly enthusing about how good it was and I replied that I already knew as I’d bought the CD some months ago. After a slightly odd look, we then rhapsodised about that particular debut for several minutes before I went off to watch the boys in red take a hiding.

‘Get Well Soon’ is a very different record to that debut, documenting the death of Tucek’s father and borne out of a period of lows and self-destructive behaviour which ensures that this is not simply more of the same. It sounds like the kind of album you’d dig out of the crates at a record fair, pick up on the basis of its beautiful sleeve and buy on a whim, only to find you’ve unearthed a lost classic. ‘The Fireman’ is a warm, spacious recording and Tucek’s vocal, which sits atop, delivering lines like “The Fireman saved many a home but the fireman could save his own,” is utterly beautiful. When the plucked guitar line comes in, my day is quantifiably improved. It’s one of those little moments in songs which cause the hairs to go up on your neck and other assorted clichés which describe discernable psychical reactions. Soft and measured seems to be the musical order of the day here, but as anyone who likes a little Cat Power or ‘Sometimes I Wish We Were An Eagle’ knows, when this is executed to perfection, it can be genuinely very affecting.

16. Huw M–Os Mewn Sŵn

The Welsh accent can be a gently lulling listen or a stadium shattering surge in the world of music and there are fine exponents of each. Anyone who has ever loved Gorky’s Zygotic Mynci (anyone who has heard them, surely) will know how charmingly melodic it can be, even lullaby-like at times. Such fans should find similar thrills in this shimmering collection.

I owe my love of this album to an enthusiastic, passionate and knowledgeable record shop owner. It’s a phrase I used to use quite a lot, but which I rarely get to utter these days. Whilst down in Cardiff for my regular burst of rugby-based humiliation at the hands of the All Blacks, I made time for a trip to Spillers, in its new home in the Morgan Arcade. Since my first visit in September, the shop has grown in character – and stock – and has continued the magic of 36 The Hayes. As I walked upstairs to the vinyl floor, I heard Ashli – Spillers boss – telling another customer that the album playing in the shop was on for him and that she thought he’d like it. He did, and so did I.

Twitter followers will recall how Ashli then proceeded to recommend me a ton of vinyl, all but one I already had! At the last minute, I asked her to chuck in the album that was playing too. I’m really rather glad I did that, on reflection. ‘Os Mewn Sŵn’ by Huw M is a joyous sounding set of orchestrated indie pop. I would comment on the lyrics except that they’re all in Welsh and I speak about six words of the language.

Put simply, if you like your delicate indie pop – be it Gorky’s, early Belle And Sebastian or Camera Obscura – then you will find plenty to enjoy here. The arching string figure of ‘Y Drôr Sy’n Dal Y Sanau’ is one of many highlights, opener ‘Hiraeth Mawr A Hiraeth Creulon’ is ridiculously catchy and surprisingly easy to sing along to considering I don’t have a clue what he’s saying!

I miss my days of buying whatever was playing in my local independent record shop. A fabulous record like this, which I would otherwise have almost certainly never found, is the reason why.

Journal For A Manics Lover – Cardiff Castle, September 1st 1998

Being called a “fucking squirrel” by James Dean Bradfield, aged 15, was a very special moment for me. Having chatted with me about my home town for a good five minutes, he was incredibly gracious as I kept flinging items in front of him to be signed. Sat in the confines of Cardiff Castle, having just been privy to, the still to be released, ‘This Is My Truth Tell Me Yours’ on some truly massive speakers, I was in my element. The sudden appearance of James next to me marked the first time I ever felt what you might call star struck. Having won a competition to attend the launch of the Manics’ fifth album, I was more than a little giddy that evening. Furnished with an information pack which contained an A4 booklet with each of the tracks’ lyrics, page by page, along with a selection of press photos, already seemed ludicrously exciting to my teenage mind without the addition of an actual Manic to scribble all over them. It marked the culmination of three years ascending to fever pitch over anything and everything the Manics had released. I’d come late to the party, I’d only really known them as a three-piece, but I was totally hooked. They were my band, as they have been to so many people at various points over the last twenty years. They’d grown up thirty miles down the road from me, felt no pressure to fit in and were endearingly caustic yet frank in interviews.

For many months thereafter, ‘This Is My Truth…’ was my album of choice more often that not. It’s not their best, it didn’t top the majesty of ‘Everything Must Go’, but it defined a moment for me and listening to it today I found I could remember almost every word. A new Manics album was a proper event for me, whether I heard it sat in the same room as James or by doing battle with a dial-up connection and the nascent days of Napster, and I’ve realised today that that hasn’t really changed. As is transparently obvious to anyone who regularly reads this site and follows the associated Twitter feed, I’ve had ‘Postcards From A Young Man’ since the end of July. I had to write a review of it after only four days of, admittedly solid, listening. I’ve continued to play it furiously in the intervening weeks, still backing in its all-out power-pop glory and massive riffs. However, being able to pick up the various editions today, in person, from Spillers Records brought back all of those memories of pre-ordering ‘This Is My Truth…’ from Woolies to make sure I got an embossed cover and of diverting my dad from ferrying me to a university interview in London to Sister Ray to acquire ‘Know Your Enemy’.

This tremendous set of songs, one of their best I would argue, is beautifully packaged and, out of all of the versions available, the 2CD set housed in a hardback book probably represents the best value for money, containing pages from Nicky’s scrapbook, early versions of lyrics and demos of the whole album on the bonus disc. This week, I intended to write at great length about this record and why I find myself slightly surprised at how much it means to me. As you’ll have noticed, Just Played is going to wear a slightly different outfit for the week. Should you dislike the Manics intensely, all will be back to normal by Monday 27th.