Missy Lorelei looks back at an eclectic year and sees much more to talk about than Robin Thicke.
In a year dominated by the unsavoury summer antics of pervy uncle Robin Thicke, a man who more than lived up to his name, and his twerking accomplice Miley Cyrus (say their names only once, or something awful happens, a la Candyman) it's good to know there were viable alternatives.
In pop, Arctic Monkeys, Icona Pop, Disclosure, Haim and Rudimental stroked the Radio 1 playlists, but it was New Zealand's sassy teenager Lorde; old French favourites Daft Punk and soulful trio London Grammar who had wider appeal. Lady Gaga, meanwhile, still harboured under the illusion she was a 'serious artist' (cough) hanging out with Marina Abramovic and Jeff Koons, but her latest 'manifesto' Art Pop was met with general shrugs by critics and public alike, except from her own Little Monsters (fans).
Bowie's comeback snuck up softly on everyone by surprise, and his Tony Visconti-produced album The Next Day seemed like the good old days, with classic songwriting, UFOs, Berlin and hooks...unlike the disappointing return of indie favourites My Bloody Valentine, whose MBV album wasn't much of a departure from the 1991 heyday of Loveless. The Pixies too were underwhelming as they now suffer from a lack of charming bass player Kim Deal- although the first two singles were promising. Morrissey finally released his autobiography, cheekily called Autobiography, on Penguin Classics, which proved as hilarious, divisive and maddening as he is. Sadly, we lost the great Lou Reed in October... an inspiration to anyone and everyone interested in music.
A Psych revival saw the likes of Pond, Unknown Mortal Orchestra, Hanni El Khatib, Tame Impala and oddball Connan Mockasin serve lysergic offerings , ubiquitous in a way the folk artists seemed to be a few years back.
But if that was too energetic, the Slacker flannel wearing indie gods Kurt Vile, Parquet Courts and Yuck partied like it was 1991...uh..like, sooner, rather than later. Once they, like, got outta bed and sparked up a fat one. Dude.
Laura Mvula proved Jazz inflected-pop had a new goddess and went done well at festivals, soothing hangovers, and at the other end of the spectrum, Melt Yourself Down were a kind of frenetic Leeds supergroup.
R 'n' B and Hip-Hop had heroes in Frank Ocean, Tyler the Creator, Joey Badass and the ever-bonkers Kanye, whose epic concept album Yeezus was off-the-scale egotism- frankly, the sound of a man with far too much money. James Blake won the much coveted Mercury Prize. Blood Orange and Child of Lov were Prince-sexy funk and M.I.A, Lady and Lizzo provided the antidote to the dubious male-dominated sexual politics.
Indie, as ever, was in rude health, as evinced by Glasgow's own Honeyblood, Churches and Casual Sex (careful when Googling the latter there) - elsewhere, Anna Calvi's second album One Breath was an improvement on her first; Daughter's sublime debut If You Leave bridged the gap between The XX and Laura Marling, Factory Floor indie and dance, and Charlie Boyeur and the Voyeurs were more than just a silly name, inspired by New Yorkers Television and British post-punk.
The more esoteric end saw Mira Calix and Laurel Halo continue with found sounds and electronic experimentation, Japanese noiseniks Bo Ningen confounding and delighting on tour, while Glasgow jazz/freaks Tut Vu Vu slinked at the Art School, with their frontman Raydale Dower doing interesting things with David Lynch inspired music at the CCA- all very strange, but a nice alternative to Robin Thicke. Which is where we came in.
Happy Secular Holidays, everybody! Here's to 2014.
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