My Albums of 2014 Pt.1

2014 was the first year in my life where I’ve spent more time listening to new music than old. Even then, with the exception of Neil Young, everything I’ve been really getting into has been from within my lifetime, and even then, has been skewed towards the past 5 years. That’s by no means to say I’ve managed to give time to everything that’s been released recently. In fact, there are still a good number of critically acclaimed artists I haven’t yet got round to. Sorry Swans, Grouper, The War on Drugs, Vince Staples, Arca, Sharon von Etten and Perfume Genius; I’ll get round to checking you out at a later date. Who knows, hopefully in 2015 I’ll do a better job.

It would be unnecessary to try and lend 2014 some kind of narrative, as I am won’t to do, not just because I am beginning to appreciate that that’s a lazy and clumsy way of discussing music, but also because of how fractured and independent music scenes are now. Instead, here are my thoughts on the albums that have really stood out to me last year.

Andy Stott – Faith in Strangers

The album art on this, ambient/electronic musician Andy Stott’s third LP, does an apt job of summarising the music found inside. Like the towering concrete apartments behind the stone statue; the music is dirty, cold and uninviting. The only things taking the edge off of this despair are the airy, white curtains of noise and the familiar shape of the face, even if it is just a carving.

Andy Stott is in no rush to deliver any kind of pay off, nor is he interested in reaching crescendos. Nothing on this album can be said to truly climax, instead the tracks slowly swell and unveil their true size. The opening track, "Time Away", is an exercise in minimalism and atmosphere; the silence plays as important part as the blasting foghorns.

It’s only on the second to last, eponymous track that any kind of intimacy or warmth unveils itself. The beautiful yet garbled voice that features throughout the record finally moves from cryptic threats to human expression, and at last the album’s title begins to take on meaning.

Aphex Twin – Syro

In mid-August, a blimp was noticed floating above the river Thames emblazoned with the Aphex Twin logo. After 13 years of inactivity the internet didn’t merely burst into a frenzy of hype, but also of collective head scratching. So while the editorials regaled readers with tales of the enigmatic Richard D. James; hugely influential, gleefully difficult and above all else, immensely talented, the forums flurried in excited discussion. What could the blimp possibly mean? What had Mr. James been up to this whole time? And what on earth would a new Aphex Twin album even sound like?

Syro, the resulting album, sidestepped expectations with a grinning nonchalant. As the world would eventually find out (Aphex Twin does proper interviews now?), Richard D. James never stopped making music, it was just that his interests had been swayed from constructing cohesive albums to exploring the possibilities of analogue technology, endlessly building and rebuilding his studio in pursuit of improved sound quality.

The new album is in many ways no great leap forward; it’s in the same ballpark of bizarro blurts and bleats as his other records, but also stands out in his discography for being so immediate, accessible (well, relatively) and human. The beauty of Syro is in its endless ticks and quirks, the deep and wonderful sound quality and the minute details that slowly reveal themselves over repeated listen. Apex Twins frank explanation that he chose to release an album purely to “end a chapter. It's like, O.K, fuck that lot off, now I can now concentrate on some new stuff.” doesn’t do justice to how cohesive and finely crafted Syro is. It works perfectly fine as a full album, although I’ve found myself tackling it a few songs at a time to get my head fully round each track.

Of all the odd events that happened to promote Syro, perhaps the image that stands out as most reflective of the new album is this picture. It’s still Richard D. James amusing himself with his computer, but he no longer looks like he wants to eat your soul.

Spoon – They Want My Soul

Spoon have been a band longer than I’ve been alive, and in 2014 their dependable brand of guitar-rock stood out amongst the landscape of frenetic beats, rappers and techno. The first track “Rent I Pay” was almost jarring, a straightforward words-and-guitar single that you can imagine being a hit on the radios.

But there’s always been a very modern edge to Spoons sound. Famously, instead of jamming the band have been known to play musical games, cut and paste instruments on ProTools and swap instruments constantly. This deconstructionist approach to rock lends itself to some fantastic sounding songs, as the riffs and beats get to shine in confident isolation of the rest of the track and the remaining space can be filled with a measured dose of left-field instruments and sheer studio know-how.

However, the real reason this album stands out so much (to me, at least) is how bitter and cocksure lead singer Britt Daniels is.  Lyrics like “When you stand beside me, I could tell I was stronger than I've ever been
But if you're gone, you know you don't come back” overflow with venom, and the discontent with the music industry, ex-lovers and America itself is palpable.