DUST BOWL BALLADS — WOODY GUTHRIE

I watched the Bob Dylan movie on a flight to Sri Lanka. Like most music films and “biopics” it was a bit pointless. But I was intrigued about the weight given to the influence Woody Guthrie had on Dylan.

I hadn’t knowingly listened to Guthrie before, so after a bit of Wikipedia-ing started with Dust Bowl Ballads.

The mix between humor and tragedy is well balanced, and I liked the fact it's a form of journalism, telling human stories about a struggle against nature and economic turmoil.

It painted a different picture of life on the frontier than the movies about the era do, which despite illustrating the violence and hardship, nevertheless romanticize the whole thing.

There's no romanticism to Dust Bowl Ballads. People losing their livelihoods, migrating for little or no improvement then dying of pneumonia is rather bleaker than the heroic tales of the old west.

KIRSTY MacCOLL — THEY DON’T KNOW

Kirsty MacColl was 19 when she wrote this excellent pop song — one of those tunes that make sense from the first listen but still have a weirdness and complexity to them. It’s little surprise she was obsessed with the Beach Boys.

I was trying (and failing) to make Italian cornetti one weekend at the start of September, while listening back to the Todd-O-Phonic show on WFMU, when he opened with the song. It was the weekend between Angela Rayner resigning and Peter Mandelson being sacked.

The Rayner resignation and subsequent reshuffle all happened during the Reform conference the Friday before. I was with half the political lobby at the Birmingham NEC, all spread around a café area reserved for press, when the reshuffle started. Most of us had stopped thinking about Reform and were all texting people in government, hoping to confirm various appointments before the Downing Street press office emailed out the full list.

This is one of the more farcical elements to political journalism: we’re all obsessed with reporting things before they happen. So much energy is spent chasing what is happening tomorrow, and far less explaining and assessing what happened today.

It makes sense, in a perverse way. It’s natural for humans to make guesses about the unknown. And coupled with the need for news to be new, it becomes a bit of a toxic mix to give an audience what it's most likely to click on.

Yet the amount of effort texting around to confirm which minister has been moved to what role a few minutes before it’s announced in a press release, or telling people what might be in the budget (but probably won’t be, because plans change until the days beforehand) is of little real value to the public.

Nevertheless, it’s part of the remit, and I like to think the London Playbook PM newsletter manages to balance all the pointless (but fun and exciting) fortune telling with other attributes that offer a rounded package. As most newspapers do, to be fair.

It’s a feature of the digital era that all journalistic output is isolated via social media, so people can seize on certain reporting practices outside their full context. Whereas in a newspaper or across a full website, some of the more pointless but exciting elements are balanced out alongside analysis, features, explainers, etc etc.

Anyway, with Reform officials buzzing around spinning the resignation and reshuffle as a success for their conference (illustrating a government in chaos while an alternative flaunts its wares) I managed to confirm most of the appointments to get them in the newsletter, which published before the official list landed. So it was a job well done, as far as I was concerned.

I even managed to make the 5.33 p.m. train with a friend in the lobby, and we got drunk in a pub in Euston, talking about how aside from moving Shabana Mahmood to the Home Office, there was little in the reshuffle that suggested a change of approach. Over the weekend, a couple of Labour MPs text me out of the blue to gripe about how inept the government was turning out to be. Then the Mandelson thing imploded the following week.

I’m not going to attempt some ham-fisted segue linking the politics and the song, but it was in that context that I heard They Don’t Know on WFMU the following morning, and repeated it about 10 times.

It’s one of those rare songs where the verse (and pre-chorus) is better than the chorus. I get the impression a lot of songwriters often use their best bits as choruses, then, with the hard work assumed done, just fill in the verses without thinking too much about how good they are. Hence lots of verses that serve as little more than space between choruses.

They Don't Know also has that nice ambiguity in its meaning. The narrator believes their relationship is perfect, and ignores all the warnings from those outside. But it’s not clear to the listener who is right and who is deluded. “I don’t listen to their wasted lines; got my eyes wide open and I see the signs.” Maybe there is a Keir Starmer metaphor in there somewhere, after all.

A couple of the other Kirsty MacColl songs from the Stiff Records singles turned out to be good, too. I liked Terry, and the one about the friend who moved to Australia — which has a similar undertone about people deluding themselves. “I just hope he’s happy when he does the things he thinks he has to do.” Lol.

SONG OF INNOCENCE — DAVID AXELROD

I heard a few tracks from Release Of An Oath on the Testify show on WFMU, which I liked and which led me to Song of Innocence, which has the same vibe but is far better.

It’s a fascinating and varied record, fusing numerous genres, with a catchiness and lightness of touch that make it all digestible. I love that it’s less than 30 minutes long. And it has a weirdness, too — not least in the unnerving György Ligeti string blasts that begin various tracks.

But the thing that struck me most was the drumming. The tight shuffle beats, expert fills and dynamics. It's a good balance between complex and simple.

It of course led me into reading about Earl Palmer, who featured on thousands of recordings across half a century. The Axelrod approach to recording drums (lots of close mics, which was innovative at the time) captured Palmer’s skill in high definition. The shuffling on the ride cymbal in the title track is a great example.

This might be my favorite record found in 2025.

BANTU CHURCH OF CHRIST — UTHIXO OMKHULU

I started reading And The Roots of Rhythm Remain, which begins with the development of music in apartheid South Africa.

It will probably take me years to finish the book because I’m listening to some of the artists and songs mentioned, and can’t digest too much at once, so end up reading short sections then putting it on hold while checking out the music.

From what I remember, the Bantu Church of Christ was just a side reference, but I ended up listening to this Uthixo Omkhulu collection and liked it from the off.

I’m not at all religious, but the influence of religion on music is of course undeniable — and sometimes it produces super catchy choral tunes with synth and drum machine!

Most of the songs are just one sequence looped over and over. But I find each of those sequences so listenable it works, and there’s enough slight vocal variation to avoid it feeling repetitive.

There’s a light-heartedness to it all, helped along by the percussion, while the layers in the singing throw in the right amount of emotive depth. I don’t understand the words, of course. Which I imagine is for the best.

PAUL NEWMAN — MACHINE IS NOT BROKEN

It was the weekend before the spring statement when I met two friends after work. Spencer was/is the Illness guitarist, and Ash was the Small Town America A&R bloke who got us involved with the label.

It had been another rushed day, after the fire at the Heathrow substation grounded all flights and consumed the news agenda. The No.10 lobby briefing in the late morning had gone on for ages without much new information (shock) and I had to literally run to meet a European diplomat for lunch at Chez Antoinette.

We talked about the EU defense procurement deal, and I reflected some of his sentiment in the newsletter that afternoon, about how U.K. companies with a presence on the continent would still be able to bid for contracts, even if Britain failed to reach a deal on full inclusion. (It did fail, in the end.)

After lunch I had to run back to my desk in Parliament to write and file the newsletter, while chasing various people for updates on the fire situation. I wrote that the cause assumption at 5 p.m. was a cock-up by an electrical engineer. Which, after all the investigations, turned out to be semi-correct, since it was a failure to fix a known maintenance issue.

The thing I got clearly wrong was writing “Transport Secretary Heidi Allen” instead of “Heidi Alexander.” The desperate rush to file 3,000-or-so words in a few hours leads to stupid mistakes like that.

Once the newsletter was done I rushed again, this time to meet Spencer and Ash.

Ash is a music obsessive and collector who loves all things alternative rock. That night, in the Lemon Tree pub, he was talking about records he would like to re-issue, including back catalogues from Toenut, Dealership and Paul Newman (three bands I had never heard of.)

I made a note and listened to all three the following morning. It was the Paul Newman record Machine Is Not Broken that stuck with me.

It has very suburban teenage vibe to it — like if the band your mates were in while you were doing your A-levels happened to be amazing. In part, it’s down to the recording quality. As if it was recorded by the old bloke who has a makeshift studio in his house for his classic rock band, but engineers for teenage wannabe rockstars to make some cash. It's also down to the flanger and reverb guitar sound.

But there’s also something about the songwriting and musicianship that sounds very teenage. In some ways it’s all so obvious, but just so well nailed.

There’s one song — Hampton Kicks — that has a bit kinda like the Radiohead track Weird Fishes, from In Rainbows. But done by American high-school kids who were big into hardcore, post-rock and old-school emo.

WILDGEESES — MICHAEL HURLEY

We went to see Richard Dawson on April 30 at the Clapham Grand. It was the night before the local council elections and the Runcorn by-election, which Labour lost to Reform.

Michael Hurley had died at the beginning of the month, aged 83. Richard Dawson said his drummer, Andrew Cheetham, had turned him onto the American folk songwriter not long before.

In tribute, he played a cover of Wildgeeses from Ida Con Snock. It's a nice song, and the way Dawson tapped his guitar to highlight the pauses in the chorus amplified the strange timings and that melodic suspense at the end of each line. I can’t find footage of the Clapham Grand performance, but here’s one in Nottingham.

I listened though to a few Michael Hurley albums after that, as a sort of soundtrack to the local elections fallout, and as the government realized Labour MPs weren't kidding about the anger over the winter fuel support cut.

There were numerous other good songs littered through his extensive catalogue.

Among them were Automatic Slim and the Fat Boys, Watching the Show and (surprise surprise) Sweet Lucy. Influences like Bob Dylan, Johnny Cash and, of course, Woody Guthrie, are all audible in there. Also audible is how the likes of Bill Callahan have been in turn influenced by Hurley.

Something did feel a little different — even weird — after the election results. The need to consider Reform as a possible general election prospect increased, both among the reporters/commentators and the other parties, not to mention Reform themselves. So it was a considerable turning point in the Westminster conversation that would shape the months to come.

RICHARD DAWSON — MORE THAN REAL

The Richard Dawson show coincided with the release of his latest record. My wife bought me a copy, alongside the Clapham Grand tickets, as a birthday present.

I suppose Richard Dawson is my favorite currently-active musical artist. A friend turned me onto him at some point between the Magic Bridge album and The Glass Trunk. I helped the friend put him on at the Cowley Club in Brighton (an anarchist social center that I had zero interest in getting involved with, but was by far the cheapest place to put on gigs.)

There might have been 30 people at the show, and I can still remember standing towards the back as Dawson belted out his acapella tune from The Glass Trunk about the horse being flogged to death. He also played the Magic Bridge song (a favorite of mine) that concludes the album of the same name, and was still using his old acoustic guitar with its jangled growl when turned up the right amount.

The Magic Bridge is still one of my favorite albums, and it set the Dawson approach of making music without a thought for commercial appeal, but which continue to build his following through sheer brilliance. He is a rare artist who is good enough to do what he wants while increasing popularity, despite what he wants often being, on the surface at least, challenging.

The first track on the Magic Bridge must be one of the least immediate album openers I'd heard until he released the slow start to the 40 minute track that begins The Ruby Chord. He flirts with jazz, metal and traditional folk, but all of it through impeccably written songs with gripping melodies, a fascinating guitar style and an impressive vocal range.

Now he's pretty huge, in the grand scheme of things, selling out the Barbican and supporting Pavement. I loved hearing Steven Malkmus tell the crowd at the Camden Roundhouse in 2022: “His music makes me emotional.” Quite the endorsement.

There are numerous amazing songs littered throughout the records. Among the best are Man Has Been Struck Down By Hands Unseen … Grandad’s Deathbed Hallucinations … Judas Iscariot … Soldier … Beggar … Two Halves … Jogging … Ivy … Thicker Than Water … and The Fool. But almost all the songs on all the main albums are of a similar high standard.

And he continues to churn them out. The End of The Middle is another collection of brilliant and fascinating tracks that further reveal themselves on repeat listens. The lyrics are like a concentrated dose of the trademark Dawson nostalgia. He makes the mundane poignant and beautiful.

My favorite song on the record has to be More Than Real. It's different to other Richard Dawson tracks in simple ways: the guitar is not the prominent instrument and it features a female lead vocal section, from his partner Sally Pilkington.

I'm not the most emotional person, but More Than Real was catching me out on the numerous repeat listens throughout 2025, and took on an added tone when my wife's mother died in a home on December 2021 after a long illness.

DIZZY ON THE FRENCH RIVIERA — DIZZY GILLESPIE

One evening in D.C. I went for drinks with colleagues, including one who’s super into jazz and involved in the circuit there. He got excited when I said I had no other plans that night, and suggested we find some live music.

We stopped at his place before getting some dinner. The plan was to eat then go to Bossa, a global music bar. But I never made it to Bossa. I got too hammered and full of Turkish food.

While I waited in his apartment for him to change, he put on Dizzy on the French Riviera, describing it as one of his favorite records. I realized later he’d put on side B.

There wasn’t much written about the album on the internet so I was intrigued about this obscure 1960s recommendation from someone who knows the genre.

The next morning, I searched it and listened through a few times. I loved the Latin influence and some moments were excellent. But after growing up listening to pop music, I don’t have a brain trained for jazz.

That afternoon the sun was burning hot and I went to the Hillfest Jazz festival near Eastern Market. I liked it. But there was one pianist in particular, Amy Bormet, who stood out. She kept building to these wild stabbing parts and her solos weaved around the other musicians more imaginatively than those of her counterparts.

I’m not too convinced about the whole jazz solos routine. A jazz “song” often seems to mean a recognizable passage of music bookending a queue of solo masturbation from each performer. It seems strange to turn a genre hinged around cooperative innovation into something so formulaic and self-centered. Although I suppose that’s one of the fascinating puzzles of the genre — the individualism versus the sum of its parts.

Of course, when soloists push boundaries, captivate and collaborate, the circle squares. And that’s what Amy Bormet was doing — playing with the backing rather than over it, and playing stuff that grabbed. I was beginning to realize the musicians who can do all that aren’t so common.

The following night I went to the weekly jazz jam at Haydees in Mount Pleasant. A couple of the performers were great — in particular one older bloke who turned up with a recorder and shot these rough-around-the-edges solos into the vocal mic.

It was all falling into place in my brain a little more as I kept listening through to Dizzy on the French Riviera. In comparison to what I was hearing at the shows, the song structures on the record were composed, and even the solos felt choreographed. The musicians were, of course, pros at the top of their game. And there was that infectious Latin influence. It was all growing on me.

Some of the highlights on the album are the excellent piano solo in No More Blues (a cover of an old Antônio Carlos Jobim tune thought to be the first Bossa Nova song ever recorded) … the Super Mario-esque sections on Desafinado (another Antônio Carlos Jobim cover) which I wasn’t sure about at first but are now one of my favorite parts of the record … lots of the weird bouncing piano dotted around Here It Is … the frenetic pulsing of Pau De Arara … and, of course, much of the squeaking, racing trumpet through the whole thing.

The best track might be For the Gypsies, which slides around between moods, morphing from poignant to elated, to sinister, sometimes all in a few seconds, before washing off into the sea.

The strange semi-live nature of the album, with a beginning and end that sound conceptual, all add to the intrigue.

SUNWATCHERS — MUSIC IS VICTORY OVER TIME

Old DIY music friends would call Sunwatchers a “party band” — loud and upbeat, and the kind of thing the less inhibited might dance to.

It’s genre-bending and the instrumentation is interesting and fun. I feel like I’ve heard other bands before mixing semi-atonal horns (apologies, I don’t understand music) with big and chaotic compositions, but with less listenable results.

The record has the odd duller spot, but there’s lots of great stuff on it. And the best track is probably the last one, Song for the Gone.

L’RAIN — PET ROCK

I wish more songs were like this. I could listen to albums and albums of it if the writing were to such a high standard.

It’s a proper genre-bender of lots of stuff I like. It skirts a line between rock and pop while sounding kinda weird and off-kilter. It has an unorthodox structure, running through sections pretty much in a straight line and leaving me wishing that last bit was a little longer.

I can hear Radiohead in there (The Tourist, much?), the Flaming Lips, Animal Collective … as well as jazz and R&B influences (the latter of which I know zero about.)

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Yet despite being so interesting and innovative, there seems no good reason against a track like this becoming a hit. It’s an experimental pop song that keeps enough of a check over its more challenging aspects to appeal to a wide range of listeners.

O.K. it’s not quite Total Eclipse of the Heart, Wuthering Heights or Bohemian Rhapsody. But there’s something of how those artists mixed experimentation with populism in here too.

If modern culture was less fragmented it might have gotten more cut-through — although I’m a terrible judge.

HE’S ALL RIGHT — GREEN STREET BAPTIST CHURCH YOUTH CHOIR

I listened to even more WFMU than usual while I was in the U.S. in the runup to the election.

It was novel to hear the shows in the correct time zone — having Wake and Bake as a morning soundtrack walking to the POLITICO office in Rosslyn, for example, instead of Radio 4’s Today programme. And there was something special about listening to the station on its home turf.

The driving for reporting trips outside D.C. took so long I could set a favorite show to run through its recent archive and bliss out on it for hours against the backdrop of the American landscape. I felt like I was living in my own cliché and couldn’t have been happier.

I’d been running through the recent Sinners Crossroads episodes when I arrived in Dupont, Pennsylvania, to visit its Polish American Citizens Club. I was writing about whether Donald Trump’s stance on Ukraine was impacting voting intention among working-class Polish communities in the battleground state.

Stanley Knick, the treasurer of the club, was one of the unfortunate targets who picked up the phone when I was scouring the internet looking for routes into the numerous Polish clubs in Luzerne and Lackawanna counties.

He said he would ask at the next club board meeting whether I might be allowed to go inside and speak to members. But the meeting was happening on the one evening I was going to be in town.

I ended up waiting outside the club at 5 p.m. while the meeting was ongoing. The board would decide whether I could enter the club once its discussions were finished.

Numerous other Polish clubs had outright refused to speak to me. These places strive for a quiet existence, and most keep politics out of their premises to avoid members falling out. There was a good chance I’d hit a wall again in Dupont and return to D.C. without much to write about.

I was holding a lot of hope in Stan and had spent the previous 48 hours pestering him about it. Pestering people to make stuff happen is often the most crucial part of being a reporter. It worked in Dupont — just about. The board said I could go into the basement to talk to them, but not the bar upstairs.

I knocked on the fire door around the back, and when it opened I found myself in a cavernous room with one long table, around which about ten burly American men were sitting. It looked like something out of a mob movie — except the gangsters were dressed in hoodies and baseball caps instead of pinstripe suits.

It was clear they were skeptical about talking to a journalist. But I turned up the Britishness and tried to charm them, and it wasn’t long before a few warmed up. First about the history of the club and the Polish community in the area, then onto the politics and the election, once it felt comfortable to move the conversation onto more challenging ground.

After 40-minutes or so, most of the board members had let their guards down. I even convinced them to let me grab a drink upstairs to see the club — if I promised not to talk about politics up there. It meant I could gather more colour for the article, putting together the thoughts of the board members with a description of the club itself.

A couple of light beers later I slid out into the sunset clutching a PACC t-shirt. I had stacks of material to make the piece work and had loved the experience.

Driving back towards the motel in Wilkes-Barre, I still had Sinners Crossroads running on the stereo.

He’s All Right, sung by the Green Street Baptist Church Youth Choir, fit well with the accomplished moment, with the sun’s orange glow deepening over the urban spread.

The residents see the area, once a center for mining and other serious industries, as a distinct set of towns. But to an outsider it merges into a single concrete strip squeezed between two Appalachian foothills like a Turkish pide.

It’s littered with the usual American fast food joints, gas stations and beautiful churches — albeit lots of them Catholic, so not big on gospel music.

Like lots of great old gospel recordings, He’s All Right has a laziness to it despite the huge crescendos about salvation and God having our backs, or whatever. The stabbing piano, the organ and the fulsome choir in the opening sections are loose but heartfelt.

Then it starts building in a melancholic but hopeful climb, heaved upwards by the interaction between the chord changes and the female soloist. Her voice is sharp but a little gruff. Serrated, maybe.

It peaks, then the whole thing switches to an uptempo jaunt before running through the buildup again in this entirely new mode. I must have listened back to it a dozen times that night.

Click here and the show should open in a new window not long before the song starts.

LOVING — ANY LIGHT

When I met my editor in a Peckham café to work out what the afternoon London Playbook newsletter would look like, the original 2016 Loving EP was playing.

It was early 2023, and at first I couldn’t remember what it was. But while we were talking through what the “Drivetime Debrief” section should be called and whether there should be a separate section about social media, etc, it came back to me.

I’d listened to that EP a ton around 2017 when I was living with a colleague from PoliticsHome. I think an old friend, Tom House, had linked to it on Facebook or something. It was just so listenable and … short. And had such a distinct mood to it.

Then I forgot the band existed until that moment in Peckham, half a decade later. It was a wonderful reminder.

I came back to it a few times over the next 12 months or so, and to If I Am Only My Thoughts, which had been released in 2020. Then Any Light came out in Feb. 2024.

In a sense, it’s more of the same. The Loving sound and style hasn’t developed much in those eight years — still spaced out and echoing, with lots of hanging chords, nice resolves and pleasing instrumentation.

But since it’s so listenable, and the songwriting is so good and consistent, the lack of development doesn’t matter.

It’s great to release record after record that sound about the same when each one is just as good as the next, or even a little better — which I reckon Any Light probably is. And it’s still super short — which is a nice bonus.

ÉTHIOPIQUES PLAYLIST

I decided to go through all the Éthiopiques releases after hearing Qeresh Endewaza by Samuel Belay in 2023.

The records range from full band compliations of 60s and 70s dance club tunes, to academic-sounding collections of traditional musicians from the further past or remote parts of the nation.

What Francis Falceto and Buda Musique have done in pulling this series together is a gift to human culture and will preserve this music for generations to come. Although it makes me a little sad to think of all the wonderful musical traditions around the globe that have been forgotten — or will be soon. I think that about the brass bands where my dad is from.

There’s a clear theme in the Éthiopiques tracks I saved as favorites (to a playlist totalling two hours, out of more than 30 across the compliations.) I’m a sucker for rich, active tunes with lots of melody and emotive hooks, it would appear.

Two hours is quite a mouthful. But some of the absolute best tracks for starting points include Heywèté (Instrumental) from Éthiopiques One … Yene Felagote (Tlahoun Gessesse) from Éthiopiques 17 … and Abbaa Iafa (Ali Mohammed Birra) from Éthiopiques 28.

COWTOWN — FEAR OF

Conflict of interest alert: I know these dudes and we put them on at least a couple of times in Brighton a decade or more ago. In fact, Cowtown headlined the final show I organized, in a band practise space in a little industrial park off Preston Road. It was packed and I got to play drums for Dan Amos (a life goal.)

The guys running the practise space didn’t charge me to use it and sold cans behind the desk. I guess they must have made a ton of cash (presumably illegally) because they were super happy about the whole thing. I think I charged £5 on the door, and Cowtown loved it when at the end I handed them a polythene bag bursting with change.

This is the fourth Cowtown record and without doubt the best. The previous three had good tunes and numerous flashes of greatness. But this one hits higher highs and maintains the standard almost throughout. It’s upbeat but rarely frivolous, emotive without being lame, heavy but never angry.

Some of the highest peaks are Wonderboy II … Can’t Talk Now … As Close to Town as I like to Get … Peace In Our Time (Talking Heads, much?) … and Currently Unavailable (squeezing a huge finale and a Malkmus solo into two and a half minutes.)

We saw them play a bunch of it at the Shacklewell Arms in July after the king’s speech in parliament and the European Political Community summit at Blenheim Palace.

It was a fun week for London Playbook PM, watching all the pomp from the House of Lords press gallery and eating government-funded ice cream in Oxfordshire. I found out later Black Rod was irritated I’d described the king as having “plonked himself” on the throne in the Lords.

I even got to ask Emmanuel Macron a question during his closing press conference at the EPC. Starmer of course ignored all the hands up in the room and plodded through the list of reporters his advisers told him to call on.

Anyway, it was after all that I found myself talking to Cowtown guitarist Jon Nash in the garden of the Shacklewell Arms before the show. He said it was a bit lonely still doing the band when so many of their peers from the past couple of decades had moved on, settling into families or careers.

After such a fun week at work, it made me glad about the path I’d chosen. But seeing them and hearing their great new record — the result of sticking at it for so long — made me miss the old times too.

ALICE COLTRANE — KIRTAN: TURIYA SINGS

I watched The Curse, because of Nathan Fielder. It was a bit too spaced out over 10 episodes to be properly engaging (TV streaming shock) but was kinda interesting. The best part was its liberal use of the first two tracks on Kirtan: Turiya Sings.

Before realizing it was Alice Coltrane, it was impossible to tell how modern the music was. It sounded like it could have been written for the show in 2022/23 as a score. Or maybe it was written decades ago. I suppose that’s what people call timelessness.

I was pleased to discover she made a whole album of it in 1981, and I started listening to the same version used in The Curse, with organ and vocals alone. The tracks are often just two or three sections that loop a few times.

The electric organ is one of my favorite instruments. I fell for it when I had a big Sufjan Stevens phase around the time I turned 20. So along with the emotive changes and unusual sound, there wasn’t much not to like about Turiya Sings.

The vocal melodies and the backing are a perfect match. The section changes are worth waiting for. The organ has so many cool inflections to it. And it all has that haunting but hopeful vibe.

It was the week the Frank Hester thing blew up, after the Guardian revealed he said looking at Diane Abbott makes you “want to hate all black women.” And I was working on the thing about Brexit and Donald Trump bringing the U.K. and Japan closer together.

I cycled into town to meet a Japanese journalist friend who reassured me the quote translations for the feature weren’t unreasonable. On the ride, I had a proper focused listen through to Turiya Sings and it was the first time it started to make real sense.

It was obvious I liked it a lot but I couldn’t tell if it was a shallow gimmick. It wasn’t. Although there are a couple of less good tracks.

I can see how The Curse ended up featuring just those first two songs (Jagadishwar and Jai Ramachandra.) But Yamuna Tira Vihari and Hara Siva are at least as good, if not better.

I’m glad I can’t understand whatever the words mean. I expect I’d hate it if so.

TONY D ROUND THREE — DON’T FLOP TITLE MATCH 2012

“I run this shit like the government. And I will Con-Dem you.”

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Just one thing here was released in 2023. Some of it was re-released in 2022. All of it was new to me in 2023.

The Coastal Invasion — Lucho Bermudez Y Su Orquesta

I’m not even sure what to write about this — it’s brilliant. Without doubt the best thing I heard in 2023.

It’s a compilation of tracks from the orchestra of Colombian band leader Lucho Bermudez, who introduced big band music from the Caribbean coast to the inland cities, sparking a massive cultural shift from the late 1940s onwards that swept Latin America.

It’s fun, emotive and fascinating. All the songs are great. That’s it.

The Bed Is In The Ocean — Karate

OK, so the vocal is kind of lame. But it just about manages to stick to the right side of bearable, and all the other things about this band are perfect for me: super melodic guitar music, interesting musicianship, a substantial nod to a different genre … and all presented in well-formed songs.

I started listening to Karate when they appeared on the lineup for Primavera Sound, which we had tickets for. I have a friend who loves American post-hardcore/indie-rock bands who I’m sure showed me Karate long ago — and bits do ring a bell. But I guess I never paid attention until the weeks before Primavera, during which I got a bit too into them.

There are better Karate songs than those on The Bed Is In The Ocean. I think the first track on Unsolved might be their best track, and the last few on the same album, in particular the final one, are great. And there are a few other good songs on other albums. But The Bed Is In The Ocean is the most consistent record. I don’t think there’s a bad song on it, whereas each of the other albums have at least a few.

When I saw them at Primavera I was at that perfect point of being familiar with the whole set but not knowing the songs inside out, so could still be surprised. Seeing them live I realized how interesting a lot of the bass lines are, for example.

It was around the time Boris Johnson was wrangling with the Cabinet Office about his WhatsApp messages for the COVID inquiry. So I wasn’t missing much at home while blissing out like a kid on the edge of the Mediterranean. And my wonderful colleagues were covering the newsletter.

I do feel some shame listening to Karate. When I tried to describe them to the Labour MP Kerry McCarthy (we share some musical tastes) I used the words “old school emo” and she visibly balked.

I couldn’t blame her, of course, as the kids’ music formed from merging “emotional hardcore” with pop punk is unbearable. But Karate does have links, even if distant, to the hardcore bit of that equation.

It is, when boiled down to it, still kids’ music. But I guess most of the music I like is kids’ music. More often than not it’s emotional bullshit disguised to be more palatable for adults.

I’ll Take Good Care Of You — Garnet Mimms

This is a great soul song that shows it’s possible to tweak standard structures and make something a little more interesting sing.

I heard it somewhere on WFMU, I think. I did listen to a few more Garnet Mimms songs but nothing grabbed me straight off like this one, which I think his producers wrote. I’m sure there are great numbers elsewhere in the tank from either him or the production duo, though.

Having said what I said about Karate, emotional bullshit of course gets a free pass when it’s this kind of genre.

Ai Miei Genitori — Banda Ionica

To be honest, this is just an excuse to mention something I love: southern Italian brass bands.

Loads of Sicilian towns have these bands, which play a mix of national standards and pieces local to each specific group. They most often do mournful funeral music and get hired to play outside churches when the coffins get carried out.

We went to Raffadali, where my dad is from, over Easter because the local band marches on multiple occasions to mark various points in the Easter narrative — processing a fake Christ to be crucified and later to meet his mum after rising, for example. It’s a bit like going to a religious concert as an observer — I’m a non-believer but the music is great.

After Easter I was doing some research about the bands and tried to get in touch with a couple of musicologists to argue someone should collect recordings of this world before it dies out. As part of that research I found this album with a few of the pieces — including some I’ve heard the Raffadali band perform and some that were new to me.

The track I’m mentioning to fit with the “heard in 2023” theme is Ai Miei Genitori (To My Parents) as it has all the hallmarks of what makes this music great: layered horns, lots of power, melancholy that breaks into uplifting passages. It’s a banger.

On this record though the best tracks are Jone and Una Lacrima Sulla Tomba Di Mia Madre (A Tear On The Grave Of My Mother — so Sicilian!) both of which are regulars in Raffadali, so I’ve heard them numerous times before.

The Raffadali band has the added charm of being a bit ramshackle and out of tune. This record is a little polished for my liking. But great nevertheless.

(Half of) Pure Buckwheat Honey — Buckwheat

This was another good find from the Testify show on WFMU. The guy who presents it, Larry Grogan, loves this kind of Sunshine Pop.

He played Yes and the final track, also called Pure Buckwheat Honey, during a show in July.

It was the weekend after the three by-elections in Selby and Ainsty, Somerton and Frome and Uxbridge and South Ruislip, when the Tories lost two in the wake of the Boris Johnson privileges committee implosion. I went to each of the seats during the week to file color pieces for Playbook PM (links above) then went to Hordle for the weekend to see my parents, where I listened back to the show.

I loved Pure Buckwheat Honey — the varied sections that were kind of mashed together, the jangled guitars and the emotive payoffs (those horns in the final slow section!) Some of it could almost be the Beatles.

I found the full record and was super hopeful about it, but it turned out half the songs were good and half were garbage.

It’s no surprise the album has a cult following but never became a proper classic. If all the songs were as good as the good half, I’m sure it would have been a massive deal — but I guess the band just weren’t consistent enough. And they never made another record.

The good tunes are Yes, Sunshine Holiday, The Poor Widow And Her Gypsy Band, Purple Ribbons, Howlin’ At The Moon and Pure Buckwheat Honey. I’ve put them into a Spotify playlist here and spent numerous evenings blasting them off the balcony of our flat.

Live show — GOAT

A friend asked me if I’d go with him to see GOAT and I assumed it was the Swedish band who dress up and do a kind of world music fusion thing. I was up for that but the outcome turned out to be much better.

In the end the friend couldn’t make it so I went with my wife.

It was in November on a Friday night — before the Remembrance weekend. There was an expectation in Westminster that Suella Braverman would be sacked over her Times article branding the police biased over the Gaza protests.

The constant fear writing Playbook PM is we put it out then something massive happens in the next hour or so. So I wanted to avoid reporting that Braverman seemed safe for the moment — then have that narrative blown up a few moments later.

In the end I had it confirmed she’d be at the Cenotaph for the memorial service. So I filed the newsletter knowing there would be no significant eruption (in a political sense, at least) until after the weekend. My wife met me at the Red Lion where I was having a drink with another journalist and we went to the show at King’s Place.

It turned out not to be the Swedish band but a Japanese band doing bonkers rhythms that looped all over each other. Ideal! There were two drummers, an electric guitar, electric bass and saxophone, but the melodic instruments were played like rhythm instruments, with the guitars muted most of the time. It was so, so good.

I’ve listened to the band since but there aren’t quite enough melodic elements to keep it engaging for me as a recorded listen — despite it being brilliant as a live show.

Will The Circle Be Unbroken — Nitty Gritty Dirt Band

I watched a video about Black Midi (interesting current band but still to make a brilliant album, IMO) in which one of them mentioned this compilation of classic country music.

The band collected a load of traditional musicians from the previous era to make a kind of bridge album with the commercialized modern era.

It’s long — three LPs or three cassettes when it was first released. But it’s full of good songs and there are also bits of talking between the musicians, chatting about how to start the tunes or who should come in where, which gives it an extra dose of personality.

I came back to this record numerous times over 2023 — not least because it’s so massive. I know nothing about the genre, but the album feels like a good capture of a particular moment in country music history.

Glass State — Sweet Williams

Conflict of interest alert: Tom House is a friend of mine from the Brighton music world. But this is an excellent song — one of stacks he’s written over the decades via Sweet Williams and Charlottefield, as well as countless other projects.

It’s his trademark sound but has a little more melodic release than some of the others on his 2023 record — which lifts the whole moodiness thing to another level and offers some reward for the less hardy listener (me!)

We went to visit him in Zaragoza after Primavera and saw Come in an amazing outdoor courtyard. I’d seen them at the festival just a few days before but this second show and the setting was so much better. And it was great to see Tom blissing out talking to some of his heroes like a proper fanboy.

Qeresh Endewaza — Samuel Belay

A great track from one of the Ethiopiques compilations (Ethiopiques 8: Swinging Addis) from an Ethiopian singer there’s no information on the internet about, at least not in English. His other track on the same compilation is also well worth a listen.

We went to see Hailu Mergia at the Islington Assembly Hall in October. It was the Sunday night after Esther Webber and I did the story about Simon Case being out on medical leave. I’d spent the previous morning at home writing it up and dealing with a government press official who wanted to announce it on their own terms after the Cabinet had been briefed.

There was a bit of an editorial debate about whether we should run with the exclusive or hold off, seeing as it was about a medical matter. In the end, the POLITICO higher ups opted to go for it, given the public interest of the Whitehall chief being out of action.

Throughout the writing and wrangling process I’d been playing Wede Harer Guzo (although I think the best album is still Tche Belew) so was in the right mood for the Mergia show.

On the speakers in the Assembly Hall before he appeared, we heard Tchero Adari Negn by Alemayehu Eshete. I got my wife to Shazam it and so got listening to Ethiopiques 8 in the days after, where I came across the Samuel Belay songs.

It prompted me to start going through all the Ethiopiques albums and compile a best of playlist. So no doubt that will be a big feature of 2024.

Mark Hollis — Mark Hollis

I know I have a problem when my wife starts complaining about hearing the same thing over and over.

I bought a big Bluetooth speaker I cart around the flat. Into the kitchen … into the bathroom … onto the balconies. I play it too loud and it drives her mad. She lets me get away with it though — until something I repeat sends her entirely loopy.

“Why are you having a massive Talk Talk phase?” she asked one day.

The good news is I went out on the summer Playbook PM tours to constituencies not too long later — so could continue the massive Talk Talk phase during long stretches alone without infuriating her. I listened to Spirit of Eden on a run to the Forth Bridges from Rosyth the morning before meeting Alba MP Neil Hanvey. The bridges turned out to be much further than I’d assumed.

I’ve come back to Talk Talk numerous times in the past decade or so in the hope I’ve misunderstood something. I love Laughing Stock — or at least all the tracks bar Taphead and Runeii. The others are some of the best pieces of music I’ve heard. But I find nothing else from Talk Talk quite lives up to it — no matter how often I return to the records. And lots of it is unlistenable.

But the Mark Hollis solo album — which I hadn’t tried until the latest Talk Talk phase — turned out to be great. It’s not perfect but is full of perfect moments and has some excellent songs. It’s much quieter and understated than Talk Talk, although a natural development. I had my first proper listen walking from Stornoway out to the airport, after the final tour visit with Labour candidate (and former lobby journo) Torcuil Chrichton. It was a fitting accompaniment to the overcast Outer Hebrides.

I read somewhere that Mark Hollis said it’s better not to use two notes where one would suffice. It was making me think a lot about the Playbooks, because I was using an exaggerated style, throwing in too many adjectives in the hope of describing everything on the tour visits, as well as stupid words and phrases to make it more cartoonish and amusing.

I got a bit worried about offending people with my OTT descriptions, about how Rosie Duffield “gurgles with glee,” or whatever. Rosie never complained, but writing with the hope of getting a few laughs is of course a risk when real (and nice) people are the subject.

I was told the campsite outside Selsey wasn’t too impressed — although I never found out exactly why. And John Nicolson didn’t like being likened to an ageing rockstar, among other complaints.

After a bit of a pep talk from my editor Jack Blanchard, I tried to rein it in just a little. Not quite to Mark Hollis levels. But to be fair it took him a whole career to get to that solo album, which goes big on the omit-needless-notes maxim. He also spent much longer writing it than we get on a Playbook, which are often a race to get done, so the time to finesse is limited.

His thoughts about the power of extra notes is almost audible. There’s a moment in the first track, The Colour Of Spring, at 2 minutes 46 seconds where another instrument (or two?) comes in alongside the piano. The added note nudges the song into another mood for less than a second.

All of it of course begs the question: What is a needless note? And what is a needless word? And if there are needless notes and words, which are the needless songs, sentences, stories ( … and terrible blogs attempting music criticism?) I thought about it on the flight back to Glasgow.

After the Playbook PM tours I listened to this record over and over — but was again confined to headphones to avoid winding up my wife. I’d snatch moments cycling down Whitehall between Parliament and the POLITICO offices off Trafalgar Square — slipping between buses at the traffic lights.

Hand Habits — Concrete & Feathers

I found the album “Fun House” on one or more best of 2021 lists and although not the greatest thing in the world, it’s a solid set of well-written songs. There’s one track I’m not so sure about but almost all of them have at least one good hook.

“Concrete & Feathers” is I think the best tune. Like other songs on the album it’s catchy and memorable, has a number of interesting turns and nice instrumentation.

So much of this kind of music (a one-person songwriter producing quite basic and bedwetting soft-rock songs) is dull. The previous Hand Habits album is a good example. But on “Fun House” the tunes are well crafted and interesting, with compelling parts.

The album is generally understated too, which is good. It rarely sounds too emotive — although “Concrete & Feathers” is one of the songs pushing the drama a little more. Nevertheless, I like the hook so much that it passes.

The extra-dry drum sound is a plus too.

Dan Amos — Change Strange

After slagging off songwriters, here’s another. Dan Amos is one of my favourite songwriters, if not my favourite.

I have to declare an interest: he’s now a friend of mine. He was a friend of a friend but I loved his music so much we got him to play a few times in Brighton and we still keep in touch.

His songs are short, poppy and melodic, but also unconventional. He was much more prolific in the past, but hasn’t had the easiest time of things and his output has slowed over the years.

There’s a world in which I think Dan could have been quite successful in music. His tune “I’ve Got a Funny Sort of Feeling” from Mex was played on Radio 1 and he has numerous excellent songs that far outstrip even what passes for popular alternative music at the moment. But he just wasn’t consistent enough at playing the game so never made it onto the radar.

My favourite of his albums is “Thunderheart,” which has numerous great tracks on it. He made the whole thing super distorted, which I love but will turn most people off at first. Listen through the distortion for rich reward. There’s a “Thunderheart For Mum” version too, which he made after his mum complained about the distortion.

Anyway, in October he sent me this link to “Change Strange.” He said it was an old song that he more recently rewrote the words for.

It’s a classic Dan song. It’s quite simple and subtle, but the chord changes, the words, his delivery and the inflection of his voice make it unique and emotive. The crackling recording adds to the whole thing.

I’ve listened to it dozens of times since he sent it to me.

Bill Orcutt and Chris Corsano — Made Out of Sound

A few friends got into Bill Orcutt around the time of “How The Thing Sings” but there wasn’t enough melodic pull in it for me.

His follow-up, “A History of Every One,” was different: keeping the bonkers guitar style but somehow turning out more coherent and melodic pieces that almost sounded like songs with hooks.

“Made Out Of Sound” is another level again, mixing that great mess of emotive guitar playing with chaotic drums.

The one reference point I had for it was the band “Jealousy Mountain Duo,” who I saw a couple of times in the past thanks to Stef Ketteringham of Reciprocate/Shield Your Eyes. Two people playing together in a dynamic sense rather than in the same time signature, improvising but around an agreed theme or vague structure, really works when done well.

Bill Orcutt and Chris Corsano do it well, and the overdubbed guitars give it an extra harmonic layer that warrants repeat listens. Forget the idea of getting to know the songs inside out and just let it wash around.

This might be my favourite thing out of the whole lot.

The Zombies — Odessey and Oracle

I was walking to work around the start of November listening to the “Wake and Bake” show with Clay Pigeon on WFMU, which always features good tunes.

I’d come out of the tube at Waterloo and he was playing Beechwood Park. I remember thinking how cool (apologies) it sounded and being unsure whether it was a male or female vocal.

Clay mentioned how great the album it comes from is, having grown in status as a bit of a cult release. So on the bus home later, I listened through to Odessey and Oracle a couple of times and loved it straight off.

It was around the time Gavin Williamson was at the centre of a storm over his treatment of colleagues in parliament, and I was on the London Playbook shift for a few of the relevant nights while the whole thing was kicking off.

I must have listened to the entire album on repeat for two or three nights running while writing those Playbooks, and have kept going back to it on a regular basis since.

It’s a solid set of great songs (tracks two and three are I think the weakest — but still good tunes) with really interesting vocals and instrumentation. “Care of Cell 44,” “Beechwood Park” and “Time of the Season” are all excellent, but something about “Hung Up on a Dream” tips the balance for me as the favourite.

The instrumental part is great, then the climactic next section, then the return to the verse. It’s just so good. This band needs more recognition.

Guided by Voices — Amusement Park is Over

For a long time I was intending to make a Guided By Voices playlist. Tom House (of Sweet Williams/Charlottefield fame) got me into them, but after various attempts to explore more of their catalogue the inconsistency of Robert Pollard’s songwriting made it difficult.

Most GBV releases are full of crap songs with a couple of bangers, and I knew within the more than 50 albums and EPs there would be enough gems to make a great playlist.

I spent a good few months (in the period leading up to Boris Johnson quitting) listening through to everything and building the list, eventually including 44 songs. It drove my wife nuts listening to GBV over and over again but I loved it.

There are countless brilliant tunes, (“Metal Mothers,” “Buzzards and Dreadful Crows,” “Game of Pricks,” “Over the Neptune/Mesh Gear Fox,” “158 Years of Beautiful Sex,” “Girls of Wild Strawberries,” “Islands (She Talks in Rainbows),” “Office of Hearts,”) but in terms of the best ones I’d not heard before, “Amusement Park is Over” from the album “August By Cake” is I think my favourite.

That rhythm guitar flourish that keeps coming back is an added nice touch for an often no-frills band.

Part Chimp — Up With Notes

Part Chimp have long been a popular band in the UK DIY music scene, but I was never too into them. The second track on “I Am Come” is great, but I didn’t feel like the rest, including on subsequent releases, lived up to it.

Their 2021 album “Drool” seemed much better to me, with lots of songs that had memorable and satisfying parts, which are vital to make a super loud and distorted band listenable.

The album really grew on me, but “Up With Notes” is for sure its most memorable and catchiest song.

Patrick Shiroshi — Jellyfish in the Sky

I’d never heard of Patrick Shiroshi but his album Hidemi was one of the top Wire albums of 2021. It’s the kind of thing I might usually appreciate without wanting to come back to. But I was surprised to find I liked it a lot.

He’s a multi-instrumentalist, but this album is just layers of different saxophones and a bit of vocal. It’s often a mix between experimental jazz and the classical minimalism of composers like Philip Glass, but at times there are nods to pop or other genres.

His looping melodic rhythms and repetitive trills break out into open sustained notes that offer a bit of relief and resolve. Jellyfish in the Sky might be the clearest example of what I mean, when the whole thing opens up at the 1 minute 50 mark.

The album is technical and experimental but also a pleasure to listen to — the perfect balance.

The Paths of Pain

It’s hard to know what to write about this. It’s just excellent.

The album is a compilation of recordings from the Caife label in Ecuador from the 60s. I’m not expert enough to discuss the origins of the styles, but it’s 24 traditional-sounding songs with amazing vocal harmonies, technical instrumentation and emotive performances.

It’s a brilliant collection which shows up how limited and bland a lot of popular modern music can be.

Enablers — Output Negative Space

I came back to this album in the latter half of 2022. I’d heard it long ago after seeing Enablers at an ATP festival but never quite appreciated it enough.

In the summer I decided to get a good Bluetooth speaker and after much research bought a Soundcore Motion Boom Plus, which I expect irritates the neighbours as much as it irritates my wife.

For some reason Enablers crossed my mind and I spent a few evenings listening to Output Negative Space far, far too loud while I followed updates from the Conservative leadership contest.

It’s a great meld of different things, including post-rock, melodic rock, hardcore, even doom elements, and much more. The interesting instrumentation, the massive guitar riffs and of course the almost-too-pretentious spoken word vocals all work on me.

As far as I can tell it’s the Enablers album with the best songs that comes together with the greatest coherence. But I need to explore more.

The Chap — Guitar Messiah

I was thinking to go see Part Chimp in November but was undecided due to the £17 price tag for a ticket.

It was the day Jeremy Hunt delivered his Autumn statement and I was recovering from the Playbook shift anyway, so wasn’t working late and wanted to do something.

In the end, a friend saved the evening, inviting me to a free gig in London for the reunion show of a band I’d never heard before: The Chap.

It was a proper DIY event, in some kind of fashionable warehouse place … canned beers on sale for a few pounds … and a woman dressed in a tent fiddling knobs as some kind of drone support act.

The Chap were great and had an impressive underground fanbase. They write catchy pop songs that are varied and technical, but also kind of comedic. Their albums don’t seem too consistent but they have a fair few good tunes. Guitar Messiah seems like one of the best examples.

The guy putting the show on even gave out free hot dogs after the band finished, and there was a mini-firework display. Sometimes gigs can be good, and it was a nice refresher after the Pavement show at the Roundhouse.

S.D. Burman — Raat Akeli Hai, Bujh Gaye Diye

Years ago I was fumbling with a radio in London and came across some amazing Indian-sounding music on what appeared to be a crackling amateur station. I left it on for a while until some friends who were finding it insufferable asked for it to be changed. I couldn’t find the station again but did some digging to find more music that sounded similar and struck upon some old Bollywood compilation.

I liked the aesthetic and instrumentation, and in particular the insanely high-pitched female singing voices. It was also interesting to find, as so often with non-western music, that the elements that drew me back for repeat listens (I suppose the particular harmonic/melodic changes) were similar to those in Western music. I don’t know enough about music to know whether that’s a result of influence from empire or whether cultures across the world struck on the same patterns independently because they resonate with the human ear.

Anyway, I didn’t get too stuck into Bollywood music until this year, when we watched a few classic Bollywood movies during lockdown. There were numerous good songs in those we watched, but the soundtrack that really stood out was from “Jewel Thief” — not a film that seems too prominent in Bollywood history (it isn’t that great) but one we watched because my girlfriend had seen it on the TV in the past and wanted to add it to our impromptu Bollywood season.

“Raat Akeli Hai, Bujh Gaye Diye” (I’ve never even tried to pronounce it) was easily the best track — although there are a number of other gems in there (special shoutout for “Rulaake Gaya”). The basic gimmick throughout the verses is great, the build-ups are amazing and off-kilter and the climactic melodies that end them are perfect. The scene in which the song features in the movie is kinda lame, and I try to avoid remembering the words. If these songs were in English I would probably hate them, so not being able to understand the language makes the whole thing better.

It turned out all the Bollywood songs I liked the best are by S.D. Burman, a legend in Indian cinema history. He churned out soundtracks for more than 100 movies and most seem to be on Spotify. I’ve found a few other good tracks from other films but so far nothing beats the “Jewel Thief” soundtrack.

Rookie — Head Over Heels (cover)

I listened to a lot of “Todd-o-Phonic Todd” on WFMU this year. Most of what he plays is guilty pleasure as someone who used to (OK, still does) love pop punk). But he plays loads of stuff that can broadly be called rock music. This cover of the Tears for Fears song “Head Over Heels,” by a band called Rookie, is great.

The Beatles — I’ve Just Seen a Face

OK, I didn’t discover The Beatles in 2020. Their music was of course unavoidable throughout my life, although having two parents who weren’t very interested in music meant I didn’t really engage with the band until I was much older. I got into “Abbey Road” at around 18 when a friend encouraged me to take notice of it, and listened through to “Rubber Soul” and “Sergeant Pepper” a few times … probably “Revolver” and some other bits too.

But at some point last year I decided to go through their discography from start to finish and pay attention throughout, beginning with the first singles and numerous covers released in fits and starts on different records in different countries, then the full albums that made them music legends.

Of the well-known records, the one I might have heard the least, “Help!,” has become my favourite. Sure it’s less inventive and interesting compared with later albums, but it’s just a simple set of great songs. It has a couple of crap tracks, a couple of passable ones and the rest are excellent, making it more consistent and less gimmicky than later Beatles records.

“I’ve Just Seen a Face” just about stands out above the rest. I have no idea why. It just works on me. It’s just one of many songs that could have been a breakthrough hit for a lesser band, but is just another track on another album for the Beatles —overshadowed by the massive songs “Help!,” “Ticket to Ride” and even “Yesterday” snuck onto the end.

Khun Kham Kroung — Nan Pohn Sah

I have no idea what this is beyond being a track from Burma by an artist called Khun Kham Kroung. I heard it on WFMU and loved it immediately. I know even less about the weird YouTube image comparing Michael Jackson’s face to a pagoda. The track set me off going through this list of music from Southeast Asia.

It’s a shame when I find brilliant songs that aren’t on Spotify and therefore can’t add them to playlists.

Splinter — Lonely Man

Speaking of brilliant songs that aren’t on Spotify, I heard “Lonely Man” by Splinter on WFMU too. It’s the kind of thing my mum would have listened to on the odd occasion she showed an interest in music when I was a kid, and the kind of thing I probably would have hated then but love now.

It’s pretty lame but it works. I tried to listen to a few of their other songs but they all seemed to suck.

Sandra Hüller/Michael Masser and Linda Creed — Greatest Love of All (cover)

We watched the German/Austrian movie “Tony Erdmann.” It was kinda interesting but much too slow and long (it was clear that would be the case from the first shot, which looks at a front door for what feels like about a minute before anything happens).

But there’s a great scene in the film where the main character Winfried Conradi pretty much forces his daughter to sing “The Greatest Love of All” at a gathering at someone’s house.

I’d never heard the song before. It was by Michael Masser and Linda Creed and recorded in 1977 by George Benson for a Muhammad Ali biopic (all according to Wikipedia.) But Whitney Houston made it super famous with a cover in 1985.

The interesting thing about the song is that I think it could have been written, or at least presented, better. All the parts are excellent, but the whole thing is way too dramatised. If the vocals were less intense and there were less of the instrumental tricks that pump up the passion guage it would be a brilliant song.

Someone should do a deadpan cover.

Anyway, the “Toni Erdmann” version (sung by actress Sandra Hüller) remains my favourite so far.

Judy Dyble — Come All Ye Fair and Tender Ladies

My friend Dan (who is a great songwriter himself) sent me this version of “Come All Ye Fair and Tender Ladies” performed by Judy Dyble, of Fairport Convention fame. I’d never heard the song before — it’s an old American folk tune that has been covered by many artists. This version is great.

Stephen Malkmus — Solid Silk

I went back to listening to a few of my favourite Stephen Malkmus tracks towards the end of the year and remembered I’d never paid much attention to his records after “Mirror Traffic,” which was a disappointment after “Real Emotional Trash.” I figured each record must have at least one excellent song on it — seeing as Malkmus is a songwriting genius — and as I began putting together an ultimate Malkmus playlist, so it turned out to be.

“Solid Silk” is one of two great tracks on “Sparkle Hard” (the other is “Middle America”.) It’s classic Malkmus: super catchy, a bit emotive, great harmony and melody and all somehow totally nonchelant.

At the same time it sounds unlike most of his other songs, being a quieter and slower builder with strings.

MF Doom — Operation Doomsday

I’m not sure how I came across “Take Me To Your Leader” by King Geedorah — but for a long time it was the only rap album I really, actually enjoyed enough to buy. (Sorry I appreciate that’s a terrible thing to say, and I need to listen to more rap.) I had heard other bits of MF Doom, but “Take Me To Your Leader” really stuck. I didn’t even really like “Madvillainy” that much.

Since Daniel Dumile died I’ve been listening to more of his stuff and “Operation Doomsday” is making more sense to me. I’m even starting to focus on the words a little, which I’m not too fussed about in “Take Me To Your Leader,” I just love all the backing and of course the cartoon mashups. “Mm..Food” is also good.

I appreciate this is bending the rules a bit since his death was announced on New Years Eve, but it’s tied to 2020 for me now.