Best of 2020: 14. This Is The Kit ‘Off Off On’

I’ll admit that it took Kate Stables’ run off performances last year with The National, following her appearance on their 2019 masterpiece ‘I Am Easy To Find‘, to make me fully realise how fond I am of her work as This Is The Kit. In particular, 2017’s ‘Moonshine Freeze‘ was a record that had slowly grown on me with its approach to melody, but a new producer and vocal sound for ‘Off Off On‘ ensured it became a firm favourite almost immediately. 


Anyone who spent even a brief amount of 2020 in the company of 6 Music will know ‘This Is What You Did‘, but this is really not all that representative of the album as a whole. Opener ‘Found Out’ does share some of the gnarly, whirly plucking of that first single, but ‘Started Again’ is a wonderfully metronomic yet woozy drift across a misty landscape. ‘No Such Thing’ was compared to Tortoise in the press release and this link certainly holds up in terms of the deliciously hiccuping drum patterns deployed. It also has a chorus which focuses as much on the sound of its words as the words themselves, with a drawn out delivery of “I do not see that; why should I see that? Why should that be? I did not say that; why would I say that? That would not be.”

A similarly musical approach to the lyrics is taken on the title track, reflecting on a friend’s serious illness and the hospital visits prior to his passing. The pattern of the words “Off Off On” are given weight by the neighbouring phrases such as, “Breathe out. Breathe in, but breathe out. Both ways, you’re leaving.” The syllabic echoes and the lulling delivery combine to capture those moments remarkably. 

The laconic swagger of ‘Was Magician’ saw it recently elevated to ‘single’ status with an intriguing narrative drawing on influences across literary fiction and musical contemporaries, while ‘Slider’ is a magnificently soulful piece which slowly intensifies until a saxophone solo from Lorenzo Prati somehow picks up where Stables’ words left off. It’s a hugely textured record which sounds confident and perfectly sculpted. There’s a Simon Armitage comment about poetry that I especially love which I think is pertinent when considering This Is The Kit’s approach to lyrics this time around:

“Prose fills a space, like a liquid poured in from the top, but poetry occupies it, arrays itself in formation, sets up camp and refuses to budge.”


Having expressed my fondness for the record, I then had the pleasure of conducting a lengthy Zoom chat for a piece that ran on the Clash website back in October. To add a little context, I’ve included some excerpts below: 

You have a different producer this time around, Josh Kaufman, and would it be fair to say that the vocal sound is pretty different for you?

I’m someone that always makes a fuss about reverb but Josh, god bless him, put his foot down. There are less effects than there were – we sort of came to a compromise – but I’m really pleased that he insisted because it makes it different. I think my main problem with reverb is that at a gig, when the sound engineer doesn’t know your music, they just decide to put loads on because you’re a female. That’s where my reflex against reverb comes from, but when it’s used carefully and thoughtfully it’s obviously a really great tool. 

On ‘No Such Thing’ from the new album, aspects of the delivery sound almost like a vocal going down some stairs with the angular way the notes are drawn out. There’s also a counterpoint on ‘Start Again’ with two distinct, simultaneous parts.  Is experimenting with your voice something that excites you?

I really like messing around with vocals and with the rhythm of them and I’m really fussy about harmonies. Un-thought out harmonies annoy me, so I’m quite fussy about which ones get used. Luckily, Rozi [Plain] and Jamie [Whitby], who do the backing vocals in This is The Kit are really good; they come up with things I like. I really enjoy it when people aren’t singing the same words: the kind of cacophonous effect. Also, part of it is because it’s fun to set me, Jamie and Rozi the challenge of then doing that live. It takes quite a lot of training sometimes for us to be doing one thing and then trying to do another on top – we try and make it as difficult for ourselves as possible. Sort of brain gymnastics trying to ward off the Alzheimer’s. 

How did you arrive at the album name ‘Off Off On’? Is it something about the title track that elevates it to being used for the whole record or is there another reason?

There’s this thing I have with words, just what it feels like when you say them. Sometimes that’s all you need to decide, the feel of words in your mouth, and I guess I’m a little bit drawn to things that are, not tongue-twistery, but just have that sensation. I just enjoy saying Off Off On and I find it funny when I have to introduce a song and say “this is a song on ‘Off Off On’” and I find it funny saying “this is a song off of ‘Off Off On’,” you know. It’s just me getting my own kicks, really. Don’t know if I should be owning up to this!

It’s as good a reason as any! The lyrics of the title track involve lots of mirrored phrases – such as “breathe out, breathe in, but breathe out / both ways, you’re leaving, both ways” – and clustered syllables. Is the sound of the words as important as the words themselves? 

For me, it’s such an instrument, the English language. Well, any language, but the English language is the language that I have learned. It’s a musical instrument, language, and it’s really fun to play with it and to make sounds with it.

I notice I’m not the only one to detect a jazz sensibility in this record. Was that a further aspect of changing your sound?

I think it just happened by accident; it’s just a kind of weird alchemy or chemistry between the people in the room at the time. I feel like there’s probably one particular track that gets people’s jazz radars going called ‘Slider’, because we got our friend Lorenzo Prati, who’s a really amazing musician, to play sax over it, all the way through. 

We were all just sat there in the room, not listening to the track, just listening to his saxophone playing and it was amazing. It was so important for me that we kept as much of that as possible. It was incredible being in that room and we were all totally silent, because there was no separation, no booth or anything. Maybe that track flags up a bit of jazz, or just the horns in general, I guess. Having horns just nudges you a bit closer to jazz. But not in a bad way – I’m happy that people hear that in it.

 ‘Was Magician’ is at least partly inspired by Ursula Le Guin. How was your reading over lockdown? Plenty of people said they found it hard to concentrate.

Mainly I couldn’t read, but then I had about a week or two where I could only read or I had to be existing in a book rather than in reality. I could only read Ursula Le Guin! I couldn’t read anything else. She’s written so many books that there’s still stuff I haven’t read. It was familiar in that it was her voice, but in stories that were new to me.

Buy ‘Off Off On’ from Crash Records

Best of 2020: 15. Phoebe Bridgers ‘Punisher’

It’s possible I’ve overplayed it. It might be the numerous, useless vinyl pressings I tried or the not especially great sounding CD copy I resorted to after abandoning the turntable. It might just be a little too much during these incredibly bleak times. Whatever the reason, ‘Punisher’ has slipped down my list somewhat in the last month or two. When I first heard ‘Kyoto’, I found it hard to imagine the album not being in my top 5 come the end of the year. I know, who thinks like that? Well, me. And possibly you, given you’re reading an in-depth countdown of the albums of 2020 according to one, not especially punctual, bloke and his natty but underused blog. It is a blistering song and one of the finest of this year, from the swift interjection of the drums and jagged guitar over the noodly background through to its standing-strong-in-the-face-of-a-gale start to the chorus. The long horn section, the slow bits as it descends back to the verses and the gradual additional layers as it progresses all make for a song that can be played at least a dozen times in a row without even vaguely grating.


‘Garden Song’ is a track which makes plenty of writers get the ‘ethereal’ twitch. It is one of the great cliches of music writing and vastly overused, meaning that most of us run for the hills whenever it bubbles up from our subconscious, like ‘oeuvre’ and pissing ‘sophomore’. But I think that word probably does belong with ‘Garden Song’, given its constantly bubbling-under verses and its sort-of chorus. It’s the kind of song you need to be inside, without a sense of what is coming from the left and right speaker or headphone. When it swirls around you, it is meditative and remarkably personal.

The title track fits in with the largely sparse tone of the album despite feeling rather slight, while ‘Halloween’ continues in that fashion but possesses a nagging chorus. Its opening lyric “I hate living by the hospital, the sirens go all night” got rather mangled by the year’s events and I can’t hear it without thinking about a certain tweet I vividly recall from MSNBC broadcaster Katy Tur – who wrote an incredible account of Trump’s rise to power, ‘Unbelievable’ – describing New York’s horrific early days with the virus when she posted “The sirens seem worse than usual tonight.” It was distressingly simple, hugely emotive and a pithy encapsulation of where so many places were, had been or would be again. I know that’s not the song’s fault, but it’s forever attached in my mind.

The story in ‘Moon Song’ typifies the observational honesty of Bridgers’ writing, an aspect which aligns neatly with the media narrative around literary fiction of late. It takes a magnificent swipe at Eric Clapton and references a potentially entertaining row about John Lennon. ‘Savior Complex’ has a precise combination of strings and vocals that is arguably the most beautiful thing on ‘Punisher’, while the fever dream fairground shuffle that starts ‘I See You’ is a very special hook indeed. The knowingly epic conclusion of ‘I Know The End’ rubs me up the wrong way though.

Much of what I loved about her marvellous debut ‘Stranger In The Alps’ is present here, although the songwriting is clearly a step up and a more cohesive soundscape holds this record together more effectively than her debut. In some respects, ‘Punisher’ suffers slightly by meeting the very high expectations I had for it. It hasn’t exceeded them but it’s still a special record and one I’m sure will be well served by some distance from 2020.

Buy ‘Punisher’ from Banquet

Best of 2020: 16. Pet Shop Boys ‘ Hotspot’

The moment when it became clear to me that Chris Lowe was part of the choreographed dancing in the video for – one of the singles of the year – ‘Monkey Business’, was typical of the utterly unencumbered joy that this band can proffer. Their collective sense of humour is legendary, highlighted magnificently in the recently reissued Chris Heath tour biographies ‘Pet Shop Boys, Literally’ and ‘Pet Shop Boys Versus America’, as well as their glorious reissue sleeve notes and DVD commentaries. Neil Tennant’s love of words makes him an exquisite lyricist, whether dipping in to early totems like ‘It’s A Sin’ or 2016’s beautiful ‘The Pop Kids’.


A new PSB album is always cause for excitement, although January felt like the least appropriate time to unveil a record containing ‘Will-O-The-Wisp’, ‘Happy People’ and faintly ludicrous closer ‘Wedding In Berlin’. As it happened, a combination of needing dependable delights in early lockdown and the beautified editions of those two superlative books landed ensured it was a pretty prominent soundtrack to the early summer months. The variety of tones and fluctuation between mid-paced wist and synthetic banger is magical, managing to meld the best aspects of a number of late-period Pet Shop Boys albums. The pure pop nous of ‘Yes’ is here, as is the precision programming of ‘Electric’, and the more measured inclinations of ‘Release’ and ‘Elysium’ make an appearance also. 

‘Happy People’ has trademark reverb-heavy talky verses, falsetto euphoria from the chorus and then a frenetic middle eight build before it signs off with what seems to be a warped loop of church bells foreshadowing the final track. Excuse me while I play it six more times before moving on. It tees up ‘Dreamland’, which features Years & Years’ Olly Alexander and was the first single release from the album. Tennant and Alexander’s voices meld effortlessly on a buoyant, polished pop track which focuses on refugees amongst some more conventional love song vocabulary.

‘Hoping For A Miracle’ and ‘You Are The One’ can both seem a little slight when doing your cursory flick around the new releases on a Friday morning via your preferred artist-screwing streaming platform. It’s remarkable how much your mood at that point can dramatically affect the chance a new release gets. After my initial listens, both left little mark and I will confess I was rueing the low-key to upbeat ratio somewhat. However, as is so often the case with Tennant and Lowe, subsequent listens presented them more favourably as part of the constructed patchwork of ‘Hotspot’. Given their attention to detail with so many things, it seems logical to still take the tracklists of PSB albums as part of the process too. 

All of which does rather raise the issue of what is going on with the aforementioned ‘Wedding In Berlin’? It struck me as having been appended to a distinct album, without really forming much of a link with what had come before. Built around a sample from Mendelssohn’s ‘TheWedding March’ that seems to cut off just before you’d anticipate and punning on the name of an area of Berlin called ‘Wedding’, it feels a little frothy and throwaway. Discovering, via their commentary in this year’s ‘Annually’ book, that it was actually an audio wedding present for a friend whose ceremony they could not attend and that producer Stuart Price believed a stylistically tweaked version could work in these sessions did add some helpful context. It makes me smile a lot more now than it did at first, but it’s still a moderately ludicrous ending to an album. But I wouldn’t change it, much as I wouldn’t change them. The creative freedom and refusal to worry too much about what is expected is central to their ongoing appeal. Long may that last. 

Buy ‘Hotspot’ from Five Rise Records

Best of 2020: 17. Cornershop ‘England Is A Garden’

It was heartening to see the love for this album just as winter was coming to an end. It’s a record that sounded like it could engineer some of the most collectively joyful moments at the summer festivals and which would fill the nation’s venues with a huge, warm presence. A lot of people seemed to remember just how good Cornershop are and ‘England Is A Garden’ was certainly helping with that understanding. In the end, while its capacity for communal delight remains on pause, it achieved something not entirely dissimilar as one of the early subjects of Tim’s Twitter Listening Party. It wasn’t quite the raucous affairs that have since developed but it was lovely to witness people getting acquainted with this wonderful set of songs.


As someone who writes about vinyl a lot, I try to avoid the word warm. It is often deployed about the format, not necessarily incorrectly, with reference to the fact that – essentially – the inherent flaws in the nature of such a means of playback often round off the sound in an endearing and less clinical fashion than other media. But ‘England Is A Garden’ is warm in sound and in nature. Flutes, violins, synths and big, splashy drums abound across an album which was surely great fun to record. As is so often the case with Cornershop, most of these songs could go on forever and give the impression of being euphoric jams out of which have been carved infectious chunks of pop.

It works best listened to in its entirety, but so many of these tracks could enliven pretty much any playlist or compilation you should wish to assemble. ‘St Marie Under Canon’ is a strident, soulful opening with a naggingly emphatic organ part that is as central to the song’s brilliance as its thoroughly hummable chorus. ‘No Rock Save In Roll’ takes a similar tack, but fuzz guitar and sitar are the dominant instruments this time around. These two tracks sandwich the lilting, back of your trouser leg dragging on the floor behind you rhythm of ‘Slingshot’, which is contrasted with the lightest, most buoyant flute line dancing about overhead.

‘Highly Amplified’ has a giddily melodic flourish towards its conclusion, apparently because the lyrics were too short, while ‘Everywhere That Wog Army Roam’ is the catchiest song not to be played on the radio this year.  ‘I’m A Wooden Soldier’ is a repetitive bit of Bolan-esque glam with some Eighties computer game noises thrown in for a good measure while the title track offers a brief, instrumental interlude before ‘Cash Money’  seems to offer a slower take on the structure of ‘No Rock Save In Roll’.

The penultimate track, ‘One Uncareful Lady Owner’, is ridiculously catchy, with a Hanna-Barbera drum part,  sitar played after three bags of Skittles and a chorus that doesn’t so much win you over as somehow induce nostalgia for something you’ve never heard. It encapsulates in just under four minutes what is so great about this album. Cornershop have always defied convention with the structure of their albums and the length of some of their songs, but they do it from the position of constant melody. Hooks are their trade and, no matter where else they might wander en route, their songs are a true tonic.

Buy ‘England Is A Garden’ from Drift

Best of 2020: 18. Hen Ogledd ‘Free Humans’

As somebody who is pretty obsessed with music, I have a fairly constant internal jukebox which picks out little bits of melody here or whole songs there with which to occupy the flexible territory between conscious distractions and the sub-conscious. Yes, this includes standard earworms, of course, but I’ll sometimes transpose songs across genres and imagine unusual cover versions. I’ll blend similar hooks and blatant rip-offs, Jive Bunny style, into one big tune. It’s often noisy, mostly welcome and frequently becomes the menu for what I’ll listen to next. It is all the fun of music with none of the constraints. And that’s what ‘Free Humans’ sounds like to me.


The second album from the now established four piece configuration of the band, ‘Free Humans’ is infectious, erratic and genuinely unique. Hen Ogledd combines the musical and vocal efforts of Dawn Bothwell, Rhodri Davies, Sally Pilkington and Richard Dawson, whose fabulous album ‘2020’ made it into last year’s list. It will, even with one listen, remind you of dozens of songs, bands and genres but only in a fleeting fashion for each. Recorded over only three days, it contains an almost insultingly high number of ideas and is instantly loveable. The synth pop singalong of ‘Trouble’, for which Bothwell takes the lead, has a charmingly route one call and response approach to hollering its title. Once you learn that it is also the name of Dawson and Pilkington’s cat, the lyrics “Trouble is the name of my shadow” and “draped around my shoulders, finery” take on a clearer meaning and the delivery of the song’s name is situated in context.

‘Crimson Star’ deploys Dawson’s really rather affecting falsetto for its chorus and, just as it did on his previous solo album, it wins me over unreservedly. The combination of accent, the limit of his range and the joyous build to that melody is one of the pure pop pleasures of this dour year. Telling the tale of a nostalgic intergalactic cruise ship singer, it conjures glorious imagery in lines like “over tarry seas, through meadows of verdant ruby goes flapping the shape of a memory,” that lingers long in that mental jukebox of mine.

While some songs are far more conventionally poppy than others, the less conventional and textured tracks worm their way further into your affections over time. Davies takes centre stage on ‘Remains’, where the hook is “Good evening, radio audience” and synth washes do battle with noodly guitar parts and chiming percussion. It doesn’t sound like much – or at least not like anything endearing – written down, but the repetitive final section has a transcendent quality to it. One of the great talents of this particular working group is their ability to ensnare the listener and then elevate the music slowly but surely to a point of genuine delight.

Each of these songs deserves a mini-essay of their own, such is the diverse nature of ‘Free Humans’. ‘Time Party’ briefly goes Scissor Sisters at one point – and is bloody great for it – and then, just as you’re enjoying that, it’s the fucking Pet Shop Boys. Honestly, I implore you to listen to this album and see what it does for you. It won’t please all comers, but be sure to give it your full attention before making any judgements.

Oh, and don’t miss ‘Flickering Lights‘. It commences with an instrumental passage played on a church organ that features the celebratory, gradual ascension present in much of their work, but which is much more pronounced when performed with such a particular signature. The lyrics that are then delicately intoned by Dawson are stunningly beautiful. I know I’m quite fond of a touch of hyperbole but this story of a bereaved partner continuing conversations and imagining a familiar presence has moved me to tears on more than one occasion. It is pure, it is poetry, it is perfect.

Buy ‘Free Humans’ from Banquet

Best of 2020: 19. Owen Pallett ‘Island’

I have tended to struggle with “I could listen to them sing the phone book” as a description of an excellent voice over the years. If that were true, I wouldn’t get annoyed by moments like the ending of The Divine Comedy’s ‘Other People’ or numerous Paul McCartney songs. As a rule, the words matter, both in terms of their cohesive semantic purpose and their syllabic scansion. We’re only ever a few steps away from being the Outhere Brothers or Muse otherwise. And yet, when it comes to Owen Pallett, their voice really does possess a stirringly instrumental quality that bypasses my critical muscle and just makes me swoon. 


One of many surprise drops, as I believe we must now describe record releases that are defined by their streaming-led initial appearance, during the summer of lockdown, ‘Island’ was instantly available upon the announcement of its existence in late May. It is an immersive hour which builds on the use of instrumental interstitials deployed on several occasions during 2014’s triumph ‘In Conflict’, by embedding four such orchestral passages amongst nine more conventional songs, two of which reappear as alternative versions at the record’s conclusion.

Pallett has previously demonstrated their pristine knack for sharply transitional movements during songs and the truly magnificent ‘The Sound Of The Engines’ refines this process further. Can I make sense of the lyrics? – “Woke up in an ambulance, beaten and bleeding / The sound of the engines, oh, I am a wound un-healing” – possibly not, but it is an astonishing listen. Every time it seems to be taking a melodic arc away from the direction the listener might greedily desire, it swoops back with an emphatic confidence. 

‘A Bloody Morning’ is propelled by an ominous, muscular soundstage that steps away from the more sweepingly balletic tones that dominate elsewhere. It opens with the darkly humorous lines “Started drinking on the job and the job became easy / Keep my hands upon the wheel and my eyes to the sea” and evokes the ensuing storm with dense, threatening orchestration. The proverbial calm that follows the tempest appears with ‘In Darkness’ which offers advice to a troubled mind, telling them they “don’t need to die to be forgiven,” atop a resolving string motif. 

There is an overarching narrative at play that will be familiar to fans of Pallett’s previous work. The Lewis figure – a violent 14th-century farmer – that took off his shirt on 2010’s ‘Heartland’ and went into battle with his deific creator, the character Owen Pallett, at the end of that album returns a decade after his initial victory and the aforementioned storm represents an explosive reckoning for his feelings about that moment. A reconciliation of sorts means that ‘Lewis Gets Fucked Into Space’ – and you wonder why this hasn’t been all over the 6Music playlist – not long before the balm of ‘In Darkness’.

I can’t claim to fully understand it, but that was my point at the start. With Pallett, I’m not sure it’s necessary. Their work is absorbing, exciting and challenging but somehow familiar too. Whatever the specifics of the story at its heart, this is unshakeably human music.

Physical releases have finally been announced, including a DominoMart exclusive vinyl set which adds a demo LP to the standard 2LP edition. Buy it here. 

Best of 2020: 20. Bill Callahan ‘Gold Record’

When writing my much more sensible fun-size countdown last year, I commented that I found Bill Callahan’s ‘Shepherd In A Sheepskin Vest’ a little unwieldy given its breadth. It never did ascend to the kind of position occupied by ‘Apocalypse’, ‘Dream River’ and many Smog albums. Having broken a long period of  silence with that double album, it was something of a shock to then find him announcing another record so soon thereafter. The enjoyably titled ‘Gold Record’ was a much more immediate delight, with its languid, finger-plucked jackanory for tired adults tone.

golden record

Having published the magnificent lyrical collection ‘I Drive A Valance’ and an epistolary work of fiction, ‘Letters To Emma Bowlcut’, in the last decade, the blurring of the lines between songwriter and plain writer is ever more pronounced across these ten songs. Some are new pieces, others simply never fitted the times when they were written and ‘Let’s Move To The Country’ is a new take on the track from 1999’s superb ‘Knock Knock’, with some telling lyrical additions to finish sentences and update the story. Where once Callahan may have been more angular and less open, fatherhood and the all-encompassing embrace of family life would seem to have reshaped his perspective.

The narrative drive of ‘The Mackenzies’ steps between those two worlds, with an older man rushing out of his house to help a younger neighbour with car trouble. The latter then reflects,  “we never met before, despite living not door. I’m the type of guy who sees a neighbour outside and stays inside and hides. I’ll run that errand another time.” The joys of the resulting communal experience leave their mark, even as the older family’s tragic loss is revealed and the narrator is given a new role. It’s beautiful, both in terms of how it is delivered and how it is constructed.

‘Breakfast’ has a couple of the rather wonderful moments that occur from time to time in Callahan’s work where it sounds like there is some sort of performative power surge. The most notable occurs around the thirty second mark, where things seem to very briefly get caught up in a strong breeze against which the vocal stands strong. Opener ‘Pigeons’ invokes Johnny Cash and Leonard Cohen while focusing on the life of a wedding limo driver. Not only is his delivery of the word “limo” so on brand it’s quite magical, but it also contains some stirring lyrical economy: “well, they seemed like a match so I stopped looking for cracks in their road and just drove.”

As ever with Bill Callahan, this doesn’t work as backing music. The songs are laden with beguiling details, eloquent nuance and musical inflections that reward the dedicated listener. Similar to many of his albums before this, ‘Gold Record’ seeps into one’s consciousness and offers a commanding, immersive experience if given the chance. Anything that forces you to only do one thing in these times is very welcome indeed, but this writing will far outlast our current concerns.

Buy ‘Gold Record’ from Raves From The Grave

Best of 2020: 21. Georgia Ruth ‘Mai’

Years of record buying instills in you a sense of which names to trust when it comes to considering new purchases. At the start of this year, the pretty heavyweight trio of the Bubblewrap Collective label, Radio Wales legend and all round good bloke Adam Walton and singer-songwriter Georgia Ruth coalesced around me in referencing the latter’s then-forthcoming album, ‘Mai’. I wrote at length previously about my love for her debut Week Of Pines and the follow up, ‘Fossil Scale’, was also a delight, so I was always going to be on side. However, there is something enjoyably heartening about splendid people working with and championing splendid people.


Bubblewrap Collective, a Cardiff based record label, is the sort of institution to whose entire release schedule I would happily subscribe, safe in the knowledge I would receive everything they put out. Charlie Francis, Sweet Baboo, Ivan Moult, Eugene Capper & Rhodri Brooks and The Gentle Good have all had releases on their imprint and they currently have some very appealingly priced bundles available if you’re fond of your ears. At the same time they announced that ‘Mai’ would be coming out via them, Walton played a teaser track on his always excellent Saturday night show and a pre-order for the very limited initial vinyl run was placed.

The album had the misfortune of coming out just before the entire world turned to shit and had to battle back to the foreground once a degree of equilibrium had been found in the wobbly lines of lockdown. Returning to the town where she had grown up, Aberystwyth, following the birth of her son, Georgia Ruth wrote an album exploring the reshaping of the world that is triggered by parenthood and responding to the pastoral pull of place. Moving between Welsh, English and instrumental, language proves fluid as these pieces form a beautifully cohesive whole.

The bare bones of ‘7 Rooms’ considers that new arrival, with evocative imagery that somehow gives words to the purest of human emotions: “Between these two worlds I watch you through the dim light. You move like fire in the shadow; there is something bright in you.” My shameful lack of Welsh betrays the land of my father but I’ve always been a melody person and they are here in substantial numbers on songs like the glisteningly beguiling ‘Terracotta’ and title track ‘Mai’, which uses the words of a poem written by Eifion Wyn, ‘Gwn ei ddyfod, fis y mêl’ or ‘I know it’s coming, month-of-honey’. It took on unimaginable importance once the early summer months emerged from the initial shock of the big pause, despite the album sessions taking place in a week during spring 2019.

‘Close For Comfort’ might be the most direct route in, with its mix of infectious jangle and the forthright demonstration of Ruth’s phenomenally dextrous voice. It was what caught my attention on the ‘In Luna’ EP back in 2012 and continues to floor me now. Her ability to shift tone, intensity and intent is utterly hypnotic and it ensures the meaning breaks through even if you’re not fully cognisant of the lyrics. The mellifluous harp feels a little less prominent this time around, but it is foregrounded on the aching ‘In Bloom’, which uses the presentation of nature to explore the wider impact of a child upon a relationship.

As our mental health takes a battering, our certainties shift before our very eyes and the digital noise envelops us, albums like ‘Mai’ can transport us: to Aberystwyth, to memories of family experiences and to a deeply emotional response that pulls attention from what is damaging us.

Buy ‘Mai’ on vinyl from Drift

Best of 2020: 22. Jason Molina ‘Eight Gates’

I wish this album didn’t exist. It seems unlikely that it would have made it to release in this form were it not for the fact that Jason Molina died in 2013. Recorded in London during January 2009, it was the last studio session he would undertake and started a year that would end with a last minute cancellation of a planned tour with Will Johnson to promote their superlative collaboration ‘Molina  and Johnson’. Thereafter, little was heard of Molina until, in 2011, a family message was shared by his label, Secretly Canadian, that he was seriously ill and had been attending rehabilitation facilities. The confirmation of his alcoholism didn’t come until two years later, when the news of Molina’s passing brutally punctured an early spring day for many.

eight gates

I don’t know many people who quite like Molina. If his music clicks, it’s hard not to end up with most of it. There was always a Neil Young echo in there, whether on stark, acoustic beauties or the more full-bodied country-blues of much of his work as Magnolia Electric Co., but his voice is distinctive and oddly resonant. No matter the intensity of the backdrop, it can cut through from anywhere and command the room. The album ‘Magnolia Electric Co.’, technically the final album by his previous band Songs: Ohia, was when I first became aware of his work and almost all of his catalogue is in the space where I am currently writing this. Box sets, reissues and even Record Store Day 7″s are must buys, savouring every last bit of his output in the knowledge that it is finite.

The announcement of ‘Eight Gates’ came after the release of a lo-fi recording of ‘Live At La Chapelle’ from 2005 hinted at the very faintest signs of barrel scraping beginning to occur. As a result, trepidation was instilled ahead of early listens to this brief album. But, over twenty-five minutes, these nine songs prove themselves to be well worthy of a standalone release. Box set padding they are not, instead evoking aspects of another UK-based project, ‘The Lioness’ from 2000. As Molina’s music so often did, it captures the sound and space of the studio across a mixture of solo acoustic pieces and those augmented with mournful strings and wide-panned, open drums.

‘Shadow Answers The Wall’ features that expansive percussive drive that was a familiar presence on many of his records, pared with a groping bass line that asserts an air of malevolence. It is somewhat at odds with the occasional bursts of birdsong that pepper the album in reference to several green parrots who frequented his yard at the time. That he would surely have never opted for such a recurring motif himself serves as a reminder that ‘Eight Gates’ arrives in memory of and not as the start of another chapter.

Understandably, it is possible to find oneself reading far too much into lyrics that were never designed to carry the weight of their eventual circumstances. Take ‘The Mission’s End’, which concludes “this at the mission’s end, we’re all equal along this path.” Tempting as one obvious interpretation might be, the latter phrase actually offered some light in the middle of 2020, Molina’s well-loved violin of a vocal emitting a unifying nod to humanity’s endurance.

‘She Says’ is demonstrably the product of an early studio run through, prefaced by the comment “roll me for a few minutes here; see what I get,” although the rest of the slightly too route one pre-song chat feels like a blunt instrument: “The perfect take is as long as the person singing is still alive. That’s really it.” ‘Fire On The Rail’ proceeds against a distant, driving hum and ‘Be Told The Truth’ is elevated by a droning, aching accompaniment.

What I would give for a fully realised new album by Molina, in any of his guises. This is more than just a nod to past glories, a clearing of the decks, but ‘Eight Gates’ is not quite a Jason Molina album in the conventional sense. Despite this, it is still a striking, satisfying and sometimes saddening listen. In this year of all years, considering what is missing is perhaps as important as knowing what is there.

Buy ‘Eight Gates’ on CD from Drift (Don’t buy the vinyl – it’s noisy or warped or both)

Best of 2020: 23. Mirry ‘Mirry’

Whenever I commit to doing one of these countdowns on here, there are always a couple of albums which sneak in at the last moment. Several will be too late even for my shape-shifting list this year, but will get a special mention soon. However, ‘Mirry’ was sent to me in November by one of the team behind the independent record shop vinyl initiative Dinked, Rupert Morrison. He was, understandably, very excited about a title they were preparing to announce and which actually only came out on Friday. A full release will follow in February of 2021, but this early edition comes with alternative artwork and is on smoke-effect clear vinyl. As you can imagine, that last detail was hardly the one to clinch the deal.

mirry standard

What had me hooked was the music and the story of its creation. It is built upon the recordings of Mirabel Lomer, who was born at the turn of the twentieth century and spent much of her adult life as a carer, firstly to her elderly parents and then another couple in Wiltshire. Having grown up in a strict household where she was forbidden from playing music, she had secretly composed a selection of pieces for piano and they were captured on cassette by her brother. Thirty years ago, Lomer having passed during the preceding decade, musician Tom Fraser made a discovery during the house clearance that followed his grandfather’s death that would form the basis of this album. A scratched and battered Transco master disc had been tossed aside but Fraser tucked it in a box and put it to one side.

The time afforded by lockdown meant the disc was discovered once more and Fraser’s Great Aunt Mirry’s archived but unknown work was suddenly alive again. Using it as the basis for these pieces, he has collaborated with Simon Tong to produce some startling, lyrical and vivid soundscapes. Fans of Gavin Bryars and Virginia Astley should drop everything and get hold of a copy right now.

Perhaps most striking is the sense of decay. Notes drifting into the inky blackness, crackle from the abandoned disc, fragments of broken sound as generations are spanned in the studio. ‘Study In F’ is especially textured, at times evoking the burbling atmospherics of Nils Frahm’s stunning ‘Spaces’ set. Distorted beats play off against reverb-drenched, sparingly-sampled piano notes in one of the most modern sounding pieces here.

By contrast, album opener ‘Anthem’ begins with a section of the original recording all bathed in its contemporary hiss before a percussive scaffold emerges to elevate it in a suitably stately manner. One of the great achievements here is using the found sounds and inherent noise of the recording as such coherent textures. This isn’t like those moments when a producer who’s phoning it in opts for a bit of vinyl crackle at the start of a track in a misguided quest for authenticity. The noise is Mirry’s life, the moments when that disc got played and those performances were decoded as an analogue signal that reflected her own creativity back at her. It’s as central to the pieces as the birdsong on Astley’s absolute classic ‘From Gardens Where We Feel Secure’.

These pieces are quite remarkably coherent considering the distance in time, experience and instincts at play. ‘Consolation’ somehow sounds like a celebration of a life in under four minutes. Stately organ swells offer a sense of sombre service while playful claps position a lightness of spirit at the heart of proceedings. The creative urge kept so hidden by someone committed to the support of others is here honoured and evolved by musicians keen to bestow some care on the carer. I won’t spoil the end of ‘Anthem Reprise’ for you, but brace yourself.

Closer ‘Nicholas and Alexandra’ is a shimmering finale, an ascension of melody and deftness of touch that leaves these melodies as living things released from long-forgotten grooves. I’ve a feeling I’ll wish I had put this higher up the list when it reaches its conclusion, but even at this early stage of my relationship with ‘Mirry’ it’s clear that it is one to treasure.

Buy ‘Mirry’ from Drift