BEST OF 2019: Part 3 – 5 – 1

Having finished this, it possibly requires even further splitting up but, hey, it’s January now and nobody needs another end of year list being drawn out any longer than is strictly necessary. Still, strap in for a lengthy explanation of my top five favourites from 2019. What a year for music!

5. Weyes Blood – Titanic Rising [LISTEN]

Sometimes, an album just gradually takes over. You don’t expect it, you don’t realise how much you’re playing it and you suddenly twig that you know it inside out. The sweeping orchestral backdrops to many of the songs on ‘Titanic Rising’ have been on a loop in my subconscious for much of this year, occasionally getting loud enough for me to realise what it is I’m humming away at. The woozy swirl of ‘Andromeda’ is utterly hypnotic, Natalie Mering’s emphatic vocal exerting a gravitational pull on everything around it.

‘Everyday’ stomps about with an early-Seventies pop-rock swagger with hints of ELO and all sorts in there, while ‘Something To Believe’ builds to a full on late-Beatles, early-solo Macca crescendo that is on a par with most of Teenage Fanclub’s ‘Songs From Northern Britain’ as having the capacity to achieve a musical mental reboot. The bleepy synths take a curiously stately sideways turn towards the end of ‘Movies’ and ‘Wild Time’ evokes memories of (the soon to finally release another album) A Girl Called Eddy. ‘Picture Me Better’ feels like it belongs in the reflective moment of a redemptive musical and the instrumental conclusion that follows neatly rounds of a rather grandiose experience. It’s out of time and yet timeless. One for the contemplative hours of winter that lie ahead. 

4. Michael Kiwanuka – Kiwanuka [LISTEN]

I adored ‘Love and Hate’ but it came out in the year of no full listso I didn’t get to hammer that point home around 2016’s festivities. My emphatic Clash review is still online though, should you need any persuasion to give that corker a go. In the three years that followed, one whole album’s worth of material was scrapped and a fresh approach was taken. The epic Seventies soul of his second record is still at play here colliding with Nineties electric soul and 21^stcentury jazz, while David Axelrod symbolically twiddles with the controls. The scope is phenomenal and the ground covered on one record makes it feel like one of those ‘Buried Treasure’ titles you read about in Mojo which are pitched as world beaters. I appreciate I’m having my hyperbolic cake and eating it with that statement but a) it deserves it and b) that’s all the rage these days, right?

One moment of glory is when Kiwanuka’s lead vocal comes back in around the 2:15 mark of ‘I’ve Been Dazed’. Another is the string swell around 1:40 of ‘Piano Joint (This Kind Of Love). Then there’s the start of ‘Hero’ when it becomes clear that the recording has been tinkered with. What about the dragged-heel drum that brings back the beat four minutes into ‘Hard To Say Goodbye’? Oh, there is a great deal to love here. Crank it up on your preferred listening setup and let it do its thing. Michael Kiwanuka is a very special artist and I’m genuinely excited to see where he goes next.

3. Stella Donnelly – Beware Of The Dogs [LISTEN]

My Green Man envy was especially strong this year. Almost all of the most splendid people on my Twitter timeline were there and raving about various wondrous performances across those few idyllic days in the Welsh countryside. We’re wondering if it might be time to introduce the little one to the experience in the next year or two, but for now it’s all vicarious. Amongst the noise this time came much chat about Stella Donnelly. I’d seen the sleeve of her EP, ‘Thrush Metal’, posted online a few times but had listened without giving my full attention and moved on. This time, however, I thought I should probably investigate and what I found was a brilliant lyricist with some outrageously catchy songs.

The keening harmonies at the start of ‘Mosquito’ are more restorative than an afternoon nap. The mid-paced jangle of ‘Season’s Greetings’ is joyous, making its eventual conclusion all the more striking. Her voice is utterly brilliant, ascending majestically at times while being pointedly, ironically conversational at others. This is a performance in so many ways and this is an artist who truly understands the power of language, something I find myself gravitating towards more and more in this world so increasingly disinterested in experts and knowledge.

The twitchy rhythms of ‘Die’ and the Dubstar-ish ‘Watching Telly’ hark back to aspects of the Nineties indie fringe (scene, not Ashcroft) while the lilting title track is stunning building to such a potently ferocious conclusion. You might already know ‘Boys Will Be Boys’ from its appearance on that aforementioned EP, but that doesn’t negate what a brilliant song it is. The combination of some meticulous lyrics, a ranging, raw vocal and a sparse electric guitar accompaniment make for something truly potent.

It’s funny, it’s shocking, it’s righteously furious and it is oh so very great.

2. Purple Mountains – Purple Mountains [LISTEN]

I genuinely think any of the big five albums of 2019 could have been list toppers in other years. What a record this is. The music of Silver Jews had been in my peripheral hearing for some time but, for whatever reason that massively escapes me right now, I hadn’t ever really taken the time to appreciate what was so clearly a band ideally suited to my tastes. That group was parked in the late-Noughties and its leader, David Berman, retreated from the spotlight for almost a decade. His re-emergence under the name Purple Mountains in 2019 was a cause for much celebration in certain quarters and the lead single, ‘All My Happiness Is Gone’, quickly caught my ear. But, still, I didn’t follow the thread. It was only when the horrible news of his death emerged in August that I read so many compelling pieces about his work that I properly took the time.

If you don’t know his music, be sure to listen to ‘American Water’, ‘Starlite Walker’, ‘The Natural Bridge’ and ‘Bright Flight’ some time soon. And then the rest. And then buy ‘Actual Air’, his recently reprinted and often stunning poetry collection. The first song on the eponymous Purple Mountains has the following stanza labelled as the chorus in his handwritten lyrics:

“A setback can be a setup

for a comeback if you don’t let up

but this kind of hurting won’t heal.

The end of all wanting is all I’ve been wanting

and that’s just the way that I feel.”

Echoes of ‘Blackstar’ abounded as some of his biggest fans expressed disbelief that they hadn’t seen it there, right in front of them, when they had first played the album. It is, of course, one of those records that will now forever be entwined with the circumstances close to its release. Berman was due to go on his first tour in an age only days after the point when he ended his life and there was such visceral shock from those to whom his music had always meant so much. I’ve since joined those ranks, but I’ve got a lot of catching up to do.

Let’s not generalise this record and overthink every lyric. The luscious wash of ‘Snow Is Falling In Manhattan’ is utterly gorgeous, despite a chorus that just involves the word “snow” being repeated with its vowel elongated to varying extents. And then there’s the lyric to ‘Maybe I’m The Only One For Me’. Whatever the subtext, “If no-one’s fond of fucking me, maybe no-one’s fucking fond of me” is a hilariously brilliant line.

This will be heralded as a masterpiece one day, so let’s just get in ahead of the crowd. A truly, truly special album.

1. The National – I Am Easy To Find [LISTEN]

With a couple of weeks remaining before Christmas, Cardiff’s Motorpoint Arena played host to arguably my band of the decade, The National. ‘High Violet’ was the moment where I truly fell in love and I have written at length previously about how it got me through a pretty grim year. Curiously, they have offered that service several times since and ‘I Am Easy To Find’ has been ballast and balm in the choppy waters of 2019. I have listened to this album more than any other in the past twelve months, and by some stretch. Not since ‘High Violet’ has an album dominated my listening quite so much and it actually reminded me of the pre-digital era when you would play your purchases over and over to make sure they seemed like good value. It was off-line on my phone, the first thing streaming in hi-res when I finally embraced the 21^stcentury and added a streamer to my setup and, I’m slightly embarrassed to admit, I own three different vinyl editions of this record. Not the red swirly bollocks though, obviously. To witness these songs played live was something incredibly special. Screens offered images adorned with the paint streaks of the artwork, while an audience resisted the temptation to talk through the slow ones. ‘Quiet Light’ had me moist-eyed within the first ten minutes and by the time the audience singalong of ‘Vanderlyle Crybaby Geeks’ neared its conclusion I was in a state of near-euphoria. Not at all bad given the state of the world right now. Seriously, look at this setlist.

I could wang on about this record for longer than it takes to play the thing. It’s one thing to work with a range of female vocalists across the course of an album, but it’s quite another to find such utterly perfect fits. Gail Ann Dorsey is a sensational choice, elevating ‘Hey Rosey’ and ‘You Had Your Soul With You’ to stratospheric heights, her voice the note perfect foil for Matt Berninger’s ageing creak. Kate Stables’ work on the title track and long-term live favourite ‘Rylan’ is similarly glorious and when both combine with Lisa Hannigan on ‘Not In Kansas’ it’s very special indeed. That track in particular is one highlight amongst many. Lyrically, it is immense, sprawling all over the place in a piece which is split into several movements. Evocative landscapes emerge:

“My bedroom is a stranger’s gunroom

Ohio’s in a downward spiral

Can’t go back there anymore

Since alt-right opium went viral”

both offering political heartache and plain nostalgia:

“I’m binging hard on Annette Bening

And listening to R.E.M. again

Begin The Begin over and over

Begin The Begin over and over.”

It’s somewhere between songwriting, poetry and performance art and as much as I understand why it didn’t make it to a live setting, I would have appreciated the opportunity to see if my emotions exploded in its presence.

The aforementioned title track is staggeringly pretty, the lift in Stables’ voice on the line “if you ever come around this way again you’ll see me” one of my favourite musical moments of 2019. And all this is without mentioning ‘Where Is Her Head’ featuring Eve Owen, a British singer-songwriter just embarking on her career. She takes the lead on a frantic charge, proving to be the fourth perfect additional voice for this band to be used on one album. I understand why the purists might not be able to trace the line from ‘Alligator’ to here but I feel like they are massively missing out.

‘So Far So Fast’ is a curious beast, with six and a half minutes of fidgeting synths below Lisa Hannigan’s glacial poise, Berninger’s emphatic mid-song participation and skittering percussion. It’s unlike anything else on the album and utterly beautiful in its assertively slow pace. And let’s not forget the majesty of ‘Hairpin Turns’, with Dorsey and Hannigan, and closer ‘Light Years’ which evokes the joys of non-album single and soundtrack piece ‘Exile Vilify’.

The art direction is magnificent and the accompanying film offers an interesting route into the songs. The lyric booklet included with the vinyl is a delight and I can’t think of a single thing I’d want to change about the whole album. It hasn’t been a critical favourite in the end of year lists, possibly because they’re established, it’s quite slow and pretty long. But, honestly, don’t see any of those things as negatives because they oh so emphatically are not once you actually hear the thing.

I Am Easy To Find over and over

I Am Easy To Find over and over.

BEST OF 2017: 3. The National ‘Sleep Well Beast’

As an opener, ‘Nobody Else Will Be There’ suggests that the languid mid-pace favoured on ‘Trouble Will Find Me’ is now the norm for a band previously capable of working themselves up into a twitching frenzy. However, not only does this track possess some lovely textures and a loose, spacious mood that rewards close listening, but it also fails to fully represent what follows. That 2013 effort remains a wonderful record which, as the 2017 review narrative has declared must be stated, now attracts criticism for being too polished and one-paced. It’s not true, but it did lack the spasming riffs and fizzing, writhing vocals of Matt Berninger at his most effervescent.

By the time ‘Day I Die’ has clattered into view as the second track, any such retrograde anxieties will be appeased. It bristles with a ragged, screeching, monumentally catchy riff that is repeatedly let fly across Bryan Devendorf’s unstoppable drums. There’s plenty of musical light and shade on this record, even if the majority of the lyrics are looking at the complexities of middle-age discontentment, when the familiar becomes jarringly so. “Forget it. Nothing I change changes anything,” sings Berninger on ‘Walk It Back’, while ‘Guilty Party’ deploys some skittering electronics below stately piano as our narrator, and it does feel a little like living in a Richard Yates novel at times, tell us “I know it’s not working, I’m no holiday” and “We just got nothing, nothing left to say.” Just as, seven years ago, I wrote about the joys of wallowing in the mood of this band’s music, there is still an oddly enveloping quality to these desperately sad snapshots.

The Carin of ‘Carin At The Liquor Store’ is Berninger’s wife and, it transpires, co-lyricist. Fact, fiction, bit of both? Who knows? As someone who spent much of Christmas Day and Boxing Day rebuffing attempts to be told the marital affairs of various actors and presenters by relatives who spend far too much time browsing MailOnline, I have only marginal interest in the specificity of these things. As much as I love a decent music biography, I’m not sure I need to know which aspects are mutated and which are verbatim to adore the barely vertical, on and off the beat vocal performance that seems to tumble from Berninger’s mouth on this song. It’s utterly, utterly glorious and not even being dedicated to Morrissey on Later… can spoil it for me.

‘The System Only Dreams In Total Darkness’ was a very fine way to tease the album’s release, with its early signs of the almost mischievous horns that pepper these songs, a righteous guitar break that elevates the track towards its oddly euphoric conclusion and a chorus you could use as a landmark in heavy weather. And then there’s ‘Turtleneck’, which feels deliriously primal amongst so much carefully layered music, with raspy, shouty vocals and everything-turned-up-to-ten garage rock.

There’s plenty more besides, such as the shimmering ache of ‘Born To Beg’ and the glittering but gnarly musical collisions of ‘I’ll Still Destroy You’, on what is a truly impressive step forward. You’ll always have those people who tell you that they’ve been putting out the same record for a decade, but that’s their loss. Indeed, this is arguably the biggest evolution of their sound since 2007’s ‘Boxer’, but I’m glad I didn’t go anywhere near it for reviewing purposes. It benefits from time and a variety of circumstances, slowly unpacking itself before you. It is one of the records of 2017 to which I have turned most frequently and which has proved hard to shift from in-car systems and the turntable alike. Always, always worth the wait, The National have yet again delivered a record that toys with your feelings with the same dexterity as some of the world’s finest writers.

BEST OF 2013: 8. The National – Trouble Will Find Me

There’s a moment at the end of ‘I Need My Girl’ when several layers of whirling synth collide, seeming to take off and leave the song behind. Within twenty seconds, they drop back down to earth and themselves disappear into ‘Humiliation’. It is a small moment on a big album, but it’s one of a considerable number of delicately manoeuvred sonic tingles to be found herein.

This is the album by The National that all made sense first time, whether it’s because of how well primed we all are now or the simple fact that, like R.E.M. before them, they have refined their sound to the point where we approach within certain parameters, waiting to be delighted. Having said, when writing about Midlake, that we don’t actually want our favourite bands to keep doing the same thing, I can’t pretend I wasn’t delighted to be on the receiving end of a new album by The National with obvious lineage from ‘Boxer’ and ‘High Violet’. It is, once again, a step on but both musically and commercially, they seem to be an unrelenting upward trajectory. The only downside to this that occasionally curdles in the mind is the concern as to how many more steps there are to U2 territory?

Not that such gory thoughts are needed right now. The classic slow-fast-slow mechanism is deployed liberally, but that is not to say it has grown tired, for who else is quite so adept at those often euphoric gear changes right now? It is a mighty skill and one which sits neatly alongside their devotion to detail. Matt Berninger’s vocals continue to tread the delicate line between somnambulant mumble and cerebral ache, rich and inviting at all points. ‘Demons’ was a fine choice of track with which to tease the album’s arrival, its juddering pace and almost grudging vocal the perfect vehicle for some fantastically evocative lyrics. “I am secretly in love with, everyone that I grew up with,” taps into a whole world of peculiar regrets and self-doubt, expanding on it with the exasperated, if wry, “when I walk into a room, I do not light it up… fuck!” The imagery of songs like ‘Karen’ (“to ballerina on the coffee table, cock in hand”) may have been scaled back but the guard has been dropped a little as a song title like the afore-mentioned ‘I Need My Girl’ confirms.

The troubling twitch at the heart of ‘Sea Of Love’ is glorious, the sheer intensity of the verses building to a point of claustrophobia. The song’s brilliant video actually captures this perfectly, despite doing very little at all. During the weeks of obsessive listening that resulted from the album’s arrival, ‘Fireproof’ was the standout track, with its focus on dealing with someone who never cracks under the strain, who never seems to weaken. The skittering percussion is intermittently undercut by a warped drone and the troubled strings confirm the anxiety at the song’s heart.

However, with months having passed and many, many plays of the record along, it is ‘Pink Rabbits’ to which I now gravitate most keenly. Partly, it was Caitlin Rose‘s truly magical take on this song that made me fully appreciate its powers, (the Rose version really has to be heard, if only for the transcendent delivery of the line “Now I only think about Los Angeles when the sun kicks out.” Seriously, strap yourself, sit back and prepare a moist eye,) but I increasingly found myself delighted to be in the latter stages of the album because of what was still to come.  No dumping of the stooge in the wasteland of track numbers in double figures here. The expression of the pain of unrequited love in this song – “I was a television version of a person with a broken heart” – is another example of Berninger’s knack for a lyric, a stand out line amongst many other crackers. The closing refrain of “you said it would be painless, it wasn’t that at all” might well have been the best place to leave ‘Trouble Will Find Me’ as, although ‘Hard To Find’ is no slacker, the emotions have peaked.

I find The National hard to write about. I had the exact same problem when ‘High Violet’ knocked me for six three years ago. This particular fact perhaps highlights better than a paragraph or three just why their albums are so special. They feel right, like a nicely cut suit or an expensive pair of shoes. Their music seems to mould itself to your emotions and to swell like a gas when you need it. They can be all-consuming and utterly essential when you need that tune to steady yourself. This is an excellent album, entirely deserving of the plaudits it has received. But, to me, it’s more than that. You’ll just have to take my word for it.

Bloody Awful Poetry – The Importance Of Lyrics

I’ve never really been a lyrics person. The melodies are what bring this boy to the yard. Even tiny moments where a piano puts in a brief appearance thirty seconds from the end of a song or when two voices combine to momentarily melt my innards tend to take precedence over a witty couplet or a heartfelt character assassination. Which is not to say I don’t appreciate fine word-smithery, more that it’s something I gradually acknowledge as the music becomes familiar. Whilst writing about John Grant‘s new album recently, it occurred to me that much of his coruscating honesty had already registered. So, am I paying more attention to artists whose lyrics I know I enjoy, in the same way I try not to listen too carefully to others, or do well-crafted words leap out at you uninvited?

These thoughts were prompted whilst finally reading Paul Whitelaw’s excellent biography of Belle & Sebastian which has unfairly sat on various shelves for several years. The author explores the time when Stuart Murdoch and Isobel Campbell’s relationship hit the skids and the latter prepared for an exit from the band she’d once loved. Having been portrayed as something of a pushover, accommodating Campbell’s numerous whims, Murdoch finally snaps and pours out his angry heart into several brutal lyrics: lyrics to songs on which Campbell actually performs. ‘I’m Waking Up To Us’ juxtaposes a typically jaunty melody with this blunt assessment, “You like yourself and you like men to kiss your arse, expensive clothes; please stop me there. I think I’m waking up to us: we’re a disaster.” I’ve listened to that song plenty of times and noted the acerbic tones in passing, but never before had I really stopped and processed the cumulative sense of bereavement and bitterness in that lyric.

Click the images or scroll down for a Spotify playlist linked to this piece

When a lyric clicks – whether on first or fiftieth play – I tend to cling to a perfectly quotable line or two, keenly anticipating their arrival whenever I hear the song in full thereafter. This, of course, is once again slightly missing the point. The subsequent explanation in ‘I’m Waking Up To Us’ softens the blows somewhat, but for me a well chosen couplet functions much like a musical hook: a euphoric moment in a track which sets my brain alight.

There are plenty of narrative lyrics which hold my attention from start to finish – not least Clarence Carter’s ever wonderful ‘Patches’, to give but one splendid example – but I was raised on a diet of early 90s chart music and then the linguistic pillage that was Britpop. When Rick Witter and Noel Gallagher are foisting their words into your ears, sometimes it’s better to just zone out. Britpop was all about the tunes – most of them stolen – and bellowing out nonsense like “slowly walking down the hall, faster than a cannonball” or “he takes all manner of pills and piles up analyst bills in the country” without any great focus on what the fuck it actually meant. It’s why Jarvis stood out so prominently at the time and the focus was kept largely on the riffs. As an impressionable teenager, I swallowed the Manics’ shtick whole and rather liked the idea of moulding my own sense of my intelligence via their raft of sleeve quotations and passing literary references in interviews. They were my saving grace, my flag in the summit, my band. Looking back now, still very much in love with most of their catalogue, I’m thankfully rather less possessed of a sense of my own self-importance and can see that endless droning about the clever quotation at the end of ‘The Masses Against The Classes’ and the painful need to try and find some merit in the ill-advised of ‘S.Y.M.M.’ was very much of the moment.

This more mature listener can now be found sniggering at pop smashes laced with not especially subtle innuendo. I shared a house whilst at uni with a lad with a slighty unhealthy obsession with Rachel Stevens and can still remember the day he found out about her webbed toes. His ungentlemanly fantasies were never quite the same again, although I suspect they were reignited a few years later when, chasing credibility, headlines and internet chatter, she released ‘I Said Never Again (But Here We Are).’ It doesn’t take a professor of the double entendre to spot the conceit at the heart of this particular lyric, perhaps best exemplified by the demure couplet: “I feel such a traitor, oh I let you in my back door.” Quite. And while I can barely remember more than the odd line of Dylan’s vast and exceptionally worth back catalogue, I am forever blessed with the memory of a member of S Club 7’s paean to anal sex.

I like to think that the various characters responsible for writing many of the nation’s biggest chart hits spend hours daring each other to get ludicrous phrases into their lyrics in the same way we also used to offer a quid to anyone who could manoeuvre fatuous pairings like ‘irate penguin’ into history essays*. Where else could things like ‘let’s go, Eskimo’ come from? Indeed, Girls Aloud deserve a special mention at this point. I loved almost all of their singles as a result of them being utterly and irresistibly catchy, but the lyrics were all over the place. The Rachel Stevens award for pop music traitordom went to ‘Something Kinda Ooooh’ for ‘“Something kinda ooooh, bumpin’ in the back room,” whilst recent best of filler, ‘Beautiful Cause You Love Me’ contained one of the most unintentionally hilarious couplets ever to make the charts: “Standin’ over the basin, I’ve been washin’ my face in.” Oh yes! Still, isn’t it funny how I’m so willing to make excuses for that, raising an eyebrow and proffering a wry smirk, but get my critical arsenal out for the likes of Shed Seven and the Stereophonics?

It’s possible that I draw a line somewhere between brash pop music and the notional integrity of indie rock, but even writing that makes me think that’s quite a pathetic standpoint to occupy. And, frankly, those two bands are very easy targets. I did own a few Sheds singles at one point but quickly grew tired of lyrics like: “She left me with no hope, it’s all gone up in smoke. She didn’t invite me, rode off with a donkey.” Truly, what the fuck is that all about? But is it any different to talk of Eskimos or pushing the button? Some bands even make a virtue of their lyrics being woefully undercooked, Kelly Jones seeming quite happy to dish up baffling non sequiturs for a bit of rawk gravel every couple of years. For recent comeback merchants Suede, it seemed that petroleum and gasoline were never far from Brett Anderson’s lyric book.

During their first reinvention, the band released the glorious ‘Beautiful Ones’, which kept Shell happy and managed a burst of imagery which might go down well with Rachel Stevens’ team of writers: “high on diesel and gasoline psycho for drum machine, shaking their bits to the hits.” The true nadir came during the utterly off their tits phase of ‘Head Music’ and ‘She’s In Fashion’ with the profound couplet “and she’s the taste of gasoline, and she’s as similar as you can get to the shape of a cigarette.” Everyone knew those lyrics were shit, but everyone nodded along and enjoyed the tunes. Suede would be mocked mercilessly for such slap-dash songwriting in the same piece as being awarded Single Of The Week. It’s just what they do, you see. ‘Bloodsports’ would suggest that things haven’t changed too much during the cleaner years.

But what of the bands almost immune from criticism, revered at every turn and held aloft as artists of a generation? Clearly, Radiohead have come out with some very peculiar lyrics over the years but I took as my example one of my absolute favourite songs of theirs, ‘Weird Fishes / Arpeggi’. I love it, as I’ve explained at length elsewhere, particularly because of the vocal interplay in the third verse. Couldn’t give the most minute of shits what is being said, I just go all wobbly when that moment hits. EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. And what of the song’s lyrics? “I get eaten by the worms and weird fishes,” is neither especially good nor especially bad, but in the track itself Thom is doing his level best to use his vocal as simply another instrument anyway. Straight out of the Michael Stipe school of art-rock mumbling and in no way detrimental to the power of the song.

But look back at old school folders and you’ll see band logos and fragments of lyrics all over the place. Do they matter more at that age? Is our increasing exposure to pretty much anything ever made as soon as we want it robbing us of the opportunity to absorb the true heart of the songs we hear? The feeling of being blindsided by a great bit of writing is still one of joyous intensity, whatever the frequency. I can still remember listening to ‘Karen’ by The National and thinking, ‘hang on a minute. What did he just sing?’ at the lyric, “It’s a common fetish for a doting man, to ballerina on the coffee table, cock in hand.” How’s that for imagery, tutu jumpers and back door monitors?

Just as the whole ‘but what does it really mean?’ question at school nearly put me off poetry for life, I increasingly realise that I don’t need to understand what they’re on about, preferring to simply bask in the occasional majesty that nonchalantly drifts out of the speakers. Whether it’s new stuff like Martin Rossiter’s ‘I Must Be Jesus’ – “If life’s unkind, then you must be divine. And, yes, I do mean literally” – or the returning triumph of an old friend – “Oh, I didn’t realise that you wrote poetry. I didn’t realise you wrote such bloody awful poetry, Mr. Shankly” – I rather like not looking too hard. If it takes a rock biog to finally make me realise that something clever has been going on under my nose without me ever noticing, then so be it. The alchemy of great songwriting is way out of my reach and, while I’m never shy about casting the first (or second or third) stone when critiquing a record, I’ll always keep listening with the hope and expectation that I will find something truly magical. No problem so far.

*E.g. Disraeli was left, like an irate penguin, snubbed by Peel despite Gladstone’s appointment to the government

BEST OF 2011: Single Of The Year–The National ‘Think You Can Wait’ / ‘Exile Vilify’

There were plenty of excellent tracks this year, and there’ll be another playlist to that effect in the next few days, but right at the top is this double-header. Having been responsible for my second favourite album of 2010, ‘High Violet’, The National were a band I wasn’t expecting to hear anything new from this year, particularly in light of the expanded edition of the album having appeared to mop up anything else we hadn’t heard.

But then in March came the quiet release of ‘Think You Can Wait’, from the soundtrack to ‘sports comedy-drama’ ‘Win Win’. It was initially just available as a download and very little fuss was made about it. Which is, frankly, ridiculous. With an echoing piano refrain we’re underway before the vocal delivery so beautifully presented on the slower moments of ‘High Violet’ puts in another appearance. What really elevates this track to greatness is the sparingly used backing vocal of Sharon Van Etten whose lulling tones sit beneath Matt Berninger’s voice as if they were made to be together. Similarly, the melding of strings and piano towards the end of the song is as close I’m ever going to get to describing a piece of music as poetic. Just as certain tracks – for me ‘Lemonworld’ and ‘Sorrow’ – on ‘High Violet’ crept up on you over time, while the big guns initially held your attention, ‘Think You Can Wait’ possesses a slightly hypnotic rhythm, delicately lulling you into submission and provoking the gentle headphone-wearer’s nod. As a one-off single, it had no right to be this good. I felt spoilt.

However, as if this wasn’t enough, in April we were treated to ‘Exile Vilify’ from the ‘Portal 2’ soundtrack. Built around stately piano, topped off with gorgeous baritone backing vocals and anxious strings, it is a wonder to behold. I rarely play things twice in one go. If I’m reviewing an album on a short deadline it might happen but otherwise it needs to be something truly stunning to have me starting it over again straight away. The day I downloaded ‘Exile Vilify’, I think I must have played it nine or ten times in a row, and all it did was make me love it more and more. It moved me to tears, it got inside my head, it left me amazed that this was even better than ‘Think You Can Wait’, albeit not by too much. The whole thing proceeds at a solemn pace, with cathartic swells and great lines like ”You’re thinking too fast, like marbles on glass.” Try listening only once.

Having received such a warm response, the band decided to put these two songs out as a double A-sided transparent 7” vinyl. It’s a glorious little item, released via their website only but it still seems a massive shame that these two songs are destined to become a footnote to the ‘High Violet’ era of The National. Had they been on the album, they’d have been rightly lauded for the fine, fine songs they are. The tracks remain available to download or stream separately, but if you buy the (admittedly not cheap) vinyl pressing you’ll have a delicious physical item and access to lossless downloads of both songs. Treat yourself, it’s Christmas.

By clicking on the cover, as with every Best of 2011 post, you can load the music I’m talking about. However, as they were initially released separately, you’ll need to go here for ‘Exile Vilify’. It‘s worth it.

2. The National–High Violet

One night, back in May, a sprawling, vaguely tipsy conversation had alighted on whether writing could truly convey one’s thoughts, as sometimes we have the capacity to think, to feel, to experience without having the appropriate vocabulary on hand to adequately represent those particular moments in our lives. Although the original subject matter had been literature, it didn’t take me long to steer it towards the inevitable terrain of music and the example I found myself citing was this very album: ‘High Violet’. It’s an album which can defy description – but please don’t stop reading, I think I’ve just about cracked it.

I’d been listening to it on the train en route that night, staring out wistfully at the rapidly changing sights before they retreated into the distance. It seemed so perfectly suited to that moment. But it had also seemed perfectly suited as an accompaniment to an early morning walk to my local sorting office some days prior to that, the propulsion of Bryan Devendorf’s drumming falling sweetly in line with my determined pace. Indeed, this record is seemingly the perfect soundtrack to life itself, having spent much of the year with it never far from my grasp. ‘High Violet’ was released at a tricky point in the year for me and has ended up as one of those ‘records that define a period in your life’, a title that is handed out so rarely that I still feel a little odd writing it now. Perhaps that is why I have frequently struggled to find the words to describe exactly what is so great about ‘High Violet’ – I don’t want to explain it, I don’t want to box it off, say “done” and move on, leaving this record behind as a classic of a certain year. It’s been a very long time since I’ve been truly head over heels with a record and it’s a feeling I’d like to last as long as possible because it’s an absolute joy, something I’ve been lucky enough to experience with two albums this year.

But, if I carry on writing about not writing, I’m going to end up coming across as some sort of sub-Paul Morley twerp and that really isn’t my intention. This record is littered with slow-burning melodies that catch you unawares and then lay siege to your mind in five or six second loops for days on end. Initial listens might not convince you that you’re in the presence of greatness, but make an exception, for me. Try it a couple of times back to back, see which tracks start to dominate, which guitar refrains resonate with you and which moments of understated vocal performance really communicate a sense of paranoia, frustration or loss. Which is not to say that this is either a depressing album or an album in which one might wallow. Yes, Matt Berninger’s baritone hardly conjures images of rolling green fields and sunny evenings, but, as with the Tindersticks, this doesn’t automatically make for gloomy music. There are moments on ‘High Violet’ that are plain euphoric; I’ve found myself over-enthusiastically air-drumming to ‘Conversation 16’ and recent single ‘Bloodbuzz Ohio’, while the choruses of both ‘Anyone’s Ghost’ and ‘Afraid Of Everyone’, even despite the latter’s obviously bleak outlook, have restorative effects far beyond mere food and drink.

The cohesive nature of this album ensures that I can’t just hear one song from it; I need to hear them all. Ticking all of the boxes for a first track, ‘Terrible Love’ slowly builds from fuzzy uncertainty to layered enormity with true class and the washes of sound establish a fairly consistent approach for the subsequent ten tunes. The purple patch from ‘Afraid Of `Everyone’ to ‘Conversation 16‘, comprising five songs in all, is as good a run of tracks on any release I’ve heard so far this year. Recently released in an ‘Expanded Version’, including a re-working of that tremendous opening track which smoothed things up and added stadium drums and several new tracks good enough to belong on the main album itself. ‘Wake Up Your Saints’ is a strident beast of a song and the poppiest thing on either disc, suggesting that The National are close to what some are calling their ‘R.E.M. moment’ with the next album.

‘High Violet’ is the single most complete rock record I’ve heard in yonks. It fits together as one unit of eleven tunes which simply belong together. These are ambitious songs, delivered on a grand scale, without losing sight of the end goal. These aren’t airbrushed out of existence like Kings Of Leon and they’re just not confident enough to sound like the aforementioned R.E.M. The fidgety nature of Berninger’s delivery, part anxious, part ‘Murmur’, is absolutely consuming and I still adore putting this album on. There hasn’t been a moment since I first heard it where I have grown tired of it, or even a song upon it. It would, in any other year, have walked the Number One slot in this list and, in the early stages at least, very nearly did. Its runner-up position should not detract from its remarkable nature, nor suggest that it is anything other than of my truly cherished records. Enjoy.

A Week With… 17. The National – High Violet

Never has the title of this feature been more accurate than with this particular record. It has completely dominated the musical landscape of the last seven days. And yet, despite all of this, I find myself unable to conjure the words to successfully articulate quite why I am so utterly besotted with this particular collection of eleven songs by a band I’ve previously liked, rather than loved. I’ve already consigned three abortive attempts at this review to the binary wasteland and I’d begun to think that it just wasn’t to be. But then last night things changed.

A sprawling conversation had alighted on whether writing could truly convey thoughts, as sometimes we have the capacity to think, to feel, to experience without having the appropriate vocabulary on hand to adequately represent those particular moments in our lives. Although the original subject matter had been literature, it didn’t take me long to steer it towards the inevitable terrain of music and the example I found myself citing was this very album: ‘High Violet’. I’d been listening to it on the train en route last night, staring out wistfully at the rapidly changing sights before they retreated into the distance. It seemed so perfectly suited to that moment. But it had also seemed perfectly suited as an accompaniment to an early morning walk to my local sorting office last weekend, the propulsion of Bryan Devendorf’s drumming falling sweetly in line with my determined pace. Indeed, this record is seemingly the perfect soundtrack to life itself, for now at least. Having much to mull over at present and with a number of weeks to play out before any solace might be sought, it could well be that ‘High Violet’ is heading for that curious status of ‘record that defines a period in my life’, a title that is handed out so rarely that it’s hard to conceive of it being plausible barely a week after the album’s appearance. Perhaps that is why I can’t quite find the words right now – I don’t want to explain it, I don’t want to box it off, say “done” and move on to the next feature. It’s been a very long time since I’ve been truly head over heels with a record and it’s a feeling I’d like to last as long as possible because it’s an absolute joy.

But, if I carry on writing about not writing, I’m going to end up coming across as some sort of sub-Paul Morley twerp and that really isn’t my intention. This record is littered with slow-burning melodies that catch you unawares and then lay siege to your mind in five or six second loops for days on end. Initial listens might not convince you that you’re in the presence of greatness, but make an exception, for me. Try it a couple of times back to back, see which tracks start to dominate, which guitar refrains resonate with you and which moments of understated vocal performance really communicate a sense of paranoia, frustration or loss. Which is not to say that this is either a depressing album or an album in which one might wallow. Yes, Matt Berninger’s baritone hardly conjures images of rolling green fields and sunny evenings, but, as with the Tindersticks, this doesn’t automatically make for gloomy music. There are moments on ‘High Violet’ that are plain euphoric; I’ve found myself over-enthusiastically air-drumming to ‘Conversation 16’ and recent single ‘Bloodbuzz Ohio’, while the choruses of both ‘Anyone’s Ghost’ and ‘Afraid Of Anyone’, even despite the latter’s obviously bleak outlook, have restorative effects far beyond mere food and drink.

The cohesive nature of this album ensures that I can’t just hear one song from it; I need to hear them all. Ticking all of the boxes for a first track, ‘Terrible Love’ slowly builds from fuzzy uncertainty to layered enormity with true class and the washes of sound establish a fairly consistent approach for the subsequent ten tunes. The purple patch from ‘Afraid Of Anyone’ to ‘Conversation 16‘, comprising five songs in all, is as good a run of tracks on any release I’ve heard so far this year. Neil Hannon, guesting on this week’s Roundtable on 6 Music, commented on how The National sound unashamedly like The National and that, for all the influences and reference points across the album, they have a unique musical style. And he’s not wrong. The ultimate aim of this piece is to get you to explore that particular sound, to click on one of these YouTube videos or to launch the album in Spotify via the image above, so as to experience this quite remarkable record. There are many, many positive reviews out there if you’re after a very precise ‘it sounds like this’ or ‘this track’s better than that track’ kind of commentary (and yes I know that’s what I normally do and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with it) but on this occasion I’m going to have to leave those conclusions up to you. Enjoy.