Ichiko Aoba’s virtuosic guitar playing proved the main draw for a night of deeply beautiful experimental folk pieces from Japan, prefaced by one of the most extraordinary support acts I’ve ever witnessed.
It’s a blowy Friday night on the cusp of spring in Gateshead, and looking down towards the Millenium Bridge from my beloved Glasshouse, spying a dance troupe recording a video in front of the old Baltic flour mills and smartly dressed couples arriving for drinks at the glassy bars across the water. It’s no surprise I’m not the only lone figure wistfully looking out over the city ahead of celebrated Japanese songstress Ichiko Aoba’s performance – Aoba is the ultimate introverts’ artist. She makes gossamer experimental folk decorated with shimmering guitars and dream-like pianos and propelled by breathtaking vocals that flutter and dance with all the grace of a kite in flight. The staging on the Glasshouse’s second, more intimate stage was suitably homely and minimalist – a large silk lampshade, an elegant mahogany chair, an upright piano sitting patiently to one side. It seemed a blissful evening of music was ahead.
But first, a shock. I don’t usually mention support acts on this blog, but Julien Desprez’s performance of his 2020 work Agora was simply too extraordinary to omit. It started innocuously enough, Desprez somewhat awkwardly walking onto stage in silence and meekly introducing himself. An opening section on keyboard, with Desprez singing sombrely in French, was pleasant enough, although the ever-present dentists’ drill-style synthesiser in the background provided an undercurrent of unease. Soon that undercurrent became a raging torrent, Desprez picking up his guitar and launching into Agora’s punishing passages of bowel-rupturing electronics, flashes of intricate slap guitar interspersed throughout an assault of apocalyptic screeches. His feet moved furiously the whole time, rhythmically mashing away at his extensive pedalboard, a technique which the programme rather romantically links to the French-Canadian folk tradition of podorythmie. Only 20 minutes later did Desprez’s wall of sound finally let up. Just sitting through it required perseverance. To Desprez’s great credit, I’ve never experienced art so profoundly awful.
Much of the unease I felt during Desprez’s fearless performance wasn’t just to do with the music, but the fact that I was sat in a room full of fans of a famously quiet and delicate Japanese singer-songwriter. It would be hard to think of a support act more diametrically opposed to Aoba’s style. Predictably, Desprez soon had people clambering out of their seats and for the exits despite the minimal legroom. A woman on the row across from me was in such a hurry to leave she loudly dropped her phone on the floor. Others put their heads in their hands. On one particularly gruesome sonic explosion the man next to me threw his head back, either in awe or disgust. I was half-worried there might be boos at the end of the performance, but instead the Aoba fans politely clapped, then slowly filed out for the interval in a stunned hush.
Remarkably, Desprez had been chosen by Aoba herself. During one break in her set she teased a knowing chuckle from the crowd by struggling to define what sort of art Desprez made. Was it even music? “I really love Julien’s… dancing,” she settled on, before briefly giving her own version of Desprez-style noise-making by pulling at some random strings on her guitar. Desprez’s selection is a testament to Aoba’s unique eclecticism. A first listen to her catchier tunes may recall Phoebe Bridgers or Lizzy McAlpine, but this is by no means your standard-fare indie folk singer. Instead, Aoba pushes the limits of musical serenity with patient, drawn-out pieces and evocative field recordings from her home on the Ryukyu archipelago of southern Japan. Her artistry culminated in 2020’s magnificent Windswept Adan, a concept album that described a mythical, isolated tropical island by way of meditative guitars and rich orchestral instrumentation.
Of course, there’s only so much Aoba can do sat there alone on the Glasshouse stage – and as a result tonight’s rendition of Windswept Adan’s majestic highlight Dawn In the Adan feels sadly diminished in potency – but by and large Aoba’s compositions are strong enough to stand up to the scrutiny of a bare guitar-and-vocals set up. It helps that Aoba is an exceptional guitarist; Sagu Palm’s Song’s layered guitar plucking had Aoba’s right hand moving in a blur, but the resulting music sounded effortless. Murmurs of smooth jazz came and went throughout her set, particularly on opener Kokoro no Sekai, the sort of dignified waltz you might expect to overhear walking along the banks of the Seine on a summer’s evening.
Aoba’s technique was almost as virtuosic on keyboards, too, drifting gracefully across the keys during the atmospheric Coloratura, a song which winningly ends with Aoba evoking a far-flung seashore with soft whooshing sounds into the microphone. Sonar’s sturdier piano chords and lullaby-like melody was so trance-like it seemed to warp time. I could have sat there listening to it happily for hours.
Aoba, largely expressionless under a low fringe of thick black hair, might initially strike an overly serious, contemplative figure, but this performance proved that musical beauty need not be as stuffy and rigid as the formal Dvořák concert happening across the hallway in the Glasshouse’s main venue. In the silences as she switched instruments Aoba took to humming merrily and skipping across the stage like a fairy. When a persistent phone ringtone interrupted a particularly peaceful moment, she simply mimicked the melody on the piano Jacob Collier-style, causing some of the loudest audience cheers of the night. And then there was the adorable encore number Sayonara Penguin, which featured Aoba singing in a squeaky voice from the perspective of her feathered friend. It was gloriously stupid, and I was left wanting more.
Framed around a quest to the fictional place of ‘Goldenhammer’, the Nottingham indie band’s impressive debut is packed with one gorgeous duet after another, plus a wealth of plaintive melodic earworms.
Goldenhammer, the destination of the journey Divorce take throughout their brand new album, categorically doesn’t exist. Instead, the band see it as a sort of personal nirvana. “It’s this intangible idea of something that you yearn for and want,” vocalist Tiger Cohen-Towell told Rolling Stone recently. The concept of Goldenhammer breezes in and out with subtlety throughout the Nottingham band’s excellent debut record, more evident in the yearning melodies and uplifting harmonies than in concrete lyrical references.
Having drummed up a buzz from two promising EPs in 2022 and 2023, Drive to Goldenhammer feels like Divorce’s coming-of-age moment, and boasts a maturity and cohesion not found on their previous work. The band have listed Belle & Sebastian and Queen as key influences, but the occasional wayward fiddles and elegant melodies recall recent Adrienne Lenker songs, or perhaps Black Country, New Road in their more cool-headed moments.
Surely the main draw of Divorce over those esteemed artists is the delightful vocal chemistry of co-vocalists Cohen-Towell and Felix Mackenzie-Barrow. Sonically, they’re a delicious match: Mackenzie-Barrow’s tenor rich and slightly gravelly, Cohen-Towel light and youthful, although capable of an almighty pop-punk belt when the song demands it. The pair have been writing songs together since they were teenagers, and you can tell in the dovetailing melodies of opener Antarctica, touchingly echoing each other with the words “I was made to love you”. The duo aren’t, as far as I can tell, actually in a relationship, but Drive to Goldenhammer’s plentiful male-female vocal duets give the record’s musings on love a certain completeness, like two sides of a relationship mirroring back their fears and hopes to each other. Tellingly, lyrics are expressed from the perspective of “we” almost as often as “I”.
Recorded over four seasons in an off-grid location in the Yorkshire Dales, Drive to Goldenhammer has an earthy, faintly nostalgic quality to it. It’s most clearly heard in the atmospheric accordion that opens Old Broken String or on the shimmering, hook-packed Hangman, a song about Mackenzie-Barrow’s day job as a social care worker. Understated stunner Parachuter contains a sighing chorus melody that wouldn’t sound out of place on a Phoebe Bridgers ballad. “Cry your eyes out, we’ll be leaving soon,” they sing nihilistically, the harmonies sounding simultaneously heavenly and desolate.
That said, Divorce are not ones to rest on their laurels. Lord front-loads the album with a bulletproof power pop chorus that arrives like a bolt from the blue, whilst late highlight Where Do You Go features a furious performance from Cohen-Towell, chastising an emotionally unavailable lover over a salvo of gilt-edged guitar hits. Glorious synthpop number All My Freaks sees Cohen-Towell on more playful form, mocking the plight of indie musicians like herself on a glittery chorus so primed for this summer’s festivals you can practically hear the giant balloons and confetti descend over the adoring crowd.
Drive to Goldenhammer’s more ambitious moments aren’t always so successful, and that central idea of a quest towards Goldenhammer often feels lost in the noise. The Queen influences are clear in the dense composition of Fever Pitch, but the end result feels overwritten and somewhat aimless, whilst Karen works it’s way up to a thrilling wall of sound and then bottles it with a strait-laced guitar solo. Much more intriguing is Cohen-Towell’s central opus Pill, which theatrically switches from psychedelic, innuendo-filled art rock to a poignant, piano-led memory of swinging from a bunk bed with a childhood friend. It’s the sort of unorthodox songwriting Divorce had no time for in their previous EPs, and Pill’s unpredictable switch lands an emotional sucker punch.
Perhaps even more so than the fictional nirvana of Goldenhammer, a sense of openness and emotionally vulnerability runs through almost every track on this record. “Loving you with open arms / Kissing you with open eyes,” the pair sing in cathartic unison on Jet Show, whilst Adam Peter-Smith’s guitar and Kasper Sandstrom’s drums sound endearingly rough around the edges. This honesty and degree of youthful naivety masks the shrewd songwriting that underlines Drive to Goldenhammer. Divorce may not have reached their musical paradise just yet, but with this gorgeous record they’re halfway there.
From chart-toppers to hidden gems, it’s time to reminisce about the most remarkable musical moments of 2023, as we countdown the year’s greatest hits. The rules are the same as usual: only one song per artist and no covers. Remember this is primarily a personal reflection on my own music habits this year; I don’t pretend to have listened to enough music to declare the best works of all popular music this year, and you might spot some songs that were released before 2023. This list is about sharing the best songs that I happen to have discovered in the last twelve months.
40.I See Myself
by Geese from 3D Country
It’s been a breakout year for lovable New York indie band Geese, whose unhinged, creative post-punk creations suit their throwaway nickname. Beyond the playful vocals, there’s a deep sense of groove to I See Myself’s half time strut, which oozes with tambourine and cowbell yet never feels cluttered – every last dink has earned its place in this mix. As for the hook, good luck forgetting the titular refrain – belted every time – any time this side of next Christmas.
Also try: Cowboy Nudes
39.impossible
by Wasia Project from how can i pretend?
Creative pop siblings Wasia Project look set for big things in 2024. The Guildhall students already have an impressive collection of stylish, instrument-driven pop under their name (plus an acting credit in hit Netflix series Heartstopper), and impossible is just one example of an intelligently written composition rich in potential. It lifts off in the final third, piano throbbing and Olivia Hardy’s vocals soaring skywards. Keep a close eye on them.
Also try: Petals on the Moon
38.Topless Mother
by Nadine Shah from Filthy Underneath
Nadine Shah delivers her chorus in Topless Mother with ample venom, hissing out every last syllable, backed by tribal drums and sudden deluges of cymbals. It’s just as well, because the words themselves are rhyming gibberish: “Sinatra, Viagra, iguana / Sharia, Diana, samosa” comprise the first two lines. It’s a startling approach that serves as a middle finger to her critics and a steadfast refusal to fit into the mould assigned to her. It’s a vicious reminder never to get on the wrong side of a skilled songwriter.
Also try: Twenty Things
37.HOT TO GO!
by Chappell Roan from The Rise and Fall of a Midwest Princess
It’s been a breakout year for many artists, but few have had a trajectory as stratospheric as Chappell Roan’s, who started the year as one of thousands of aspiring young American pop stars and finished it with a global hit album and a support slot on tour with no less than the undisputed queen of young American pop stars, Olivia Rodrigo. HOT TO GO!, and its accompanying dance routine, accounts for some of Roan’s phenomenal success, typifying her bratty, entertaining brand of pop. Roan’s lyrics are hardly Shakespeare (she’s certainly not above spelling out the song title cheerleader-style), but the silly chorus comprises one of the most intractable earworms of the year – hear it once and it will haunt your dreams (and perhaps nightmares) for sixth months hence. Add some bouncy synths and a half-rapped pre chorus that veers precariously close to cheesiness and the result is a career-launching banger free of pomposity and absolutely stuffed with life-affirming glee.
Also try: Femininomenon
36.Then It All Goes Away
by Dayglow from People In Motion
Then It All Goes Away is one of the most satisfying examples of sunny indie pop that Texan showman Dayglow has come out with so far. Bright piano riffs and a very healthy contingent of cowbell make for easy listening, and spacey guitars hold gimmers of 80s pop at its dreamiest. A perfect soundtrack to your next daydream of summer.
Also try: Deep End
35.Glory
by Gabriels from Angels & Queens
Soul trio Gabriels were one of the standout performers of Glastonbury 2023, with Glory the peak of a heart-warming set. Jacob Lusk’s silky voice is as charismatic as ever, but its the driving percussion and insistent strings that make this foot-tapper such an exciting listen.
Also try: Love and Hate in a Different Time
34.Who Let Him In
by Obongjayar
What’s refreshing about Who Let Him In is not the strength of Obongjayar’s brags (being able to string together a few rhymes about how great and unique you are is more or less a prerequisite for today’s rappers) but in how justified they are. “I fear no one / Walk in the room like the owner,” he tells us, and by the sounds of this beat – a bubbling Afrobeat groove bursting at the seams with energy – he seems utterly believable. Obongjayar doesn’t just want to be a good artist, he wants to “take over”, and with tracks as inspired as this one, that’s exactly what he seems destined to do.
Also try: Just Cool
33.Dans Le Noir
by Free Love from Inside
Glasgow synth duo sound anything but Scottish on this largely French-language funk-pop belter, but the language gives this sticky dance number a flirtatious edge, regardless of the meaning of Suzi Cook’s words. An almost comically overblown synth bass is the main attraction, though, and the instrument is rightly given free reign to wobble around its rich upper range in an extended instrument section in the middle of this song. Cook’s vocal hook eventually returns us to solid ground in a song full of left turns from a duo quite happy to keep their audiences guessing.
Also try: Open The Door
32.Who the Hell Is Edgar?
by TEYA & SALENA
Sweden may have won it with a vaguely uninspiring pop song, but it was Austria that came to Eurovision 2023 with arguably best song of this year’s contest. Who the Hell Is Edgar? strikes the fine balance between loveable joke song and earnest work of art with a clear message in a contest where songs usually fall heavily into one of the two categories (think hard rock fancy dress monsters for the former, hymn for the deported Crimean Tatars for the latter). TEYA and SALENA’s playful chemistry is a joy as they summon the ghost of 19th century poet Edgar Allen Poe and the various threads of the song are knotted together cleverly after the bridge. Granted, TEYA and SALENA’s performance on the night left something to be desired and a slot as show opener can’t have helped votes, but in more favourable conditions Who the Hell Is Edgar? would have made for a worthy Eurovision champion.
Also try: Ukraine’s excellent entry, Heart of Steel by TVORCHI
31.(You) On My Arm
by Leith Ross from To Learn
Leith Ross hit viral success in 2023 with the acoustic guitar track We’ll Never Have Sex, the sort of throwaway almost-song (it’s only 100 seconds long) that would never be a hit before the age of streaming. (You) On My Arm stands out as both the only uptempo track and best tune on their debut album, a pleasingly understated indie rock number that features the ingenious line “I’d be better armed if you agreed to take it.” The songwriting fundamentals are handled so competently here it’s a relief that Ross doesn’t unnecessarily complicate things with a flashy backing, instead sticking to a muted bass tone and spacey guitars that complement her introspective vocals. It’s no wonder her humble approach to music making has resonated with millions around the world.
Also try: Monogamy
30.Love for the Last Time
by Leadley from LIGHT POP
There’s an unreality that goes beyond the usual popstar Photoshopping in West Midlands singer Leadley’s album covers, presenting her as a sort of celestial beauty of impossible perfection. Her songs have a similar immaculate quality, especially Love For The Last Time, a note perfect pop song blessed with crystalline production. A divine sax riff recalls Carly Rae Jepsen at her five star best, and enjoyably schmaltzy lyrics like “Hold me like it isn’t goodbye / Touch me like you’re never really leaving,” roll off the tongue like honey on freshly baked pancakes. The result is almost too sweet.
Also try: Love Me Like That
29.Hell
by Sleater-Kinney from Little Rope
“Hell is desperation / And a young man with a gun,” Corin Tucker informs us ominously in the minimalist start to Hell, her portentous lyrics the only sign of the melee of sound to come. It’s a contrast that works deliciously well when the chorus does eventually hit, a screaming electric guitar loud and salient in the mix like the whirr of a dentist’s drill. It’s one of the grungiest choruses I’ve heard all year and I can’t get enough of it.
Also try: Say It Like You Mean It
28.Dancer
by IDLES feat. LCD Soundsystem from TANGK
Dance and disco music may not be an obvious match for IDLES, Bristol’s ever popular post punk group helmed by the fearsome Joe Talbot, a man who seems to grow more grizzled and bear-like with every passing year. But, right from the opening swoop of disco strings, this collaboration with dance music luminary LCD Soundsystem comes off surprisingly well. Industrial guitar riffs open up for a pummeling chorus, Talbot’s descriptions of dancing “cheek to cheek” sounding uneasily violent rather than swooning and romantic. Their new album TANGK, due in February, promises to be something special.
Also try: Grace
27.Poor Madeline
by Daffo from Pest
Daffo came out with one of the finest indie rock EPs of the year with October’s Pest, which features a number of soulful compositions that have both a depth of emotion and proficiency of songwriting that many of her peers lack. Poor Madeline is just one of several potential picks for this list and shows Daffo’s typical urge to strive above and beyond the usual song structures associated with the genre.
Also try: Seed, Good God and Collector are all Poor Madeline‘s equal
26.New York Transit Queen
by Corinne Bailey Rae from Black Rainbows
Corinne Bailey Rae’s September album Black Rainbows marked one of the most astounding artistic pivots of the year. For the woman behind the smooth, sunshine-filled R&B hit Put Your Records On, lead single New York Transit Queen could hardly have been more shocking. There are no tinkling triangles or cheery Hammond organs to be found here – this track is an unreservedly grungy pastiche of 60s rock and roll in all its swaggering glory. The opening guitar riff, which has all the blunt-force simplicity of You Really Got Me, hits like a truck and Rae’s vocals are strikingly distorted and unhinged. What’s most remarkable is that the track doesn’t end up sounding like a cover or parody. The grit of the blaring instrumentation here feels organic, the drums hammered out with what feels like genuine fury. Appropriately, a vodka shot of a song like this comes and goes in a frantic 109 seconds. It’s just as well – even at this length, New York Transit Queen has a tendency to leave you breathless.
Also try: He Will Follow You With His Eyes is a remarkable, completely different sonic experience.
25.Theatre
by Etta Marcus from The Death of Summer & Other Promises
Etta Marcus made the list two years ago with a melancholy, nuanced ballad with Matt Maltese, and Theatre starts in much the same vein before revealing itself to be a much different beast. Far from a sweetly romantic tune about moving to America, Theatre is a rock rager about crushing, desperate loneliness, with the volume turned up to the max. It’s propelled by a gut-wrenching set of lyrics in which Marcus plays a twisted version of herself hell bent on love, demanding someone, anyone, to “call me baby / let me die on the stage / let the orchestra play”. The melodrama is matched by a barnstorming vocal performance, Marcus almost audibly dropping to her knees in anguish. Like an enthralling stage performance, this song is impossible to ignore.
Also try: Snowflake Suzy
24.Phone Me
by CMAT from Crazymad, For Me
2023 was a year in which Irish singer-songwriter CMAT finally fulfilled her potential with a rewarding second album of charismatic indie rock that married inventive songwriting with thinly veiled self-mocking humour. Phone Me was the catchiest of the bunch, with a cracking bass line and a chorus that leaned into the strengths of CMAT’s formidable vocals. “Does my affliction turn you on?” she belts with trademark matter-of-factness. It’s this fearlessness that has seen CMAT’s career flourish this year, and there’s a sense that 2024 will likely be more of the same.
Also try: California and Have Fun! are similarly great tracks that bookend CMAT’s new album, while Rent is the mid-album showpiece.
23.5-Watt Rock
by Theo Katzman from Be the Wheel
Theo Katzman’s fourth studio album Be The Wheel was not short on earnestly profound reflections on a pandemic spent largely alone in the wilderness (the eloquent title track very nearly made it on to this list), so I could forgive Katzman for feeling disappointed that the record’s comic relief is what I’ve selected here. Sure, this tale of a humble songwriter overcoming the inadequacies of his small guitar amp is not overtly thought provoking, but it’s still a sweet story expertly delivered and a fine example of Katzman’s knack for satisfying rhymes. The chorus is one of the earworms of his career – you can practically hear the band’s smiles as the group vocals reach ever upwards, urged on by a genius chord progression even by Katzman’s high standards. No doubt Katzman spent many more sleepless nights crafting the dense lyrics found elsewhere on the album than for this light-hearted ditty, but perhaps Be The Wheel would have benefitted from a little more of 5-Watt Rock’s simple joy.
Also try: Be the Wheel and Hit the Target provide a bit more food for thought and also showcase Katzman’s adroit songwriting.
22.One That Got Away
by MUNA
There’s only been one song from Los Angeles pack leaders MUNA this year following the triumph of last year’s Silk Chiffon, a glorious collaboration with Phoebe Bridgers, but boy is it a good one. On One That Got Away, the band lean into full-blown 80s art pop, the angular synths almost blinding vibrant, the aggressively clipped snare drum sounding colossal. Katie Gavin’s hook is a winner, and a climactic bass fill almost feels cribbed from that moment in You Can Call Me Al. This ever popular trio aren’t going anywhere.
Also try: Silk Chiffon is an essential piece of not just MUNA’s discography, but modern pop in general.
21.Clashing Colours
by Quinn Oulton feat. Monica Martin from Alexithymia
A reworking with incomparable soul singer Monica Martin elevated this track from South London multi-instrumentalist Quinn Oulton in April. A sublimely rich bass is a spectre looming over the mix and a nice match for Oulton’s tip-toeing breathy sax, which eventually finds its place in the track with a meandering jazz solo. It makes for an impossibly cool jazz-funk stew – a groove to savour with every listen.
Also try: Lately
20.New York
by The Kills from God Games
“Why should hip-hop be future-forward and guitar music always looking back?” the Kills asked in an NME interview before their recent album God Games, and it’s only when you hear the inventive brilliance of that album that it becomes how clear just how behind the curve the rest of today’s guitar music is. New York in particular succeeds in being unlike any rock song you’ve heard before, in large part to a heavy use of orchestra hits, which lend the track the grandiosity of the opening scenes of a spy thriller. Bare bones percussion and wall-shaking bass make for a suitably industrial-feeling portrait of the Big Apple. This isn’t a repeat of Alicia Keys’ or Frank Sinatra’s romantic visions of American Dream New York, but perhaps something more realistic: dirtier, angrier, with rats scuttling from gutter to gutter and taxi horns blaring. New York’s most compelling aspect, however, is its roof-raiser of a guitar riff, destined to be sung passionately by thousands in the vast concert halls that no doubt await this daring rock duo.
Also try: Wasterpiece
19.Begin Again
by Jessie Ware from That! Feels Good!
Begin Again formed the pinnacle of Jessie Ware’s April album That! Feels Good!, which largely built on the sound established by its predecessor What’s Your Pleasure? – no bad thing since What’s Your Pleasure? was nothing short of a modern classic. It’s a towering five and a half minute epic that earns favourable comparisons to Stevie Wonder’s Another Star. The descending bass line holds similar gravitas, as does a stellar horn contribution from trendy London jazz group Kokoroko. It’s Ware herself, however, that crowns it, sealing a cinematic crescendo with spine-tingling high notes that exemplify the huge strides she’s made as both an artist and a singer since her debut 13 years ago.
Also try: you can’t go wrong with Ware’s latest album, but Pearls and Freak Me Now are two of my other favourites.
18.Everybody’s Saying That
by Girl Ray from Prestige
Girl Ray’s live show may have disappointed in November, but there’s no denying Everybody’s Saying That is a glorious little disco single. There’s a loveable awkwardness to Poppy Hankin’s vocals and the mix as a whole, which trades the glossy sheen of something Dua Lipa might release for the air of three friends simply having a good time in a studio. There’s plenty of fun to be had on that bulletproof chorus hook, and the trio don’t miss the opportunity for a slightly silly clavinet breakdown. The result is a simple joy: funk at its euphoric, uncomplicated best.
Also try: True Love and Tell Me provide plenty more disco joy.
17.Birth4000
by Floating Points
Try to explain to someone in a sentence what sort of music Floating Points makes and you’ll find yourself giving five more sentences of qualifiers and explanations before you can get close to fully conveying the extent of this artist’s musical creativity. A good place to start is his astonishing work with London Symphony Orchestra, Promises, which is a transfixing, 46-minute long ambient classical piece that features the murmured incantations of late sax giant Pharoah Sanders. Fittingly, Birth4000 is just about the complete opposite: a steamy, in-your-face trance banger that writhes and throbs the way only the most compelling dance music can. The drops are titanic, with the kick drum turned up just loud enough to become slightly distorted. This is a piece of music that kicks you by the backside into the hypnotising strobes of a euphoric, thronging nightclub. You won’t want it to stop.
Also try: devote an hour to Promises and thank me later, or try trippy single Vocoder for a completely different side of Floating Points.
16.Running Out of Time
by Paramore from This Is Why
Beloved punk pop group Paramore could be forgiven for calling it quits at this point, their late-noughties hits like Misery Business and All I Wanted now increasingly old enough to enter nostalgic classic territory. Instead, they released one of the best albums of their career so far with February’s edgy, quick-witted tour de force This Is Why. The call-to-action title track that opens the album was easy to love, but I’ve gone with funky Running Out Of Time for this list. A playful number about always being late (“There was a fire! (metaphorically) / Be there in five! (hyperbolically)”), there’s also a touch of social commentary on our productivity-first culture for any listeners looking for some food for thought. More importantly, there’s some delightfully nasty guitar riffs, plus Zac Farro letting loose on a swaggering drum groove. Paramore’s golden era hits may be untouchable but make no mistake: this band isn’t fading away any time soon.
Also try: This Is Why‘s title track makes for a killer album opener.
15.Go Dig My Grave
by Lankum from False Lankum
Irish drone-folk group are no strangers to gothic tales of doom and misery, but Go Dig My Grave, the masterful opener to their lauded March album False Lankum (the Guardian’s Album of the Year, no less) reaches new levels of chilling. It begins with a breathtaking two minutes of solo vocals from Radie Peat, who possesses an earthy, sorrowful voice unlike any you’ve heard before. She unravels a disturbing narrative as storm clouds gather in the form of industrial clatters and a sinister strings drone. Each member of Lankum is a multi-instrumentalist and the fact that most of the instruments in the ensuing dirge are tricky to identify adds to the disorientating horror, lending the climax a supernatural intensity. This is folk music at its most sickening, the terror of Peat’s lyrics realised potently in the incessant rise and fall of detuned violins. Go Dig My Grave is Lankum at the peak of their witch-like powers.
Also try: there’s plenty of treasures on False Lankum. Master Crowley’s successfully turns a Gaelic jig into something hellish, while On a Monday Morning is one of many drone-free moments of peaceful melancholia.
14.Sleepwalker
by Ava Max from Diamonds & Dancefloors
It seems the intensely mainstream sound of Ava Max has caused to her music to be largely dismissed as chart-ready pop candy floss, primed to keep company with the countless other indistinguishable female pop acts destined to be forgotten in a few years’ time. Indeed, Max’s vocals are hardly exceptional, and Sleepwalker’s lyrics about making a guy obsess over her are at best functional and at worst clunky, but the fact is no other pop song this year has matched this one’s instant appeal. Flawless chorus hook aside, what other charting track this year features a synth solo this brazen? In a genre plagued by impersonal corporate hitmakers, crafting pernicious hooks behind the scenes like evil scientists, there’s a frisson of playfulness in the longer than necessary solo that suggests Max is genuinely having fun beyond her quest for a global pop empire. That’s not to say Sleepwalker shows much daring, but it does deliver the pop formula for success in a way so impeccably you’ll find yourself humming along to the chorus before your first listen is even over. Max has had much bigger hits than this and will no doubt push Sleepwalker further into obscurity with another slew of smashes in 2024, but I maintain this little pop gem is criminally underrated.
Also try: Maybe You’re the Problem, Ghost and Hold Up (Wait a Minute) are all bangers, not to mention Max’s energetic contribution to the Barbie movie, Choose Your Fighter.
13.The Abyss
by KNOWER from KNOWER FOREVER
Inimitable US funk artist Louis Cole has played some nut-tight grooves in his time, but few are as exquisitely precise as The Abyss, the face-melting highlight of his superb project with Genevieve Artadi under the name KNOWER released in October. Sam Wilkes delivers a particularly monstrous performance on bass, purring tiger-like under Artadi’s clipped vocals and Cole’s trademark sharp-edged synths. The rhythmic discipline all round is immense – not one note comes a fraction too late – and that’s before mentioning the ensuing chaos of the track’s unfettered second half: not one but two whirlwind Cole drum solos, a screaming distorted sax solo and a showstopping blast on keyboards all provide an assault on the ears before Artadi coolly brings it home with one last chorus. It’s KNOWER at their ruthless best: astonishing, cut-throat electro-funk from start to finish.
Also try: I’m the President is a thoroughly satisfying album opener, while Nightmare descends into a cosmic electrofunk jam.
12.Phlox
by Emma Rawicz from Chroma
Emma Rawicz is gaining a reputation as one of the more cerebral new exponents of UK jazz, serving shape-shifting, rhythmically complex compositions that are often hard to pin down. Phlox is a song that avoids any aimless wandering via the oldest trick in the book: a no nonsense riff, repeated over and over. Granted, it’s a very Rawicz sort of riff – that is to say, dazzlingly complex – but it’s delivered with such flair and precision it’s hard not to get whipped up in the stormy brilliance of it all. Rawicz is also on fine form for a delightfully impolite solo, but it’s drummer Asaf Sirkis who steals the show with a marvellous closing drum solo that both neatly fills the gaps made by that riff whilst sounding utterly chaotic. Rawicz’s jazz has never felt so vital.
Also try: Middle Ground is a perfect example of Rawicz’s softer side.
11.You Are Not My Friend
by Tessa Violet from MY GOD!
One of the great underrated albums of the year in my books was Tessa Violet’s midsummer release MY GOD!, a leitmotif-laden opus that excelled in every genre Violet had a crack at, from the bombastic hyperpop opener to Swift-esque Again, Again or the folksy singalong Kitchen Song. You Are Not My Friend was an apt closer, wrapping up the emotional complexities of the earlier tracks with a straightforward pop punk sound as unapologetic and self-assured as its title. Here, as in virtually all of Violet’s songs, the songwriting is exceptional, with the interlocking vocals in the technicolour finale evidence of Violet’s considerable pop nous. The lyrics are gold dust for anyone looking for reassurance after a messy breakup, but even for the rest of us the quotable nuggets come thick and fast (“You say I’m insecure? / You’re twenty-eight with a teenager” will go down as one of Violet’s sharpest take downs). It’s a testament to the strength of You Are Not My Friend that you don’t need to directly relate to any of the lyrics in order to share Violet’s sweet, sweet taste of retribution.
Also try: MY GOD! is an album that rewards front to back listening, but start with BAD BITCH or Breakdown if you want to dip your toes into it.
10.Up Song
by Black Country, New Road from Live at Bush Hall
Up Song is responsible for one of the most memorable live music experiences of my life so far. It happened not this year, but in May 2022, in a feverish Brudenell Social Club the day Leeds United narrowly avoided relegation. Black Country, New Road were a band in a unique turmoil: just five days following the release of their instant cult classic Ants From Up There, their lyrically gifted yet troubled frontman Isaac Wood abruptly left the band. Up Song marked the beginning of the remaining six members’ intimate gig in Leeds which, astonishingly, comprised of an entirely new album worth of unreleased material. New lead vocalist Tyler Hyde proved she was not one for introductions, soon interrupting a quiet opening with a typically unpredictable onslaught of sound, May Kershaw prominently hammering away behind her on piano. It ended up being an inspired reflection on the band’s turbulent recent history; the climactic line “Look at what we did together / BCNR, friends forever,” might sound trite on paper, but belted in a sudden a capella unison from every band member it was uniquely moving. The rest of the gig (and 2023’s live album) had more than its fair share of interesting post-Wood creativity, but it was Up Song that announced BCNR’s rapid reinvention in glorious style.
Also try: Dancers holds the album’s best vocal hook, but it was cinematic epic Turbines/Pigs that had the BCNR fans really swooning.
9.But leaving is
by Matt Maltese from Driving Just To Drive
Reading balladeer Matt Maltese is no stranger to a good old fashioned love song. These days he’s got a slew of bittersweet tracks to his name, from the formative breakout hit Even If It’s a Lie (the sort of superb songwriting that demands no more than a simple piano accompaniment to shine) to the viral epic As the World Caves In, a spectacular song which changes complexion somewhat when you learn it was written about Theresa May and Donald Trump spending a steamy night together before nuking the planet. Even by Maltese’s standards, however, But leaving is is an utterly heart-wrenching ballad. The central punchline – “Love isn’t a choice / … but leaving is” – might be the finest lyric of his career, a smart one-two that manages to encapsulate much of the lovesick emotion that Maltese has devoted his music career to thus far. He seems to know he’s got a winner on his hands, too, delaying the payoff in two exquisite choruses, which are lifted by tasteful strings and his trademark melancholy piano. It’s a stunningly emotive arrangement of the sort Maltese’s starry peers like Lewis Capaldi and Dean Lewis simply can’t match with their cookie cutter four-chorders.
Also try: Hello Black Dog has a sickening, dark edge, whilst Florence is a lovely, rare uptempo number from Maltese.
8.All Life Long
by Kali Malone from All Life Long
All Life Long has the power to bend time. It’s a piece of ambient music that gets under my skin, stops me in my tracks and leaves me feeling invariably different – calmer, more in tune with my surroundings – than when I started it. Like most of Kali Malone’s work, it is a piece of solo pipe organ music, and the most obvious image evoked is that of a funeral; the achingly slow tempo brings with it palpable gravitas as notes slowly float downwards the same way a coffin might be carefully lowered into a grave. But All Life Long deserves also to be felt outside the context of the Church. Through her music, Malone has made it her mission to decouple the majestic organ from the dogmatic domain of religion and worship, and what makes All Life Long (and much of Malone’s work) so interesting is how starkly different it is from the organ music we know: more patient, nuanced and imaginative than the music we tend to associate with a church organ. Bach’s mathematically precise masterpieces for the instrument may be rightly venerated, but he never brought us intimacy with the instrument the way Malone does, never highlighted the way the notes aren’t constant but in fact a breath-like wave (which Malone leans into in a 70-second long final note here), or showed us how each note begins with a little whistle as the air shifts direction in the pipes, plus the tactile click of a key being pressed. The organ is a uniquely magnificent instrument. As All Life Long argues convincingly, it’s time it left the cold confines of the Church.
Also try: Thought-provoking lockdown album Does Spring Hide Its Joy weighs in at a daunting five hours but rewards an open mind, whereas The Sacrificial Code provides more of All Life Long‘s ruminative, secular organ music.
7.Bewitched
by Laufey from Bewitched
It’s easy to imagine Laufey landing into Bewitched Mary Poppins style, floating down gracefully via umbrella just in time for the first verse. Such is the love-it-or-hate-it Disney feel to the ornate orchestral arrangement in this track, the likes of which the mainstream pop charts hasn’t seen for generations; the Icelandic-Chinese jazz singer would have certainly had a number one album on her hands if a certain Olivia Rodrigo hadn’t released a slightly better album the same week. Lean into the intense sweetness of Bewitched’s orchestration and you’ll no doubt be as besotted as I am. Laufey’s gentle vocals are gorgeous yet charmingly unshowy, singing as if a song of this delicate beauty might fall apart if she were to overexert for a high note. Not that she needs any vocal flourishes – every melody here is a beauty, the luscious strings supporting Laufey like a warm, cosy bed. Laufey’s lyrics are deeply romantic, framing love not as a choice but a sort of benign curse, an uncontrollable desire to lose yourself in its “all-consuming fire”. It may sound like there’s an uncurrent of unease in all the talk of “bewitching”, but make no mistake: Bewitched is pure, unrestrained love in music form. Love songs just don’t get any lovelier.
Also try: Lovesick is Laufey’s rock moment and comes off surprisingly well; From the Start is her record-breaking bossa nova smash hit.
6.A Month Or Two
by Odie Leigh
Every so often, a song comes along that seems to tell you exactly what you need to hear. Odie Leigh’s charming ditty A Month Or Two was that song for me, an unfussy waltz on acoustic guitar broadly about growing up. Leigh’s repeated progression on guitar might have outstayed its welcome if it weren’t for a glorious string quartet that patiently weaves its way into the fabric of the track. The tension is held for a moment before the exquisite payoff, the luscious interlocking melodies sounding like a warm bath at the end of a long day. Leigh’s repeated assurance to “give it some time” is beyond comforting. It’s obviously a vague lyric that will resonate with many listeners in different ways, but there’s some magic in Leigh’s cooing vocals or her lullaby-like guitar plucking that makes it feel like she’s speaking directly to you, and only you. A Month Or Two is a cooling balm of a song I’m convinced everyone needs in their life from time to time.
Also try: Crop Circles, or Big Thief’s Change which was a similar comfort song for me this year.
5.My Love Mine All Mine
by Mitski from The Land Is Inhospitable and So Are We
To get a hooky, upbeat pop song about, say, being “hot to go” in the charts is tough enough, but getting the masses hooked on a quiet, subtle two-minute country ballad about the moon is a Herculean challenge. Of course, if anyone could pulled it off, it would be America’s favourite troubled genius Mitski, who took over the Internet in September with this jewel from her divine seventh album. Every second is a meticulously crafted moment of bliss, from the lazy, last-orders-at-a-jazz-bar piano inflections to the silky wisps of slide guitar that seem to weightlessly hang in the mix like a plume of cigarette smoke. Mitski’s lyric sheet is as poetic as ever, but more optimistic than usual, celebrating the preciousness of both her lover and, more importantly, her capacity to love. As is customary for a Mitski song, this track briskly comes and goes with little time for rumination. The good news is that My Love Mine All Mine is not a song that loses its emotional potency with repeat listens – trust me.
Also try: When Memories Snow includes one of Mitski’s strongest metaphors, whilst I’m Your Man memorably depicts the artist being eaten alive by hounds, sound effects and all.
4.Nothing Matters
by the Last Dinner Party from Prelude to Ecstacy
Arguably the most exciting development in British indie music this year has been the rise of the Last Dinner Party, a London five-piece who continue to amass a cult following despite having released only four songs. In fact, they’d already signed to Island Records and scored a support slot for the Rolling Stones at Hyde Park before they’d released their first single, prompting perhaps justifiable claims from hard-working independent artists of being an ‘industry plant’. The good news is, organically successful or not, every one of the Last Dinner Party’s four singles has been exceptional, each introducing their carefully presented brand of baroque rock. Live shows involve band members (and audience members) dressed in elaborate Edwardian-style gowns and corsets whilst frolicking amidst regal candelabras. Their visit to the intimate, famed stage of Brudenell Social Club promises to be one of the most thrilling occasions for Undertone in 2024.
Debut single Nothing Matters is perhaps the most majestic of the four songs and a masterclass in endowing a straightforward two note chorus with as much emotional weight as it can possibly sustain. Abigail Morris’ lyrics are poetic and layered, yet unafraid to unleash an embittered expletive when the time comes in the chorus. What turns Nothing Matters from a good song into a great one is how the band negotiate the denouement. Emily Roberts’ dovetailing guitar solo evokes Sam Ryder in full Eurovision saviour mode, and a fanfare of horns and strings provide a sense of scale and pathos unlike any debut single I’ve heard before. It’s an instant masterpiece for a band that thus far hasn’t put a foot wrong. Industry plants? If the music is this good, I say let the industry keep planting.
Also try: the three other singles so far, in order of greatness, are My Lady of Mercy, By Your Side and Sinner.
3.vampire
by Olivia Rodrigo from GUTS
Almost no one reading this will need reminding of Olivia Rodrigo. She’s had an astonishingly successful 2023, finishing up with six Grammy nominations and a potential Oscar next year for her song in the new Hunger Games movie. Increasingly, it seems like everything she touches turns to gold. That was certainly the case for her second album, GUTS, one of those precious music releases that was both listened to by everybody and adored by everybody. It was earthier, wittier and just generally better than her 2021 debut album and almost every track was worthy of this list, but the lead single was the most obvious choice of album highlight. vampire is Rodrigo’s masterpiece, opening with a gentle Beatles-esque chord progression and crashing to a halt with a spliced up piano bashed with maximum rage. In the intervening three and a half minutes Rodrigo steadily ramps up the intensity, dissecting a toxic relationship with some of her sharpest lyrical slights to date. Behind her, an accompaniment thrillingly gathers pace, eventually snowballing into a compelling gallop that lifts the track to new, mesmeric heights. Rodrigo started her career with a blockbuster bridge (on Drivers’ License), and vampire’s is perhaps even better, the galloping backing sounding relentless, her melody inevitable. With vampire, Olivia Rodrigo rightly took over the planet once more. When she visits Manchester on her world tour next year (which, to the detriment of my bank account, I have tickets for), she will be greeted like a queen.
Also try: GUTS, probably my album of the year. all-american bitch, bad idea right? and making the bed are all essential listens in the unlikely case you’ve navigated 2023 without coming into contact with them.
2.Not Strong Enough
by boygenius from the record
The boygenius trio are friends before bandmates. It’s a fact clearer than ever on their soaring country rock number Not Strong Enough, which finds the three American singer-songwriters, who formed boygenius as something of an indie supergroup and released their debut album this year, trading verses and eventually coalescing in stunning harmony. Their imagery is particularly thoughtful (joyriding through a canyon, disassociating whilst staring at the ceiling, a quiet drive home alone) but it’s the proudly belted “I don’t know why I am the way I am” that lingers longest, a lyric as simple as it is wise. It’s delivered with the sort of fist-pumping melody that compelled hundreds to lose their voices (and their consciousness) singing along when Undertone caught the group in Halifax on a memorable midsummer’s night. boygenius’ layered lyrics about feminism and friendship have plenty of depth, but really Not Strong Enough is a wonderfully simple song and one of those pieces of music that makes you smile without exactly knowing why.
Also try: Cool About It and True Blue were my fourth and fifth most listened to songs of the year. Not Strong Enough was my number one.
1.Any Time Of Day
by the Lemon Twigs from Everything Harmony
I am a believer that our musical preferences are often determined by the cultural prevalence of certain styles during our formative teenage years, which partly explains why soft rock – a genre that had its heyday in the 70s and, unlike its disco cousin, is not yet considered cool enough for a modern revival – is often synonymous with the somewhat derogatory term ‘Dad rock’. These days much of soft rock feels dated, now replaced by the myriad of more courageous and forward-thinking rock subgenres that could never have thrived during an era where the idea of accessing virtually all recorded music in a few clicks was science fiction.
The Lemon Twigs, New York brothers Brian and Michael D’Addario, are the exception. Their six years of releasing proudly revivalist soft rock came to a head in May with their fourth album and magnum opus, Everything Harmony. As a staunch musical defense of Dad rock, it was difficult to refute – from elegant melodies to imaginative song structures and harmony, Everything Harmony managed to point out all the most flattering aspects of soft rock that have been somewhat overlooked in recent decades. The crème de la crème was Any Time Of Day, a truly titanic ballad. It may be fairly brief, but every inch of this song is genius, especially when it comes to the fantastically interesting chord choices (and buttery smooth key change), which sound miles more sophisticated than anything in the charts today.
There’s a timelessness to the lyrics, which are dreamily romantic (“you can make it bright / any time of day”) without pinning themselves down to a specific era or circumstance – like all the best songs, Any Time Of Day is an accommodating blank slate on which to imprint any meaning or emotion you like. The lines are delivered with in a heavenly falsetto which seems to get more and more euphoric with every line until the utterly glorious musical fireworks of the finale. The bass purrs, the backing vocals flutter, the synths scintillate; by the two minute mark you’ll be transported into a wholly different, blissful realm. I usually dismiss soft rock fans living in the past who may tut at the current state of the charts with lines like “they don’t make ‘em like they used to”. Comparing the majesty of Any Time Of Day to the rest of the competition in 2023, I’m beginning to think they might have a point after all.
Also try: inspired songwriting is abound on Everything Harmony, but When Winter Comes Around and What Happens to a Heart are two of my other favourites.
With rambling tangents and a confused mix of genres, Jack Stratton fails to deliver on an otherwise promising new identity yet again. Matthew Rowe gives a track-by-track rundown on why the latest album doesn’t live up to the potential harboured by Vulfpeck frontman.
To call Vulfmon interesting would be an understatement. Jack Stratton has always been known within Vulfpeck as a wildcard, not standing out musically like Joe Dart and his iconic basslines or Theo Katzman with his incredible vocal range but as a personality, known for doing the unorthodox. From this, you would gather any solo project of his to be very experimental and unlike most of Vulf Records, and you wouldn’t be wrong. The two albums he has released so far, Here we go Jack and the most recent, Vulfnik, do exactly this but have been quite a letdown. Unlike coherent albums where a full listen feels natural, listening to these albums often feels like you’ve hit shuffle on your liked songs, but they don’t hold up to the standard of the genres they’re exploring into.
With the announcement of Vulfnik, I didn’t feel the general excitement I had a few years ago whenever a new Vulf release was announced. Recently they have fallen short of my previous expectations of them, struggling to hit that old, funky minimalistic feel that helped them flourish (The Fearless Flyers being the exception). A while back I looked forward to their weekly releases, but the first song didn’t set my expectations high.
This was I Can’t Party, in which Jack tells us a story about getting hit on at a coffee shop and him having to turn down the offer due to the fact he can’t party. The issue with this song is that it sounds like he’s trying to make a song specifically to become popular with millennials on TikTok; looking this up, you’ll see several videos of millennials frankly embarrassing themselves. For reference, if you’ve heard “coffee shop bop”, it’s a very similar vibe. But you’ve got to give it to him: he has some serious leg strength in the music video.
In the same category of lacklustre songs in the first half, we also have Harpejji I and James Jamerson Only Used One Finger, both of which could not even be seen as songs. Harpejji I does what it says in the title, consisting of Jack playing a harpejji with a basic drum beat in the background. In comparison to the short list of artists who show off this instrument, it falls short of the standard given by artists like Jacob Collier. The latter of these two songs is three and a half minutes of Jack rambling on about Motown bassist James Jamerson. There isn’t much to say about this other than the fact that the Vulf compressor makes a seemingly random speech even worse to listen to, leaving zero replay value.
Listening to Vulfmon feels like you’ve hit shuffle on your liked songs.
There is some redemption in the first half. Louie Zong helped to make an upbeat, beautiful-game-era sounding song in UCLA, with a solid bassline, tight drum beat and fitting keyboard to serve as the hook. The music video for this is quite special since Louie Zong is involved. It’s only right he has complete control over the video, which consists of an animated bear dancing through UCLA and performing in front of a judging frog, who was impressed. With the positive tones the song gives and the good vibes from the music video, it makes for a redeeming second song in the album. This is followed by Bonnie Wait, a very solid song which reminds me of Here We Go Jack, showing Stratton’s ability as a vocalist. Lyrics in this song show both outwards melancholy towards Bonnie’s situation and internal anger and jealousy towards Bonnie’s fiancé but unfortunately this is the only strong instance of Stratton’s vocals in this album.
Unlike the first half of the album, the last 5 songs get released at the same time and during my first listen of this half it was obvious there were too many wildcard songs thrown in there, even for Vulfmon. This side of the album had its fair share of disappointing songs but does have some redeeming factors. The three songs that took me aback were Harry’s Theme (Lite Pullman), Nice to You and How Much Do You Love Me.
The ending brings celebration for getting through Vulfnik and being frankly upset with Stratton.
In the first of these, the first few minutes is a nice chill song made up of two guitars, a bass, and Jack playing the drums using his thighs, naturally. This segment of the song is reminiscent of Grandma and other older Vulfpeck songs. But this isn’t the only part of the song. Seemingly in the middle of nowhere we get Lite Pullman which would probably work as its standalone song given how out of place it is. After some research, a lite pullman is some sort of travel bag, but where is the correlation here to Harry’s theme? Nice to You follows. This is a punch to the gut and Jacob Jeffries’ only new vocal appearance on this album, and he isn’t living up to his potential. On the debut Vulfmon album, he sang How Much Do You Love Me which gave him an impressive start in Vulf. However, this song is a satirical take on the emo genre, where Jacob draws out a lot of words in an unbearable accent, which would probably work fine as a parodical YouTube video, but it doesn’t hold up on an album. As well as this, Bonnie Wait covers similar themes in a much better way.
This album is wrapped up with a new take on the Jacob Jeffries classic How Much Do You Love Me. Seeing this on the announced track list, I was excited to see what they could do with it, expecting a more fleshed-out band version of the song but was let down. I hadn’t done my research on who “Ellis” was before listening to this song and nothing could have prepared me. The song kicks off like the original before dropping into an EDM version. When this happened on my first listen, I was speechless for about 5 minutes. Afterwards, my mix of feelings was a blend of feeling like celebrating getting through Vulfnik and being frankly upset with Stratton for his choice of collaborator and song direction.
Thankfully to save this album from being a complete travesty we have some highlights in the second half. This half opens with some of Vulfpeck’s most influential collaborators – Antwaun Stanley and Joey Dosik – on Lord Will Make a Way. This duo brings much-needed revitalisation to the album and even with a tiny mic, Antwaun’s vocals shine like they usually do and gives a good improvement to the questionable vocal decisions of this album. On top of this, Joey’s sax solo is very well-fitting and brings some good jazz vibes into an otherwise jazz-free project. However, there are drawbacks to this song as, much like a lot of recent Vulf, it’s a cover and I find the Al Green version to have much more impactful instrumentals where Stratton has dulled them down significantly. Another decent song in this half is Blue, is a relatively simple jazzy/blues song. The piano, performed by Jacob Jeffries, slightly redeems his efforts in this project.
I have found that this album is successful in branching out into areas Jack would most likely be too cautious to lead Vulfpeck into. However, in these attempts they haven’t reached the levels I hoped they would, often being too satirical or going too far to fit the theme of Vulf. Comparing this to the first Vulfmon album, it also doesn’t live up to that, with the first album being much more consistent. Stratton needs to pull off a miracle to bring Vulf to its former glory.
Every song was a showstopper for a celebratory final night of Couch’s debut international tour in an ambitious show packed with unrelenting funk-pop grooves, countless glorious solos and the best Harry Styles cover money can buy.
Tema Siegel stands centre stage, clad in a leather jacket with her microphone aloft in one hand, mug of coffee in the other. She’s reached the crux of Saturday, and slowly tilts her head back and shuts her eyes as she lets out an authoritative long note above a whirl of funky synths and guitars. A moment later and the entire song disintegrates when the band simply stop playing and Siegel switches from that momentary bliss to the neutral stance of everyday life in a moment. The song’s ending is met by an almost comic ripple of applause from the half dozen audience members, all of whom are loitering in a dark corner of Band On The Wall. For a song like Saturday clearly designed to whip up audiences into a frenzied party, it all feels shockingly flat.
The good news is the party hasn’t started yet. In fact, the six audience members are myself and the group of friends I’d travelled to Manchester with plus a sound guy. Through something like the dark arts (or, more specifically, some smooth direct messaging with Couch’s Instagram account), my friend Thomas had scored us ‘VIP’ access to the soundcheck, as well as a chance to personally meet some of the eight band members. We stood there at the back like sheepish starstruck superfans doting on the musicians’ every word as they ironed out fiddly issues with in-ear monitors and song transitions before hopping off stage and closely listening back to a recording just in case any mixing decisions needed tweaking.
Constant movement injected Couch’s set with fun.
Cut to three hours later and that careful, diligent preparation was invisible to the crowd as the eight excited musicians promptly kicked into their opening number. Since the low-key soundcheck, Band On The Wall – an impressively decked out and fresh-feeling venue in Manchester’s fashionable Northern Quarter – had transformed from a dark, empty void to the place to be in the city, with the most intense buzz of pre-gig anticipation I’ve felt since Sam Fender. The big draw of Thomas’ arrangements turned out not to be the soundcheck or even chats with the band but the early access itself, which meant we could snag an ideal spot at the front of the crowd, close enough to examine Siegel’s choice of trainers and directly hear the harsh parp of Jeffrey Pinsker-Smith’s trumpet before it was routed through the venue’s sound system. The thrill of such close contact with the stars, with the possibility of catching brief eye contact with a restless Siegel as she delivered her unwavering lead vocals, never wore off.
Almost every song featured a face-scrunching solo worthy of spontaneous yelps of support from the crowd and bandmates alike.
The proximity no doubt intensified the experience for me and my friends, but everyone in the room seemed blown away by the breathless opening set piece from the Bostonian band, who are riding high on the wake left behind by Vulfpeck, a funk band so spectacularly successful they’ve inspired renewed interesting in retro, jazz-informed pop amongst the young generation the world over. A brief rendition of the Wii Sports theme song set the tone for a light-hearted evening (and took a leaf out of Cory Wong’s playbook) before a sublime transition into the tumbling first chords of Fall Into Place, a song that instantly had the band – and therefore, the crowd – bobbing along to the groove enthusiastically. It was sounding surprisingly tight despite all the passionate moving and shaking onstage, ending with the first of many spine-tingling belted vocal moments of the night, aided by more than one flashy organ glissando. Immediate follow-up I’m Leavin’ (The Na-Na Song) continued the momentum with a masterclass in how to transform a lazy, grating chorus into an instant crowd pleaser on the night by way of punchier crescendos, noisier solos and a healthy helping of light choreography.
The best aspect of Couch’s performance, and also arguably the only weakness, was the fact that the high energy pop bangers started with Fall Into Place and virtually didn’t stop for the next 100 exhilarating (and exhausting) minutes. Almost every song featured a face-scrunching solo worthy of spontaneous yelps of support from the crowd and bandmates alike, and even the seemingly quiet tracks invariably wound up with a gobsmacking finale led by the indefatigable Siegel, her long notes often bridging dramatic stops in the accompaniment. The best songs were often simply the ones with the most ambitious climaxes. Earwormy Poems tailed off into the stratosphere even more than most, propelled onwards by a key change at an opportune moment. Still Feeling You, a perfectly crafted pop song and head and shoulders Couch’s best recorded track, was always destined to be a highlight, even if the knotty horns-led instrumental bridge inevitably frayed at the edges now played outside the comfortable surroundings of a recording studio.
Every band member got their moment in the spotlight.
An interesting selection of covers filled out a marathon 21-song set, all of which were Couch-ified with immaculately rehearsed details of group synchronicity, plus the trademark barnstorming final chorus. A zestful rendition of With A Little Help From My Friends was well received, and a smooth transition into Something milked the Beatles patriotism in the room for all it was worth. Billy Joel’s Vienna provided the sort of robust blues melody that Siegel eats for breakfast, and Pinsker-Smith was not one to pass off on an opportunity for a squawking muted trumpet solo. A less purposeful rendition of Sex On Fire, by contrast, felt surplus to requirement. It may seem like a cruel backhanded compliment for me to list the cover of Harry Styles’ somewhat bland, radio-primed filler Late Night Talking as the evening’s biggest highlight, but Couch’s reimagination of the track is so brilliant it’s already earning its own reputation in the States as one of the group’s niftiest showstoppers. Every corner of the song was masterfully slick and self-assured, from the chorus’ finely tuned vocal harmonies to the delightful yet well-restrained fresh flashes of trumpet and saxophone. It culminated in Danny Silverston’s breathtakingly funky Stevie Wonder-style clavinet breakdown (a surefire way to Undertone‘s heart), before Siegel reintroduced each instrument with a joyful campness (“Willy, where’s that bass at!?”). This was the sort of cover that will forever render the original a disappointment.
Chants of “we want more!” were instant after Couch left the stage; Siegel could only manage a few seconds hidden backstage before bursting back out to her adoring fans with a smile.
Couch proved themselves to be great musicians, but they were even better performers. From song one, movement onstage was constant and engaging, and rarely did all band members start and end a song in the same spot. Leading the pack, Siegel was particularly bubbly, often crouching down a few feet in front of us and looking into the phone cameras of the rapt front row fans, my friends amongst them. Wireless microphones and transmitters were an essential piece of tech for Couch, allowing almost every band member to wander the stage freely, resulting in the sort of dynamic and authentically spontaneous performance you’re unlikely to see in your traditional four-man rock band. Eric Tarlin on saxophone was the band member that seemed to most relish this freedom, initiating games of rock-paper-scissors or handshakes with bandmates before particularly magnificent solos. He travelled so much that his hijinks found him playing keyboard at one point, as well as an entertaining stint as lead vocalist. His solos were equally playful and cheeky, his face tight with a smile behind the mouthpiece.
In fact, every band member had plenty of time alone in the limelight – Still Feeling You was followed by several minutes of solos on the same chord progression. It could have been tiresome had each solo not been somehow more spectacular than the last. Jared Gozinsky’s long drum break into standout Saturday was thunderous and bassist Will Griffin was Dart-like in his enthralling few minutes at the front of stage, but it was keyboardist Danny Silverston who produced the finest solo of the night with his otherworldly synth adventures on Let Me Hold You, the more promising of two unreleased songs.
Tema Siegel was an engaging frontwoman.
Countless more solos came and went by the time Siegel started saying her goodbyes. It had been a set admittedly lacking in versatility. The band’s formula of throwing the kitchen sink at the end of every song became a little too apparent after a dozen iterations and Siegel’s vocal performances, whilst commanding, lacked nuance. Fortunately, all the kitchen sink throwing was so passionately delivered there were few signs of tiredness amongst the celebratory crowd. Chants of “we want more!” were instant after Couch left the stage, and Siegel could only manage a few seconds hidden backstage before bursting back out to her adoring fans with a smile. Encore song Conjunction Junction gave the fans exactly what they wanted: unadulterated funk, complete with squelchy rhythm guitar, a sticky horns hook and lyrics that made good use of the word “funk”. To say the ensuing sax vs trumpet solo battle at the song’s climax tore the roof off would be inaccurate; Couch had metaphorically deroofed Band On The Wall several times already that evening.
The five of us left promptly and strode briskly back to Victoria station to catch the last train home, already eagerly throwing around “best gig ever” suggestions after our successful VIP experience. It was perhaps telling that whilst my friends exchanged video clips of the night’s highlights on the train, my first action was to find a row to myself, lie down and throw a coat over my head to block out the overhead lights. Couch’s show had been inconcise but potent, an adrenaline shot of high-octane pop destined to leave sore heads in the morning. Several band members had fittingly finished collapsed on the floor in the immediate aftermath of Conjunction Junction, and in many ways Couch were right not to hold back on their final night in the UK before flying back to the States. They had given it all, and it wasn’t just my friends’ special treatment that had made it a night to remember. That said, if Couch can be accused of bribery – giving away freebies in the hopes of praise from the esteemed tastemaker at Undertone blog – this time it worked magnificently.
Just in time for the end of 2022, it’s time to complete our countdown of Undertone’s top songs of the year.
20.Got Weird
from Hot Mess by dodie (pop)
I’m wary of giving in to bias on this one. dodie was here last year with I Kissed Someone (It Wasn’t You), and the year before with Cool Girl, and was also responsible for one of my favourite gigs of all time, even if I find her music often a little saccharine and lacking in a certain oompf. But this song, I insist, deserves some attention. After years of making do with flawed-but-fun In the Middle, July’s Got Weird at last ended the wait for a genuinely danceable dodie song with a strong backbeat. The production is meticulous (new tiny elements of percussion and little vocal interjections are revealed with every repeat listen) and the chorus hook is one of her strongest to date. dodie’s development as an artist is showing no sign of slowing, and whilst Got Weird isn’t quite top ten material, there’s no denying she’s getting closer.
Also listen: Hot Mess
19.Wishbone
from Incantation by Emma Rawicz (jazz)
20-year-old jazz newcomer Emma Rawicz didn’t pick up a tenor saxophone until she was 16. Listening to her assertive solo in the bold and brilliant Wishbone – a jazz fusion number that proudly announced herself onto the UK jazz stage in May – that fact seems beyond belief. The song’s agile but catchy head is delivered by Rawicz (and, importantly, a crisp electric guitar) with all the confidence and panache of someone twice her age. A concise solo packs an even more impressive punch, Rawicz’s tone enjoyably blunt-edged and vibrato-free. By far the most impressive aspect of Wishbone, however, is the quality of the composition. Shifting chords sit naturally with a busy drum part, and Rawicz’s engaging melody ties it all together very nicely. A gripping drum solo at the end also makes for a satisfyingly no-nonsense finale of her debut album. With a starting point as great as Wishbone, big things seem to be ahead for 2022’s brightest rising star in British jazz.
Also listen: Voodoo
18.Esperanza
by Hermanos Gutiérrez (latin, ambient)
Like many of the more obscure artists I’ve discovered over the past year, the Gutiérrez brothers found me in an unexpected place – specifically an independent coffe shop in Ullapool (that is, their music through a speaker, not the Swiss-Ecuadorian musicians themselves, who I would assume are infrequent visitors to the far north of Scotland). It turned out to be a good place to discover Esperanza, a hypnotic, strangely affecting guitar duet that would serve as a quite magnificent soundtrack to the scenic car journeys through remote Scotland in the days to come. The song possesses all the beauty and tranquility of a long, pleasantly uneventful drive through endless hills or, as María Medem’s companion animation vividly portrays, a surreally sparse desert. The musical chemistry of the two brothers is a big part of the song’s success. It’s often difficult to pick out one guitar from another, and the intricacy of the plucking ensures there’s plenty to listen to even as the final, haunting refrain settles into its many meditative repeats. Whether on a physical road trip or not, to listen to Hermanos Gutiérrez is to be taken on a powerfully visceral musical journey. I’ve never heard anything like it.
Also listen: Tres Hermanos is the highlight from the duo’s strong recent album El Bueno Y El Malo, which continues in much the same vain as Esperanza.
17.Victory Dance
from Where I’m Meant To Be by Ezra Collective (latin jazz)
UK jazz frontrunners Ezra Collective have been flirting with latin jazz for a while, but they took the plunge spectacularly earlier this year with raucous samba track Victory Dance. Beyond Ife Ogunjobi’s radiant trumpet solo, it’s pianist Joe Armon-Jones who steals the show by providing one of the performances of his career, charging up and down the keys with characteristically spiky cluster chords. It culminates, as all good piano solos should, with multiple glissandos and passages so mind-blowingly rapid at one point the solo threatens to unravel completely. Armon-Jones just about stays on top of it all in time for a nut-tight horns hook to see the song out. Ezra Collective remain at the peak of their powers no matter what genre that have a crack at (2020’s hip hop-styled Dark Side Riddim was equally brilliant), and as a contemporary British jazz keyboardist, Armon-Jones is virtually unmatched.
Also listen: Ego Killah, Siesta
16.Dream Girl Evil
from Dance Fever by Florence + The Machine (rock)
Choosing a song from Florence Welch’s sixth and quite possibly best album was one of the harder decisions I’ve had to make for this list. For now, I’ll go for brooding Fleetwood Mac stomper Dream Girl Evil. Here, Welch’s sheer power both as a vocalist and lyricist are at their clearest. “At least you’ll sanctify me when I’m dead,” she wails to cue an army of female backing singers that contribute to the song’s snowballing menace. The formidable “I am nobody’s moral centre!” – accompanied a magnificent bass fill – is perhaps the most spine-tingling ten seconds of the whole album.
Also listen: subtle opener King concludes with musical fireworks; instant dance-pop classic My Love always seemed destined to be Dance Fever‘s biggest commmercial hit, and rightly so.
15.Concrete Over Water
from I Love You Jennifer B by Jockstrap (electronic)
Duo Jockstrap achieved the most uncategorisable album of the year with the dauntingly multifaceted I Love You Jennifer B, a feverish collection of bizarre musical beasts that delivered a sonic gut punch when I saw them live on a memorable autumn night. Concrete Over Water is as good a representative as any for the work, and exposes why even a label as vague as ‘electronic’ doesn’t quite fit here: a lo-fi acoustic piano bridge is intensely personal and Georgia Ellery’s impressionistic lyrics are some of the most strikingly beautiful I’ve heard all year. It culminates in a strange stomp of stuttering snares and Taylor Skye’s ethereal synth arpeggios, soon joined by an equally extraterrestrial violin melody. In the end, it’s nigh on impossible to distill everything that makes Concrete Over Water so brilliantly unique into a handful of sentences. Like the rest of this terrific debut album, this is a song that must be heard to be believed.
Also listen: Greatest Hits and What’s It All About could so easily be good, simple pop and folk songs respectively, but instead Jockstrap’s idiosyncratic electronic manipulations lift them to a higher artistic level. Hellish Debra and 50/50 are only for those familiar with what they’re letting themselves in for.
14.Just a Game from Lucky Me by Phoebe Green (pop)
It’s been a big year for indie pop upstart Phoebe Green, who’s daringly original debut album Lucky Me earned deserved critical acclaim. In the middle of it all, Just A Game crashes into gear with a thump of cymbals and cowbell, and continues with much the same conviction. The two-part vocal harmonies are effortlessly pulled off and Green is just as on the money in spoken, confessional interludes. Just A Game manages to sound both deeply personal yet expansive and inescapably moving. “I don’t want to be in love until I know it’s worth my time,” Green tells us amongst a swirl of soaring synths. It’s this flash self-confidence – by no means abundant in the rest of the album – that helps Just A Game shine higher than anything else Green has produced to date.
Also listen: Crying in the Club
13.Blame It on the Water
from Sir Woman by Sir Woman (pop, soul)
Everything about Sir Woman’s Blame It on the Water oozes quality modern soul music, from the tasteful backing vocals to the squirty synths and deliciously funky bass. Kelsey Wilson may have just transitioned away from the world of folk and county as part of Glorietta, but she seems to have no qualms leading the charge for a large and varied band on this number. Underpinning it all is, of course, faultless songwriting, plus a titular hook so intuitive you can practically sing it as soon as you’ve read the song name. A piano-led breakdown in the bridge ensures Sir Woman sticks the landing.
Also listen: Party City is similarly easy to love.
12.This Is Why by Paramore (rock, post punk)
The return of much-loved, now rather nostalgic pop punk favourites Paramore was always bound to be a much talked-about event, but the sheer quality of this comeback single, This Is Why, triggered giddy mania amongst the many thousands of Paramore superfans around the world. Delightfully, the sound of This Is Why is quite clearly distinct from the band’s previous hits. Gone is the now dated pop punk (essentially anthemic pop songs but faster and louder) in favour of the trendier post punk: slinky, minimalist grooves and smarter, sharper choruses. This Is Why‘s chorus in particular packs one hell of a punch, with Hayley Williams’ gang vocals slotting in between a choppy guitar riff like a jigaw piece. There’s a few signs of the Paramore of old: a playful synth shimmer towards the end harks back to Hard Times, and Williams impassioned vocals are no less potent than on old classics such as Misery Business or Still into You. But make no mistake, this is not the Paramore of the 2000s. The big hits may be great, but what lies on the horizon for Paramore may be even better.
Also listen: The News
11.Angel from Palomino by First Aid Kit (folk rock)
First Aid Kit was one of the many bands I discovered whilst glued to my TV on a glorious Glastonbury weekend. It was good timing ahead of their fifth album, which wasn’t short of highlights: the anthemic bliss of Out of My Head, the unmissable narrative three-chord country romp A Feeling That Never Came; charming folk chugger Turning Onto You. It was lead single Angel, that resonated with me the most. Featuring a gorgeous melody perfect for sunset drives home across the countryside, in Angel Swedish sisters Johanna and Klara Söderberg solidified themselves as queens of the two-part vocal harmony, their voices blending with an ease only siblings can pull off. The song comes off as a bittersweet but ultimately liberating admission of unrequieted love. “I love you, even if you don’t love me,” Johanna sings plaintively before a quite glorious trumpet solo takes over. There’s a strong undercurrent of melancholy throughout Angel but in the end this song is an unavoidably joyful piece of self-expression.
Also listen: A Feeling That Never Came, Out of My Head, Turning Onto You
10.CUFF IT from RENAISSANCE by Beyoncé (pop, soul)
As the album of the year lists keep coming its becoming increasingly difficult to find something new to say about Beyoncé’s seventh high-budget, chart-storming studio album. It was arguably the biggest cultural moment in pop this year, and the name recognition of Beyoncé wasn’t the only reason behind the clamour this album generated. A bold change in direction towards the world of dance music in all its forms, RENAISSANCE‘s tracks wove into one another brilliantly, Beyoncé serving up EDM, house and even hyperpop with equal mastery. Exhilarating hit CUFF IT was the album’s soul offering and had my hairs standing on end with excitement when I heard it on a first listen through of the album on a long, jet-lagged night in Bangkok last summer. Principally CUFF IT is home to a glut of superb funk bass lines which only grow more emphatic as the song develops. Beyoncé’s vocals – as world class as ever – ensure momentum is never lost, and every little addition (sublime group backing vocals, a gleeful horns section, a squelchy rhythm guitar) is mixed in with the precision of an artist of unmatched pop pedigree. A perfectly good chorus is ditched after just two outings, but the riveting funk jam that arrives in its place makes such reckless regard to traditional pop song structure more than excusable. CUFF IT, along with it’s eye-watering 300 million streams, has repositioned Beyoncé at the very top of modern pop. She’s never sounded funkier.
Also listen: PLASTIC OFF THE SOFA, VIRGO’S GROOVE, BREAK MY SOUL
9.Still Feeling You from COUCH by Couch (pop)
If writing a good pop song was a box ticking exercise, then Couch have all their bases covered with Still Feeling You. The band are fresh out of various music colleges across the US, and it’s a song that has all the hallmarks of being written by an enthusiastic, very capable student of music. There’s a contrasting pre-chorus, trendy anti-chorus, clever harmonic shifts and even a strikingly knotty big band-led bridge. The ingredients of success are all there, but Tema Siegel still holds nothing back vocally, in particular by belting out a phenomenal high note after the bridge that still sounds spine-tingling on the hundredth listen. It’s a challenge to find anything to fault here. Still Feeling You is ambitious in its relative complexity, but the execution couldn’t have been more nailed.
Also listen: Saturday
8.Leader of the Pack
from Cub by Wunderhorse (rock)
Within five seconds of hearing Wunderhorse’s Leader of the Pack last October I knew I had a top ten contender on my hands. The song opens with the grittiest guitar hook I’ve heard all year; the sort of hook so simple yet brilliant it makes you wonder why no one has written it before. Newquay-based Jacob Slater gets stuck in with an growling, distorted vocal performance good enough to launch his career towards the mainstream. Slater can’t resist the temptation to throw in a screaming, old school classic rock guitar solo towards the end, and the end result is a spectacular piece of loud, dirty, crowd-pleasing rock ‘n’ roll.
Also listen: Teal
7.When You Know You Know
from Expert In A Dying Field by The Beths (rock)
Standing in front of the Beths in a underfilled Brudenell Social Club in Leeds, I heard their soon-to-be-released A Real Thing and got worried. It was their first big misfire in a while, including an ungainly, awkwardly choppy chorus that simply didn’t work. As a first taste of an upcoming third album, it was disappointing. By the time September had rolled around, however, a Kiwi indie rock miracle was upon us. With A Real Thing apparently ditched from the tracklist, Expert In A Dying Field was unquestionably the best album the Beths have released to date: packed with cracking singalong choruses, versatile and hooky songwriting and more face-melting guitar solos than you could shake a Brudenell homemade pasty at. Pleasingly straightforward hit When You Know You Know was my pick with its clever melodies often accompanied by silky backing vocals. Jonathan Pearce’s concise guitar solo is also a joy before Elizabeth Stokes charges another rollicking chorus. Almost right under our noses – and annoyingly right after I saw their middling live show – the Beths have reinvented themselves. My tickets for their next UK tour have already been bought, and with material as strong as When You Know You Know now at their disposal they are bound to tear the roof off.
Also listen: thrashing A Passing Rain has the Beths’ punkiest chorus to date; Knees Deep, Head In The Clouds, Your Side and I Told You That I Was Afraid all feature Stokes at the peak of her songwriting powers.
6.The Loneliest Time from The Loneliest Time by Carly Rae Jepsen feat. Rufus Wainwright (pop, disco)
While Carly Rae Jepsen has never been doubted by the critics, a long time have passed since genuinely iconic hit Call Me Maybe, her first and arguably only global hit. That finally changed in 2022 with the pitch perfect disco track The Loneliest Time. The magic’s in the sprightly strings parts (incidentally arranged by former Cory Wong collaborator Cody Fry), as well as the irrestible vocal chemistry between Jepsen and fellow Canadian Rufus Wainwright. That’s not to mention the TikTok viral bridge, which is enormous fun and will no doubt be screamed by the superfans (myself included) when Jepsen rocks up to Leeds Academy in a little over a month. “And in the morning sun hits the water / Is this nirvana?” they sing in harmony to mark a stunningly beautiful coda. Carly Rae Jepsen’s latest pop smash may not amount to spiritual enlightenment, but it’s not far off.
Also listen: Talking to Yourself, Beach House
5.FAMILY VAN from BUMMER by cleopatrick (rock)
FAMILY VAN is a rock song not for the faint of heart. Heard in its natural habitat from a sweaty mosh pit in Leeds last March, it sounded apocalyptic. Genius production has a big part to play here: there’s only one guitar, but the deafening bridge sounds like an army of rockstars, and Ian Fraser’s kick drum is never anything but chest-poundingly explosive. Frontman Luke Gruntz channels his rage through heavy vocal distortion, at one point his vocals so angry he can hardly finish an expletive ridden sentence before the cacophony engulfs him. FAMILY VAN isn’t just raw noise either. Gruntz’s lurching opening riff is nicely repurposed throughout, most effectively in an awesomely triumphant finale. Fraser is shrewd behind the drum kit, saving his earth-shattering fills for the big moments and delivering an impressive whirlwind of cymbals in that remarkable bridge. Music can be a vessel for all emotions, and FAMILY VAN is unequivocal about which one it attempts to recreate: this is pure, unadulterated fury, delivered in its most potent form.
Also listen: GOOD GRIEF, OK
4.They Gave Me A Lamp
from Every Valley by Public Service Broadcasting feat. Haiku Salut (art rock)
I was lucky enough to come across intriguing Derbyshire ambient trio Haiku Salut at a small venue in York last May, and since then I’ve been hooked on the delightful They Gave Me A Lamp. It’s a song helmed by Public Service Broadcasting, a band that have made a name for themselves by setting evocative historial soundbites to music. Fascinating album Every Valley covers the rise and fall of the Welsh mining industry, and They Gave Me A Lamp specifically looks at the issue from a feminist slant, following one woman who describes being undervalued in the jobs she is assigned. It’s an incredibly niche premise for a song, but even if you let the moving interview recordings wash over you, there’s something unmistakbly powerful about the musical accompaniment. Trumpets, guitars and glockenspiel weave around one another, rising and falling in sync before a chugging bass guitar heralds an inspiring fanfare finale. With the endearing vocals on top of it all, They Gave Me A Lamp makes for a spellbinging artistic package.
Also listen: All Out covers the miners’ strikes, and sounds about as brutal and earthy as you could hope for.
3.I’m Happy You’re Here
by Ugly (alt rock)
Coming in at just over eight minutes, I’m Happy You’re Here is a song that rewards patience. For the most part, tension is built slowly and carefully. Samuel Goater’s vocals are nervy and introspective, and over an unsettled chord progression and ghostly backing vocals his baritone is a commanding presence. “I’ve come a long way to destroy you,” he warbles at one point like an anime character preparing for the final boss as electric guitars threaten to cut loose. The set up is exquisite, but the payoff is even more so: an electrifying new hook, rapid, stuttering drums and an unbelievable saxophone solo that tails off into the stratosphere.
Fresh Cambridge alt rock outfit Ugly have only just embarked on their careers, but I’m Happy You’re Here is an inimitable piece of art and a quite staggering achievement for a band that only have an EP of jangly punk three-minuters to their name. The song provides an instrumental depth that’s not supposed to come from a ragtag-looking bunch of university students whose gigging tours are yet to head much further north than Bedford. The verses are imbued with all sorts of sonic wonders: an eery, distant honky tonk piano, an unnervingly sudden intake of breath, a wispy high-frequency synth, some sort of exotic bird call. In the end it’s all pulled together in a denoument that evokes a grand Shakespearean tragedy. Like Hamlet, I’m Happy You’re Here may takes its time to reach a conclusion, but embrace the undercurrent of strangeness and stick with it. I promise the final act makes it all worthwhile.
Also listen: spiritual followup single Sha is a much less experimental chamber rock track, but just as effective in getting its hook lodged in your head.
2.Hold Me Closer
by Cornelia Jakobs (pop)
Cornelia Jakobs may have finished a disappointing fourth in the 2022 Eurovision Song Contest, but her song deserved so much more. Hold Me Closer is a devastating reflection on doomed love, with Jakob’s pained, smoky vocals an ideal match for lines as heartbreaking as “I found the right one at the wrong time, but until the sunrise, hold tight”. Critics at the time said Hold Me Closer was too much a typical Swedish pop entry, lacking in any ambition to extend beyond the familiar constraints of the commercial middle-of-the-road crowdpleaser. Sure, Hold Me Closer is not lacking in traditional pop tropes, but every single one is executed with undeniable perfection. Synths may fill out the choruses, but they sound not tacky but propulsive, creating a swell of emotion behind Jakobs. The bridge is concise enough to comply with the ESC’s three minute constraints, but still provides a precipituous crescendo to get the confetti cannons firing in earnest. On paper the lyrics are trite and saccharine, but sung with the passion and heartbreak that exudes Jakobs, every word is crushingly believable. I have no qualms saying Hold Me Closer musically trumps Ukraine’s victorious Stefania and even the UK’s high-scoring Space Man in virtually every category, but alas Cornelia didn’t quite land the biggest crown in European music. Perhaps inevitably, it seems a case of the right song at the wrong time.
Also listen: Fine is a just as emotional but more intimate and intiguing ballad; Late Night Stories was the best I could find from Jakobs’ back catalogue.
1.Concorde
from Ants From Up There by Black Country, New Road (chamber rock)
“I was made to love you, can’t you tell?!” Isaac Wood begs at one point during Concorde. It’s a lyric that neatly sums up Black Country, New Road‘s masterpiece in Ants From Up There, an album that runs like a contemporary Tennyson’s Maud as an analysis of one man’s doomed and completely unreciprocated obsession with a woman, all told from the perspective of the unreliable narrator. The February release has since become my very own obsession. Not one song on Ants From Up There from the Cambridge septet fails to pack a punch, and the outstanding musicianship (Lewis Evans and Georgia Ellery make for a memorable partnership on saxophone and violin respectively) plus Wood’s deeply personal and often bizarre lyrical style had me returning to Ants From Up There again and again and again throughout the year. For this list the difficulty was not in whether a song from Ants From Up There would be a winner, but which one.
I’ve settled for Concorde, which seems as good a representative as any for the album, with the title one of the album’s most memorable recurring metaphors. Concorde is an ever-shifting composition, with Luke Mark’s reassuring guitar riff leading the way. The choruses build and fall and build again like waves, coloured by a plucking mandolin and Evans’ evocative rising saxophone melody. The final build into an extraordinary instrumental section – starting with the hum of Tyler Skye’s lone bass guitar – is as stupendous as they get. “Concorde and I die free this time!” Wood yells with deluded triumph, rounding off a lyric sheet that would quite easily be dived into and mined for nuggets of metaphorical insight by any enthusiastic student of literature. Now in the knowledge of Wood’s abrupt departure from the band in the days before the album’s release, it’s a line that makes for uneasy, but gripping, listening. Perhaps Wood simply put too much of himself into his music. Perhaps such frank and poetic outpouring of emotion became too much for him. With a song as formidable as this one, who could blame him?
Also listen: Good Will Hunting is almost a normal rock song (and one of the few songs barely under five minutes), and a brilliant rock song at that; beautiful, lilting The Place Where He Inserted the Blade also deserved top spot; mind-blowing art rock epic Basketball Shoes‘ reputation preceeds itself – whatever you do, cherish that first listen.
It’s time once more to run through Undertone’s 40 favourite songs of the year. As ever, it’s a list that’s been meticulously – almost obsessively – curated over the course of 2022, with each song’s position chosen by a combination of rigid methodology (in this case, dozens of randomised one-to-one comparisons with other songs) and subjective emotional pull; the top songs are invariably the ones that resonated with me for reasons music and lyrics alone can’t explain. The rules are the same as before: no covers or live performances and strictly one song per album, even if chosing the best song on certain albums can trigger a week of lost sleep. Unlike more professional lists from critics, this collection of songs reflects my personal consumption of music this last year and I have made no attempt to identify the best music globally released in 2022, since I simply don’t have the time or patience to digest the vast amount of new music there is to enjoy in any given year. Instead this list simply reflects the best music I’ve become aware of this past year. Most, but not all, songs in this list were released in 2022.
This post covers positions 40 to 21. Check back on the blog next Friday for my favourite 20 songs of 2022.
40.About Damn Time
from Special by Lizzo (pop, disco)
With its throbbing bass line and a second verse smooth enough to send TikTok into a frenzy, Lizzo’s most recent pop smash made a strong case for 2022’s song of the summer. She may have tipped her toe into the enticing waters of the new disco zeitgeist with unavoidable 2019 breakout hit Juice, but About Damn Time was Lizzo going all in. Virtually every box on the disco bingo card is checked – a Nile Rodgers rhythm guitar, a purring slap bass, a titular vocal hook so simple a two-year-old could sing it back after hearing it once. There’s plenty of fun beyond the box ticking too, namely in a silly but effective flute hook undoubtedly performed by Lizzo herself. About Damn Time is a song that will be lighting up dancefloors the world over for many years to come.
Also listen: 2 Be Loved (Am I Ready)
39.Carta
from Marchita by Silvana Estrada (folk, singer-songwriter)
Silvana Estrada’s beautiful Marchita is the sort of album that deserves to be sat down with on a quiet Sunday afternoon and given your full attention. The Mexican songstress’s earthy, strikingly delicate sophomore release is beautiful from start to finish, her pristine acoustic compositions sounding as delicate as finely-crafted origami. It’s an album not short on solemn, introspective moments (album closer La Enfermedad Del Siglo constitutes a quite breathtaking trombone solo), but lilting, uptempo number Carta is perhaps Estrada shining at her brightest. Her exceptional vocals as clear and refreshing as sunshine, Estrada performance is a joy to behold over a charming accompaniment of acoustic guitar and double bass, plus the occasional lyrical cello intermission. Endearingly understated, Carta may not demand your attention like the big rock tracks in this list, but within the quietness is a beauty few artists can conjure.
Also listen: La Enfermedad Del Siglo, Sabré Olvidar
38.Prosecco
by Rachel Maria Cox (pop)
It’s a shame Aussie alt-pop singer Rachel Maria Cox has yet to find her followup hit after this sure-footed disco-pop number that came out back in 2019. A big, big song helped by an uninhibited vocal performance, it’s difficult to fault Cox’s bold chorus hook, and the competing forces of cowbell, synth, bass and guitar in the verses are well managed. Topped by a phenomenally effective bridge, the hope is that Cox’s career will progress one day to decent-sized gigs where this dance track will surely find a receptive audience.
37.Hold U
from Any Shape You Take by Indigo De Souza (indie pop)
Listening to Indigo De Souza’s enjoyably gritty alt rock album Any Shape You Take late last year, there must have been a part of me that stopped listening by the time I reached Hold U at track eight. It was summer 2022 by the time I gave Hold U another chance to discover it was like nothing else on the album. De Souza’s vocals, previously ragged with intense emotion, were softened for one track only, allowing for an enticing indie pop track imbued with intricate guitar lines and the gentle hum of an electric organ. The song deserves its place on this list for the ingenious mid-chorus groove entry alone, but beyond that point momentum is never lost. “It’s gonna be alright,” she reminds us with refreshing chipperness, before unleashing a series of exquisite high notes in an expansive finale. It’s such an effective genre switch that it makes you wonder why De Souza chose to make a name for herself with jangly guitar chords and yelped vocals about death. With a song like Hold U, however, I won’t be complaining.
Also listen: Pretty Pictures, Die/Cry
36.Sidelines
by Phoebe Bridgers (indie pop)
After releasing one of the albums of 2020 with the mult-faceted masterwork Punisher, Phoebe Bridgers returned in style this year with Sidelines, which sees her as subtly brilliant as ever. A downcast melody meets a gently muffled drum machine halfway through, and the tasteful strings throughout complement Bridgers’ pristine vocals perfectly. It’s a song in no hurry to reach a firm conclusion, instead choosing to languish in melancholy and give Bridgers’ gorgeous lyrics room to breathe. There’s a depth of emotion here that Bridgers is a real specialist in tapping into. “Nothing makes me cry,” she tells us at one point, seemingly wishing she had more emotion. Many listening to a song as affecting as this may well feel the opposite.
Also listen: Bridgers’ most recent addition to a series of charming Christmas songs, So Much Wine
35.Rock Bottom
by Mathilda Homer (indie pop)
Rock Bottom is the best song of Londoner Mathilda Homer’s still-blossoming career so far. It’s in that memorable chorus where Homer’s smoky vocals are at their strongest, the melody stretching into her upper range and allowing for an outburst of emotion that propels the track forward. The gradual inclusion of a spacey lead guitar and shimmering synth add some pathos to this self-assured pop track, and by the final minute the feeling of catharsis is palpable. Surely even bigger hits await for Homer.
34.Law Hill
from Forest Floor by Fergus McCreadie (jazz)
Highland-born jazz pianist burst onto the scene this year with Forest Floor, a dazzling jazz trio debut that landed him a spot on the Mercury Prize shortlist. Infused with the immediacy of folk melodies but still providing plenty for seekers of wild, extended improvised solos, Forest Floor is an engaging listen and restless opener Law Hill is perhaps the most interesting track of the bunch. It features an outstanding performance from McCreadie, who launches into a blistering solo, somehow staying on top of the rapid, ever-shifting groove provided by David Bowden and Stephen Henderson on bass and drums. The track concludes spectacularly with a stuttering, Snarky-Puppy-esque riff that gives Henderson the freedom to whip up an enthralling storm of drums and cymbals. It’s an ambitious way to open your debut album, but this risk has marvelously paid off.
Also listen: The Unforrowed Field, Glade
33.After All
from God Save the Animals by Alex G (singer-songwriter, pop)
Now deeply experienced singer-songwriter Alex G came out with perhaps the album of his career in 2022 with God Save the Animals, and After All is a good introduction to his haunting blend of vocal manipulation and electronics with a more traditional band set up. An understated but expertly composed and produced track, Alex G shifts up a gear for a soaring chorus melody in which his squeaky, echoing vocals manage to highlight the strength of the melody rather than serve as a distraction. Like the album that follows, After All is a curious piece, but one that reveal more and more of its magic with every listen.
Also listen: Runner, Forgive
32.BASEMENT
from MAYBE IN ANOTHER LIFE… by easy life (pop)
After years of pumping out consistently catchy pop numbers and delivering memorable performances at festivals up and down the country, Leicester five-piece easy life now find themselves firmly in the position of one of Gen Z’s most beloved boy bands. Heavy funk party-starter BASEMENT was my pick from a strong batch of songs from the most recent album. Murray Matravers’ coolly under-sung vocals are a fitting match for a song with this much menace, and a wonderful choice of squirty synth for the chorus hook sounds like something pulled straight out of the Doctor Who theme. It’s songs like this that fuel my excitement to see them live next February: surely that bass line belting out of the bulky O2 City Hall speaker system will be electrifying.
Also listen: CALLING IN SICK, OTT, MORAL SUPPORT
31.Party Trick
from Marginalia by ella jane (pop)
ella jane realised her full potential with Marginalia, in particular with Party Trick, which shows her creative approach to modern pop at its finest. A retro-leaning synth chugs away like a idling motorbike in the chorus, providing some interesting texture underneath a hooky chorus. A bridge topped by a simple but effective drum fill seals the deal nicely. Pop songs that follow the same outline as Party Trick have undoubtedly been written before, but rarely are they delivered with this much creative flair.
Also listen: Time On, I Wanna
30.Cure For Me
from The Gods We Can Touch by AURORA (pop)
During a lovely evening with AURORA at Leeds’ O2 Academy in April, Cure For Me was the most successful performance of the night, and predictably so. No AURORA song distills her infectious sense of fun quite so clearly. A slightly silly three-note synth riff leads the charge for a rowdy chorus packed with plenty enough percussion to get any concert hall of fans bouncing along enthusiastically. The message – who you are is not something that needs to be fixed or ‘cured’ – is simple and effective, and the a big dramatic crescendo in the bridge somehow manages to intensify the joy even further.
Also listen: A Temporary High, Blood In The Wine
29.Las Panteras
from Let the Festivities Begin! by Los Bitchos (cumbia)
One-of-a-kind cumbia four-piece Los Bitchos delivered one of my favourite gigs of the year when they visited Newcastle in September with a set stuffed to bursting with irrestibly danceable grooves and exquisite guitar hooks that sounded more anthemic with every repeat. Las Panteras tore the roof off on the night and that energy is well-bottled in its studio cut, which features an exhilarating build after a tempo change half way through. It’s not overly complicated, nor – like all of Los Bitchos’ music – does it have any lyrics to muddy the picture. Las Panteras is simply a joy from start to finish. These days listening to it takes me right back to that wonderful night.
Also listen: The Link Is About to Die, Pista (Fresh Start)
28.KEEP IT UP
from WHO CARES? by Rex Orange County (pop)
Mentioning anything about Alex O’Connor is not as striaghtforward as it once was. In October it emerged that the immensely popular British songwriter, who had gained himself an image of the winsome, endearingly introverted indie lad, had been accused of six counts of sexual assault, provoking intense discussion about the state of his career and the familiar conundrum of whether the music of a disgraced star still deserves to be listened to. Seemingly much less talked-about was the dropping of all these charges just this week, and so fortunately appreciating his pop is no longer so controversial. It’s just as well because it had been such a promising year for the star with the release of his fourth album, which marked a huge improvement from the decidedly lackluster Pony. Lead single KEEP IT UP was his finest three minutes of the year, an endearingly understated little pop track with a gorgeous strings hook and cheery chorus about persisting through difficulty. The business-as-usual bumbling bass (a wonderful melody in itself) and chirpy upright piano make for an uncomfortable juxtaposition for the storms ahead for O’Connor in the second half of the year, but KEEP IT UP deserves to be heard above the media frenzy of the allegations, simply by being such a classy pop song.
Also listen: OPEN A WINDOW, AMAZING
27.Mistress America
from This Is Really Going To Hurt by Flyte (folk, pop)
Listening to Flyte’s Mistress America, it’s difficult to believe that the alternative folk band are actually from London. Everything about this song screams America, from Will Taylor’s pensive croon to the relaxed, country-leaning guitars and loose drumming. Lyrically, there’s even some smart, dark satire of present day America (“Mistress America / I’m gonna get a gun and learn the words to all your songs”) which finds a nice home over a wistful descending chord progression that seems to yearn for the semi-mythical ‘great’ America of long ago. The standout performer is Nick Hill on a prominent picked bass, who unleashes a genius bass line in the chorus that McCartney would surely be proud of. The American twang running throughout Mistress America may be artificial, but the poginancy of this track remains perfectly untainted.
Also hear: Losing You
26.Disco Living
from Discover Effortless Living by Bull (rock, pop)
I’ll try not to speak with too much bias when I say local York favourites Bull have a cracking song in Disco Living. Positioned at the end of a consistently great debut album, Disco Living has all the ragged triumph of a live set closer, complete with somewhat gratuitous key changes, multiple scratchy guitar solos and the most anthemic chorus (and verse, for that matter) they’ve ever written. They even throw in an extensive outro and yet another guitar solo for good measure, milking that good old fashioned four chord loop for all its worth. With a tune as glorious as this, who could blame them?
Also listen: Bedroom Floor, Eugene, Green
25.Kerosene
by Biig Piig (electronic)
2020 was an unfortunate time for incomporable Irish artist Biig Piig to come up with a dancefloor primed funk pop banger in Feels Right, but now she’s finally able to give the song the airing it deserves alongside a promising batch of new singles. Choppy and wildly inventive Kerosene is more adventurous than Feels Right but no less groovy. Jessica Smyth’s vocals are sliced and repitched to remarkable effect in a striking chorus, but the basics of a strong pulse and reverberating synth bass line are all there too. There’s a change in musical direction every eight bars or so, with every corner of the two and a half minutes packed with a new piece of production magic. No one in the pop world seems able to create like music quite like this: fresh, exciting and punchy. Kerosene‘s christening on Biig Piig’s UK tour next spring will no doubt be explosive.
Also listen: This Is What They Meant
24.mememe
by 100 gecs (hyperpop, punk)
The Gecs are back, and their music is as radical and raucous as ever. It’s been a few years now since they popularised the brand new genre of ‘hyperpop’; that is, pop taken to its logical extreme with intensely processed vocals, ramped up tempos and instruments turned up so loud their sound ends up mangled in distortion. mememe is arguably their most straightforward earworm to date: a short, looping hook and an even shorter chord loop, plus a chorus that dives headfirst into the wild world of uninhibited punk music. It’s an utterly lethal track, made more potent by its volatility. Nothing quite makes sense; the punk chorus (nostalgically led by a 8-bit synth as if from a retro video game) gives way suddenly to a relatively tame ska verse, and there’s even the appearance of a deceptively harmless baroque fugue take on the hook at one point. Of course, the genius of 100 gecs is that their ideas are so outlandish no one has dared to try them out in a song before. Instead, the duo stand out on their own on pop’s wild side, with mememe their most reliable mosh pit igniter.
Also listen: Torture Me, Runaway
23.Dead Inside Shuffle
from Quality Over Opinion by Louis Cole (funk)
This year also saw the return of immensely talented jazz and funk musician with a mammoth 20-song fourth album that struck a balance between crude funk silliness (Park Your Car on My Face was a genuine highlight) with more earnest personal confessions. Dead Inside Shuffle is a bit of both, with Cole’s general weariness of the world played off like a self-deprecating joke behind a sticky swing drum groove and a quite outrageously funky clavinet. This is Louis Cole at the peak of his powers, offering up not just an unforgettable groove but an impactful lyric sheet to match.
Also listen: I’m Tight, Failing in a Cool Way, Park Your Car on My Face
22.the dealer
from PAINLESS by Nilüfer Yanya (alt rock)
Whilst much of London indie upstart Nilüfer Yanya’s critically-acclaimed third album felt frustratingly restrained, piercing, no nonsense alt rock opener the dealer felt anything but. The jittery drum groove and Yanya’s ominously wispy vocals are both great, but it’s the sparingly used bass guitar that steals the limelight here, ripping into the first chorus with an spectacular melody that charges up and down the octaves. Every time it gets reintroduced feels monumental. the dealer‘s biggest strength is in how it ends up sounding so nasty desipte so little raw material to work with: Yanya, a guitar, bass and drums are all there is to it. Lead singles to blockbuster albums like this one hardly come more resourceful.
Also listen: stabilise, belong with you
21.ceilings
from Five Seconds Flat by Lizzy McAlpine (singer-songwriter, folk)
ceilings is a song that’s been waiting for Lizzy McAlpine to write it. Such is the assuredness of the warm acoustic guitar and lilting melodies, the track almost comes across as a cover of some famed country rock standard from decades ago. But no, this is all McAlpine’s, and it’s all brilliant. Her crystal clear vocals cut through to the soul thanks to a movingly romantic set of lyrics that include a soul-crushing plot twist right as the song reaches its emotional apex. Beyond that acoustic guitar, the instrumental backing is tastefully restrained, with a woody bass landing with aplomb in the second verse. With only two choruses, ceilings comes and goes in a flash but perhaps that’s intentional; the song ends up with an ethereal quality, as if soundtracking an intimate moment briefly frozen in time.
Carried by a wave of support from a large and boozy entourage of travelling fans, Leeds locals Skylights seemed to be having the time of their lives on a one-off night in Dublin. Who cares if their music wasn’t very good?
Iknew I was out of my depth as soon as I asked for a drink at one of the many bars in the gloomy upstairs quarters of Whelan’s, one of Dublin’s most renowned drinking and live music establishments. “J2O? What’s J2O?” the bartender replied, appearing genuinely baffled by my request. “And first of all, have you got a ticket?” he followed, pointing at the visibly annoyed ticket steward behind me that I had just unknowingly sauntered past. I apologised and awkwardly loaded up the ticket on my phone. Back at the bar, I settled for a Coke (not available by the tap, but a few bottles in stock), relieved that at least this beverage did indeed exist on this side of the Irish Sea.
A general feeling of discomfort stayed with me for the whole night. I had spontaneously taken a cheap flight out of Leeds Bradford Airport that morning, embarking on my first ever trip outside the UK alone mostly for a thrilling but comfortingly short new adventure, although there’s surely no more familiar and pleasant foreign destination for a Brit than Ireland. Standing alone in a dark corner of Whelan’s cradling my glass of Coke, I began to feel my age as the Guinness flowed around me, the drinkers invariably twice my age.
Yet, I waited in Whelan’s with the credentials of one of the main act’s ultra fans. Skylights are Acomb, York lads after all (although their allegiance these days lies much more strongly with Leeds, and Leeds United football club in particular), and I even found myself falsely telling Belfast support band Brand New Friend (after an exceptional performance) that I had travelled abroad just for my beloved Skylights, just like the many men around me who were already warming up with chants of “Leeds! Leeds! Leeds!”. The chants only grew louder and the men more lairy, culminating in a roar as the four Skylights lads appeared from the side of the crowd. Raised beers replaced the raised iPhone cameras I had become used to seeing at the bigger gigs I had attended back in England.
The four-piece wasted no time bashing out their hits, endearingly excited and pumped up for their first ever gig outside of the UK and a rare outing beyond the realm of Leeds’ vibrant indie music scene. Particularly with so many football fans around me, the gig felt bizarrely like an exciting non-league cup tie – Whelan’s is hardly Wembley, but this was still the beloved hometown heroes making the journey to the big, unfamiliar city, kept company by their most loyal followers. Skylights are certainly non-league musicians; bassist Jonny Scarisbrick works at a building society during the day, guitarist Turnbull Smith is an electrician. The surreal thrill of travelling to a different country and playing your homemade songs for a modest but enthusiastic crowd of 100 was evident on the musicians’ faces, not least Smith, who seemed to spend the entire gig beaming from ear to ear. Frontman Rob Scarisbrick was the most outwardly nonchalant of the group, only releasing a smile on the many occasions a tipsy man emerged from the crowd to give him a fist bump mid-song.
Amongst all the boozy fervour for the band in that cramped room in south Dublin, it would have been easy to overlook all the musical flaws had I not been standing aside from the main action in the crowd, arms crossed with my 330ml of Coke. The truth is, Smith only really seems to have one guitar riff up his sleeve: a sort of washed out, Oasis rip-off that felt tired from about ten minutes into the set. Scarisbrick was hardly charismatic as a frontman, often taking breaks in vocals to stand well back from the mic and stare blankly into the mid-distance, waiting for his next cue and extinguishing all the on-stage energy in the process. It was a relief on the occasion he picked up a tambourine and gave it a bash to keep himself occupied in the breaks. Drummer Myles Soley was undoubtedly the most technically accomplished member of the group, but got into a habit of overplaying just to prove it: too loud, too many fills and not enough solid groove to bring out the best from the three men in front of him.
And yet, of course, no one seemed to care, and excitement amongst the crowd built steadily through the band’s catchier numbers like Enemies and What You Are, culminating in a glorious finale of dancing and beer sloshing. I’ve never witnessed an atmosphere at a gig quite so merry; this is what indie venues like Whelan’s live for. The band’s debut single YRA in particular tore the roof off, and for once I could begin to understand why. With a bit more mainstream attention, Scraisbrick’s straightforward, instantly unforgettable hook could quite easily find its way into the chanting repertoire at Elland Road, and Whelan’s was certainly packed with fans who had already learnt all the words by heart. A simple song structure and even simpler three chord loop leant the song the same appeal as a cheesy but loveable Eurovision entry – everything in me said I should dismiss it like all the other forgettable Britpop songs in the set, but I found myself soon getting swept up in the mindless joy of the music. YRA would certainly flop in the professional jury vote but dominate the televote, and I wasn’t complaining when the band decided to milk the adoration of the crowd and reprise the song for the end of the show, in probably the first genuinely unrehearsed encore I’ve ever seen.
With the gig wrapped up, Skylights headed for backstage via the audience right in front of me (it was that sort of venue) and I had time to give them a quick pat on the back, ditch my empty glass at the bar and swiftly take the next bus back to my hostel, keen to spend no longer than necessary in the uncomfortable surroundings of people in their forties getting plastered (Scarisbrick promised a long night of partying ahead as he left the stage). It hadn’t been an altogether brilliant night – I tended to watch all the action rather than attempt to get involved in the mayhem as I would usually do with familiar company in more familiar venues – but, as my solo adventures tend to be, it was a great way to make new memories and venture a little out of my comfort zone. I may not be the Skylights superfan I professed to be but, as the band’s following continues to grow, I’ll still be proud to say that I was there the night our York lads played Dublin.
When frontman Isaac Wood left Black Country, New Road just days before the release of what may become one of the best albums of the decade, the survival of the band looked far from guaranteed. The now six-piece chamber rock outfit return just months later for an intimate UK tour with a remarkable set of unreleased music, regrouped, revitalised and ready to take on the world once more.
Of all the places to be in the UK in the early evening of Sunday 22 May 2022, the beer garden of Brudenell Social Club must surely have been one of the most thrilling. The entire city, in fact, was in party mode with the news of Leeds United’s dramatic and successful finish to the season, and as I walked to meet my friend Joe at the train station, cheering boozy blokes and chants of “we are staying up!” outnumbered the usual motorbike revs and ambulance sirens. The atmosphere outside the Brudenell – a universally adored Leeds institution and the beating heart in the student-filled Hyde Park area – was doubly electrifying: Black Country, New Road were in town for one night only.
What made this gig in particular so exciting was the feeling that BC,NR seem capable of much bigger venues. Their debut album For the first time rapidly earned them a passionate core following of on the pulse young post punk and jazz fans, and the acclaim only grew with February’s unbelievable and more radio friendly Ants From Up There, an album venerated by just about every music critic in the land. Take your pick of any national newspaper, the chances are they gave Ants From Up There all five stars, and deservedly so. It was seemingly all going so smoothly for the Cambridge band until days before that album’s release, when frontman Isaac Wood abruptly left the band, citing mental health difficulties. Just as they were reaching their all time high, it looked like it might all come crashing down on BC,NR. Every song that they had built their career on so far was rendered unperformable in the absence their idiosyncratic lead vocalist. Ants From Up There is a devastating listen as it is, but the fact that such a popular masterpiece will never reach the stage added a piercing undercurrent of tragedy. Planned shows – including several gigs in the US plus a visit to Leeds – were suddenly cancelled, Covid-style. Announced last month, this modest UK tour was billed as an intimate warm-up to a summer of festivals across Europe, and an opportunity for the band to regroup and road test an hour long set of completely new music before taking it to the continent and eventually the recording studio. Joe and I may have been disappointed about missing out on hearing material from the albums we both so loved (I’m convinced Basketball Shoes would have been nothing short of life-changing live), but instead the gig at the Brudenell offered an almost as riveting showcase of what might come next for BC,NR.
May Kershaw, on piano, accordion and lead vocals, was a standout performer
The applause from the packed crowd (tickets sold out in a few hours) was long and enthusiastic when the six remaining members of BC,NR took to the stage. When cheers subsided, Lewis Evans opened with some quiet saxophone, soon joined by singing bassist Tyler Hyde (a candidate for new lead vocalist easily predicted by the most well-informed BC,NR superfans). Suddenly, with no warning whatsoever, all six musicians kicked into gear with startling synchronicity, with May Kershaw’s hands bouncing high on the piano and Nina Lim’s violin bow already beginning to fray under the weight of the heavy rock groove. The distant yelps of giddy fans could be heard over the cacophony. It all felt like beautiful confirmation of what we had all hoped; their frontman may have gone, but the unmatched creativity and exhilarating volatility of BC,NR’s music isn’t going anywhere.
One key silver lining was that, in Wood’s absence, several band members were finally given a voice. Hyde led the way, her passionate and often pained lead vocals one of the night’s many highlights. Underrated pianist Kershaw and her pristine, silky smooth voice was perhaps even better, and a nice change of pace from Wood’s abrasive sprechgasang. She was well appointed for the night’s quieter moments, impressing with an ambitious episodic folk piece early in the set which saw her play both accordion and piano at the same time. The most surprising lead vocalist of the night was Evans who, plonked front and centre of stage, often looked and sounded worryingly diffident, invariably clutching the mic stand beside him for support. It may take time for Evans’ wobbly vocals to shore up, but his songs seemed strong. “In my dream you came running to me / Can’t you fall back into my arms?” was one particularly touching moment, Evans’ introversion highlighting the song’s pained vulnerability. Drums swelled at the end of the track and chaos briefly ensued and as Evans quietly put the mic back on its stand and picked up his flute, the impulse was to hug him and tell him he’s doing great.
Tyler Hyde’s bowed bass guitar gave added menace in the crucial moments
Stylistic suprises were to be expected, and BC,NR didn’t disappoint. Beyond Kershaw’s accordion shanty, there were occasional splashes of classical music, including Tyler conducting her own ensemble of flute, violin and piano at one point. The saxophone/violin combo continues to be an intoxicating one (see the stunningly quiet opening minutes of Basketball Shoes, or the closing passages of Mark’s Theme), and Evans blended beautifully with Lim, who stood in for Georgia Ellery on the night as she embarks on her own UK tour with popular electronic duo Jockstrap. It was a shame that technical issues and incessant screeches from mic feedback tainted these quieter, acoustic moments in the first half of the set.
Pianist May Kershaw is classically-trained, and it’s not difficult to tell. She was the star of the penultimate song, a sublime piece that stood head and shoulders above the evening’s other excellent compositions. The rest of the band sat and listened intently as she played and sang on her own, her delicate, deliberate piano playing a marvel throughout. Later, the other five returned to their instruments to support Kershaw as the song swelled and sighed, before building once more in a final, monumental climax. “I’m only a pig,” Kershaw sang over and over, the final word spat out with increasingly bitter vehemence as the dense orchestration materialised around her. Hyde’s bowed bass guitar underpinned it all brilliantly, generating a mighty, floor-shaking rumble that propelled Kershaw’s subtle little piano ballad to new heights. The long wait to hear a studio verson of this “pigs” song begins now.
A gig like this was never going to be about the songs alone, and BC,NR set out to prove that they could still shine even without Wood. They did so magnificently in a show that revealed new aspects of a band bursting with ideas – to come up with such a strong 60-minutes of material just three months after releasing an album is an astonishing feat. The whole night was summed up best during the opening song, when the rollicking power pop paused for a moment of group vocals. “Look at what we did together / BC,NR, friends forever,” they sang in unison. It was an adorably earnest and perhaps cheesy moment that neatly put into words the unmistakable bond of this talented group of friends. After all the uncertainty of the spring, there’s nothing that can get in the way of BC,NR now. Let the good times roll.
In an almost entirely wordless opening night, the boundary-pushing quartet chose impulsive danceability over the political potency they’ve become known for. The result was a thrilling set that seemed to fly by in a matter of minutes.
Ialmost never saw UK jazz trailblazers Sons of Kemet in Manchester. It wasn’t due to Covid this time, but rather the fact that a two hour journey seems all the longer in prospect when fat snowflakes are falling in their millions outside your bedroom window. It was with some reluctance that I scraped the snow off the roof of my car and accepted the kind offering of blankets, a shovel and a bar of chocolate from my worried mother. Only by the time I was diving in and out of thick fog on the upper reaches of the M62 did I realise that this would be my first trip to Manchester completely alone. After a busy week at home, was the promise of somewhat well-known contemporary jazz band worth it?
There were two things that propelled me over the darkening Pennines and onto a delayed and noisy tram headed for the centre of the city. The first was the fact that Sons of Kemet are not your average modern jazz band (although in reality the UK jazz scene is so diverse, an ‘average’ band is near impossible to come across). The four-piece’s USP is without doubt their unique lineup: one tenor saxophone, one tuba and two drummers. And that’s it. Harmonic detail that may have been brought to the table by a guitar or keyboard is replaced by an abundance of percussion, with drummers Eddie Hick and Tom Skinner making full use of their arsenals of cowbells, shakers and cymbals. Tubist Theon Cross and ringleader saxophonist Shabaka Hutchings present a similarly intriguing instance of musical symbiosis; neither instrument takes precedent over the other. Sons of Kemet’s music simply has two concurrent melodies: one high and one low. To listen for hooks in one over the other is to miss the point completely.
The second reason was simply for the sake of adventure. Manchester still feels like it’s own exciting new world to me, and Gorilla is increasingly becoming a familiar haven tucked under the Oxford Road arches. As I walked in wide-eyed and feeling accomplished having completed my grand journey, memories of Nubya Garcia last November came flooding back. Just like I had done that night, I promptly purchased an obligatory half-pint of Coke, slid my way through the crowd (once again ending up miraculously close to the stage) and steeled myself for the several hours of standing up to come. A lack of support act made the wait feel long.
Sons of Kemet ended up sauntering onto stage with little fanfare, the 400-strong crowd greeting them more like old friends than disbelieving megafans. The two frontmen simply smiled, somewhat crudely taped vocal microphones as deep as they could into the end of their instruments and got to work. Plodding opener My Queen Is Doreen Lawrence eased the audience in gently, opening with a repeated kick drum pattern and crackling rimshots before Hutchings added his own tasteful saxophone melodies. There was a huge roar from the crowd when Theon Cross made his entry on tuba – an almighty entry at that, his majestic instrument so rich and powerful in sound it felt as if the ground was shaking beneath us. I found myself in the perfect position in the crowd for a faceful of tuba, the shining mass of muscular brass tubes and valves almost within touching distance. Cross later got into the habit of leaning forward with one boot on the monitor in front of me in such a way that his face was entirely blocked from view by the tuba’s enormous bell, leaving only his legs and his rapid fingers visible. Not in all of my recent gigs has a musician and their instrument looked so awe-inspiringly magnificent working in tandem.
Theon Cross delivered an outstanding performance on tuba
Besides the lineup, the extraordinary thing about the evening’s performance was that the musicmaking started from Doreen Lawrence and hardly stopped until the four of them left the stage for good. As a result, it all began to feel like one, epic piece of jazz, with each song contributing to the general ebb and flow of the performance rather than existing as pieces of art in and of themselves. Pauses for applause felt like obligations to conform to concert traditions rather than necessary breaks, and over an hour had passed before Hutchings first spoke into the mic, albeit only to briefly introduce his bandmates during a song. To my surprise, Sons of Kemet’s pro-BLM, anti-institutional rage that had been so integral to their fiery latest album Black to the Future was entirely limited to their instruments. There was nothing of viscious beat poetry that peppers the album, but in its place we recieved a range of Afrobeat grooves that highlighted the fact that jazz – and a vast portion of modern culture and broader society – originates from the work of black cultures in Africa and around the world. In the end, the band’s key message of respect and understanding was conveyed perhaps with more eloquence than words could ever muster.
In truth, comment about Sons of Kemet’s thoughts on race relations or their feminist slant on black history (many of their songs are named after unsung black women throughout history), was only a minor detail of their performance. As the pumped-up group of fans around me in the front row demonstrated just a few minutes into the band’s set, dancing is a more immediate aspect of the band’s appeal. Early highlights Pick Up Your Burning Cross and the pulsating My Queen Is Albertina Sisulu whipped up a storm in the crowd, with Skinner’s kick drum pounding hard and heavy on every last downbeat. It was striking how often the repetitive, bass-heavy drums grooves resembled EDM or trance music in its ability to compel an audience to lose themselves in the beat. We all seemed to bounce up and down accordingly, the thumping kick drum and hypnotic bassline helping us dismiss any question of fatigue or boredom.
Watching exactly how Skinner and Hick deal with the logistics of two drum kits was fascinating. It seemed to me there tended to be a split between one drummer laying down the basics of a groove and the other adding tasteful splashes of snare and cymbals, although it wasn’t always obvious who had been delegated which role. Each drummer also had a slightly different set of gear at their disposal: Skinner was treated to the bigger, louder of the two kick drums, whilst it was Hick who had been given cowbell privileges. Regardless of the specifics, the end product was an immaculate, exceptionally detailed layer of percussion that both drove the two horn players to ecstatic highs and offered moments of peace and relaxation in the evening’s more thoughtful passages.
It was Theon Cross’s performance, however, that stole the show. A man that has seemingly devoted his life to proving once and for all how phenomenally underrated his instrument is, Cross was a force to be reckoned with, blasting out thundering bass melodies and sweating profusely under the effort demanded from him by the music. Every occasional squeal into the tuba’s extremely loud and surprisingly alarming upper register – sounding somewhere between a revving motorbike and charging elephant – was a thrill that illicited a cheer from the audience, especially when the sound was unleashed at unexpected moments of relative quietness. A three-minute solo piece performed by Cross in the middle of the set showed him at the peak of his powers and in total, virtuosic command of his instrument.
Cross let out a coy smile and dried his sweat-drenched face as the crowd cheered in enthusiastic approval of his solo before beginning another piece completely alone. This time his performance blossomed into the throbbing My Queen Is Harriet Tubman, a blistering, relentlessly volatile piece that remains the band’s best song to date. It took genuine restraint to stop myself from singing along to every last squeal of Hutchings’ sax line which I had learnt by heart – I sensed from the largely quiet dancers around me that screaming along wasn’t the done thing at jazz gigs. Instead I found myself jumping up and down with glee to a tumult of cowbell as both Hutchings and Cross fired off one killer riff after another. Hutchings, bandana-clad and ready for battle with his sinewy biceps bulging from the sides of a sleeveless shirt, ruthlessly attacked every last note like a boxer fighting for the world title. Cross bobbed up and down just a couple of metres away from me, cheeks puffing under the strain of an almighty bass line as Hick swayed along in time behind him, his remarkable dexterity on percussion filling the room with noise. About a dozen gigs in, this surely ranks as my most thrilling live music experience to date.
Hutchings took to recorder at one point
From there, it was a victory lap for the quartet who were clearly enjoying an audience that would gladly stomp their feet at every last thump of Skinner’s kick drum. There were moments of delightful experimentation – Hutchings took to what looked like a recorder at one point (an atenteben would be my guess after a bit of Googling) and Cross added atmosphere to My Queen Is Nanny of the Maroons with some conch playing. Frustratingly neither instrument had been amplified at all, so the effect was more of a mood-setter rather than an attention-grabber. Nonetheless, it added a needed element of light and shade to the evening’s performance. To Never Forget the Source turned out to be a slightly perculiar closer as one of the more downtempo and less remarkable numbers from the band’s latest album. The choice to use an improvised solo piece from Hutchings as the encore was stranger still. His playing was nonetheless mesmerising – a song with a bassline, melody and percussion all conjured up by one man and his saxophone – but it was far from the crowd-pleasing finale I had come to expect.
It was barely 10pm by the time I left Gorilla, but there was a sense among the crowd that we had just experienced something special. Someone next to me remarked that the 90 minutes had flown by. It was true that with virtually no speaking let alone the inter-generational racial hatred I had anticipated, the gig had run like a particularly good concept album: seamless, beautifully crafted and with a vague sense of a journey. Like all the best gigs, I took home a resounding feel of awe – both at the incredible musicians I had come face to face with and the fantastic pieces of music they had brought to life. The long journey had been undoubtedly worth it in the end. What’s more, I didn’t even need to use my shovel.
