It’s something of a tradition for me to write up my year in music, which then gives way to a second tradition of combing other year-end lists looking for things I missed or didn’t give enough of a chance. It’s always educational, even if I don’t find any new favorites. Fortunately, this December has been particularly good to me, and I’ve heard ten new-to-me albums that I think are worth your attention. In each description below, I’ve included a link that tells you a little more about the album. There’s an accompanying playlist at the end.
Aeon Station, Observatory
The Coral, Coral Island
Little Simz, Sometimes I Might Be an Introvert
Various Artists, Cameroon Garage Funk
Paul Simon, Paul Simon (1972)
Michael Head & The Strands, The Magical World of the Strands (1997)
Piers Faccini, Shapes of the Fall
Men I Trust, Untourable Album
Rodrigo Amarante, Drama
Nitin Sawhney, Immigrants
Aeon Station’s Observatory was released after I finished my year in music post, but I adore it. From the wreckage of The Wrens, Kevin Whelan’s solo album is a glorious slice of indie rock.
The Coral is a band I (perhaps unfairly) wrote off two decades ago, but their latest, Coral Island, appeared on a few of the British year-end lists, so I gave it a go. Despite being a double album and a concept album (which I’m always skeptical of) and having narrative interludes throughout (which I never have patience for), I really enjoy Coral Island. Trimmed of the interludes, it’s 53-minutes of sharply written British rock descended from The Kinks.
One emerging consensus on year-end lists is that British rapper Little Simz’s Sometimes I Might Be an Introvert is great. The aggregate speaks the truth. Little Simz gives a hip-hop master class over Inflo’s spectacular production. And yes, I removed the narrative interludes from my version.
The blog Aquarium Drunkard always has a sprawling year-end list. Their taste is quite eclectic, global in embrace with their heart nestled in Laurel Canyon. I don’t vibe with a lot of it, but there’s always one obscure gem on the list. This year, for me, it was Cameroon Garage Funk. The compilation has a cool story that shines a light on a particular moment and place, the city of Yaoundé in the 1970s. It’s amazing.
Paul Simon’s self-titled, 1972 album is here because it’s 425 on Rolling Stone’s best albums of all-time list. I dismissed it without animus, but my friend’s praise for it brought me back for a closer listen, and I’m glad he did. It’s an understated album with beautiful songs in which every sonic choice is deliberate and essential.
Michael Head and the Strands’ The Magical World of the Strands is another friend recommendation, via the local record store, who told him, “If you like José González, then you’ll like this.” He did and so do I. Magical World is a wonderful British folk amble (think Nick Drake or Fleet Foxes). The listening pleasure is deepened by the sense that this record exists out-of-time. This was true in the UK in 1997 when it was released, and it’s true in San Diego in 2021.
Piers Faccini’s Shapes of the Fall was on the periphery of my awareness during the year. I loved his 2009 album, Two Grains of Sand, but had lost track of him until he appeared on Ballaké Sissoko’s Djourou this year. An appearance on a year-end list gave me the necessary nudge to check out Shapes of the Fall, and it does not disappoint. His spare folk is spacious enough to incorporate what Faccini sees as the musical dialogue of the Mediterranean, including North African, Middle Eastern, and European traditions.
Men I Trust’s Untourable Album missed me altogether earlier in the year. It’s a cousin to Saint Etienne’s I’ve Been Trying to Tell You. It’s headphone music for drifting nights. You can hear the debt to Boards of Canada and Moby, which is another way to say I seriously dig this album.
I listened to Rodrigo Amarante’s Drama when it came out because of some press I’d seen, but I really didn’t care for it. Mistake. Where was my head? A year-end list described Drama in a way that pushed me to give it a second chance. Absolutely gorgeous. It’s rooted in Brazilian jazz but travels many musical styles.
Nitin Sawhney’s Immigrants denies easy classification. The British artist, who’s new to me, is apparently a creative person without boundaries: an accomplished musician, writer, and actor. His wide range is evident on Immigrants. It moves easily between genres and is tied together with fragments of the stories of immigrants to the UK (narrative interludes that work!). A political record that rejects the Brexit mentality in every way; it convincingly testifies to the beauty found in the diverse musical traditions of the multicultural UK.