This may seem a little late to be talking about albums of the year. You might even ask, which year? and with reason. (I have already read three times that beloved cliché of January album reviews: ‘early contender for album of the year’.) But everything is so cheap at the moment, and Amazon knows we cannot resist its blandishments for long, having emailed me twice with special offers since I started writing this piece. Happily, it has been another good year for the music obsessive: there is just so much out there that begs your attention. As always, this is a strictly subjective selection, limited by my budget and very particular tastes, which I’m aware aren’t everyone’s. More than once, my fellow columnist James Delingpole and I have mapped out the Venn diagram of our different musical preferences, the intersection of which encompasses a couple of records made in 1977 and an early Grandaddy CD. But we hate many of the same things, which counts for a lot.
My single of the year, the one I looked forward to hearing most on pop radio, was Nerina Pallot’s ‘Real Late Starter’, a glorious little piano-driven thing stuffed with melodic riches. No one bought it, and the album, The Graduate (Echo), wasn’t as good, but it takes talent to write a pure pop tune you have never heard before and want to hear many times again. I also liked Regina Spektor’s album Far (Sire): she’s a Russian Jew brought up in New York, with a piano and great eyebrows and a wonderfully fearless approach, like Tori Amos but with tunes.
Singer-songwriters, of course, have fewer overheads to worry about. I have already written of Randy Newman’s magnificent Harps and Angels (Nonesuch), his best to my ears in 30 years. Add to that Chris Difford’s The Last Temptation of Chris (Stiff), new songs from the Squeeze lyricist written with Boo Hewerdine (an old favourite of this column) in an inspired match of talents. Listen to ‘Fat as a Fiddle’ or ‘On My Own I’m Never Bored’, songs unlike anyone else’s, mapping a midlife crisis even more ferocious than our own. Both these albums came out in 2008, but haven’t turned into pumpkins yet.
My breakthrough album — the one you have been idly listening to for a while, until one day it suddenly clicks, and you realise you will love it until the day you die — is a year older still. The Cinematic Orchestra started out as an averagely tedious trip-hop outfit, but on Ma Fleur (Ninja Tune) has developed its own strange, spacious combination of fake soundtrack, semi- improvised jazz and big deep-soul singing, which sounds horrible and really isn’t.
Utterly different from everything previously mentioned is Willie and the Wheel (Bismeaux), a one-off collaboration between Willie Nelson and Western swing archivists Asleep at the Wheel. These are ancient dance tunes given bright and amazingly musicianly readings, with Nelson’s perfect one-take vocals on top. The whole project is infused with sheer joy and love of the music.
But album of the year? For me there’s only one contender, The Duckworth Lewis Method (1969/DCR). The Divine Comedy’s Neil Hannon and Thomas Walsh of Pugwash have made the first and probably last concept album about cricket. It has possibly the four best pop songs released in 2009 and two, ‘Jiggery Pokery’ and ‘Test Match Special’, that in a sensible world would have been worldwide number ones. This month, I see, a download of the album is being given away free with copies of the Wisden Cricketer. There really is no justice, in life as in cricket.
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