Before we start the top 20 proper, here are some best-of-the-rest works that didn't quite make my list of top electronic albums of 2019. All of the following longlisted albums can probably be filed under "experimental".
I loved the attention-deficit collage that was Madteo's Dropped Out Sunshine (DDS), which at points felt so tightly wound-up, I thought my ears were going to snap. Berlin artist Ziúr took a similar ear-bending route on ATØ (Planet Mu), an album that chewed up pop music and spat out a tasty techno fusion. This all sounds very Holly Herndon, which is good because she also had an album out this year. Proto (4AD) was superbly enchanting.
For Plastic Anniversary (Thrill Jockey), Matmos made a special edition that was "rendered virtually unplayable by the plastic floating within". The clicks and squeaks of the album itself were welcome, as was its green message. Meanwhile, Boreal Massif took on the theme of climate extinction with the trippy meditations and drony vibes of We All Have An Impact (Pessimist Productions).
Efdemin's New Atlantis (Ostgut Ton) gave us banging hippy techno leavened with dulcimers, hurdy-gurdy and a smidgeon of Francis Bacon. The multi-abstract ambience of Klein's Lifetime (ijn inc) included elements of light jazz, southern gospel and what sounded like a marching band being fed through a mincer.
33EMYBW called the electrotribal Arthropods (SVBKVLT) "limb dance” as she pushed the boundaries of the experimental Shanghai club scene. And finally for this section, I liked the playful beats of Violet's Bed of Roses (Dark Entries) — and yes, it's named after a Bon Jovi song.
Soon, we'll get our teeth into the top 20 best electronic music albums of 2019, like a narwhal savaging an unsuspecting squid. But first let's get some special mentions out of the way.
When I compile my list, I have a set of fuzzy rules in my head. To be included, an album must be in the vein of modern, post-Aphex electronic music, but that leaves things pretty wide open. Nothing too poppy, although the list has pop elements. Don't genre-jump into hip hop, although the list will certainly have elements of this too.
I also try not to include compilations, although watch me break this rule almost immediately with the album I've placed at number 20. This does mean there's no space for Burial's Tunes 2011 to 2019 (Hyperdub) nor for Autechre's Warp Tapes 89-93.
I've also been strict about the definition of an album, so I'm sadly not including the return of Andy Stott on the EP It Should Be Us (Modern Love) nor, controversially, am I including Underworld's spectacular and impressive Drift project because there's so much of it, it would have ground this process to a halt.
And finally, I have a new rule: if I don't like it, I won't mention it. In previous years, I thought it was important to be comprehensive and I included in my longlist albums that I wasn't interested in but were important enough to mention. As if I this site was some kind of electronic music almanac rather than just a daft writer in his underpants mashing a keyboard with his fists. Why recommend something I'm not bothered about?
So from now on, if I'm not keen on it, it doesn't get a mention. Sorry, Tycho. Sorry, DJ Shadow.
Welcome to my annual list of the best electronic music albums of the year. Come in. Take a seat. Not that one, that's my seat. Take a stool. Sit in the corner. Face the wall. This is going to be fun!
Rating music seems to be going out of fashion, with Fact refusing to number their lists and Resident Advisor no longer numbering their reviews. However, I have never considered myself fashionable: I'm so out-of-date, I find Crocs sexy, and I mean the reptiles *and* the shoes.
I'm about to foist my top 20 favourite albums of 2019 on you. It will take the form of a series of blog posts throughout the mornings of December 30th and 31st. Numbers 20 to 11 today, then the top ten tomorrow. It will culminate in the reveal of the number one Best Electronic Music Album of 2019, which should be at 1.30pm tomorrow, new years eve.
That'll give you plenty of time before your evening celebrations to nip to Our Price or Woolworths and buy the best album on CD. People still do that, right?
A couple of things to remember:
Firstly, do not take this too seriously: ask me again in a week and I'll no doubt have a different list: top ten household whisks or something. Everyone just chill.
Secondly, it's is only my opinion, but my opinion is also fact, and facts are law, so to avoid jail you must take all of this very seriously indeed.
Throughout the top 20, I will intersperse bonus "best-of-the-rest" blog posts outlining literally billions of albums that didn't make my final list. Okay, maybe not billions. Slightly fewer than billions. Dozens, perhaps. You see, this is why Resident Advisor stopped doing numbers: there are too many of them. Stupid maths.
There's a knob-twiddler on YouTube who's been posting FruityLoops version of New Order songs.
"Knob-twiddler" is not a technical term, but instead is a nickname for people who like to experiment making electronic music. "FruityLoops" is indeed a proper term, in fact it's music-making software that's enjoyed something of a renaissance thanks to its users including Avicii, Basshunter and Timmy Mallett.
I lied about Timmy Mallett.
The YouTube user is called Mkaymufc and they are a New Order nut. Because they are using presets and some pretty basic plug-ins, their instrumental YouTube covers of Bernard & chums are not as well produced as the originals. That's like comparing a crayon drawing of a warthog stuck to your bathroom cabinet to a real warthog furiously trying to mate with your bathroom sink's overflow pipehole. You'll never get it in, Porkles. YOU'LL NEVER GET IT IN.
However, what is delightful is what Mkaymufc does with their limitations: there are some pretty detailed covers here, full of heart. There's something so comforting about a Midi-quality bass drum in a era of over-production. And like a cat following a laser along a carpet, you can watch it play along from start to finish in FruityLoops (now called FL Studio).
Sometimes it doesn't work: Electronic's Soviet doesn't come across well. But I loved Some Distant Memory (that Oboe's so cute!). New Order's Bizarre Love Triangle is brilliant, as is their take on Orbital's Kein Trink Wasser. It was an Orbital tweet that brought these videos to my attention. Sometimes the drawing is as enchanting as the real thing.
Christmas is a lovely time of year when a reindeer does a plop on your baubles and Santa cheerily throws an elf onto an open fire.
I would like to wish all of my subjects a merry Christmas. And by "subjects", I mean you, my reader, because you subject yourself to all this grammatical hot guff every time you visit my website. Thank you for downloading my words into your brain.
This year has felt quite bumpy, according to the Queen. She should know because she has been feeling up the year when nobody's been looking. April felt squishy, and there was a distinct undulation to August. It's the kind of thing royals get up to. Disgusting, if you ask me.
I'm pretty immune to the annoyances of Christmas. I don't have parents, so there's no-one to argue with about Brexit while passively-aggressively chewing undercooked sprouts. And I don't have a television, so while you're bombarded with a gaudy torrent of Chrimbo ads, I'm just staring at the patch of carpet where my telly used to be. Bliss.
That said, it can be a lonesome time because everything's so family-oriented. Most Christmases, I delve into creative projects and spend as much time with friends as possible. January and February should have their own Christmases so we can continue to distract ourselves from the dank cold with booze and pals and shiny things.
The other day it occurred to me that "ho ho ho" is "oh oh oh" backwards, which is a lyric from Beyoncé's Single Ladies. I'm not quite sure what to do with this information, other than posit that Father Christmas is the opposite to Queen Beyoncé. The Anti-Bey, if you will. Next time you're sitting on a Santa's knee, ask him if he hates Beyoncé.
What's my advice for Christmas? Don't stand in your chimney place because if Santa comes down at the wrong angle, you're going to find yourself right up Father Christmas's butt. No-one wants to spend the festive season wedged up Santa Claus, no matter how Christmassy you're feeling. Not that anyone has chimneys anymore. Or butts. I blame Brexit Britain.
In summary, festive fiddlesticks to you and your loved ones. Maybe have a read of this 2006 Xmas Q&A in which I (a) still annoyingly call Christmas "chrimbo" and (b) seem to promise never to mention Christmas again. Oops.
Cinema trips are always difficult. I need space for my three buckets of popcorn and a mop for when I fill my supersize Pepsi with nachos. And there's never anywhere to put my portable foot spa.
Despite this, I did get to see some films this year. So here are five films, or "movies" if you are modern, that I especially enjoyed in 2019. Incidentally, the final film here was released in 2018 in the States, but 2019 here, so if you are American, please close your eyes when you get to that bit. Thanks.
Oh and this will annoy the purists. This is not a top five: I love them all equally. I wanted to rank them, but I chickened out. Does that upset you? What are you going to do about it? Report me to the list police? Huh? HUH?
So in alphabetical order...
Booksmart
This Olivia Wilde comedy indulged in some pretty basic high school jinks, hence comparisons to Superbad. But thanks to great leads and some heavily-laced strawberries, it felt truly original. The chemistry between Beanie Feldstein and Kaitlyn Dever was sparkier than the band Sparks playing with sparklers: and indeed, the film was at its best when they were just being friends together.
I loved Billie Lourd's performance as Gigi, the drug-crazed non-friend who often went from nought to sixty in the blink of an eye. This goes for her script too, such as the line: "I lost my virginity in what I thought was a park but it turned out to be a graveyard, and now the ghost spirits live inside my eggs waiting to be reborn."
Knives Out
Everyone seems to think Rian Johnson is a poop-head (technical film term) for The Last Jedi. Blah blah Star Wars whatever. He knocked it out of the park with Knives Out, with Daniel Craig sounding like Foghorn Leghorn on mushrooms. An ensemble piece full of brilliant anti-chemistry, best summed up by the ice and fire interactions of Jamie Lee Curtis and Toni Collette.
Like Booksmart, this took a familiar trope and did something new. Pure Miss Marple: murder, poison, knives, motive, means, opportunity. They even went with the final "nobody leave this room" detective explanation. A delight throughout led by the perfectly-cast vomiting nurse Ana de Armas, and with one of the funniest character introductions I've seen on film. *plays a single note on the piano*
Midsommar
I realise, by the way, I am saying nothing particular new and enlightening about any of these films. All of these opinions are available elsewhere on better-read websites. And so, yes, I'm going to refer to Ari Aster's Midsommar as a horror film that takes the usual (literal) darkness and fills it with blazing daylight, and is no less horrific for it.
We're in obvious Wicker Man territory here, with its Scandi wonkiness providing a beautifully twisted core. And oh boy, it's nasty. At its heart though is a relationship statement grounded in the brilliantly human Florence Pugh (pictured, top), and a narrative arc as satisfying as the best short story. I don't know about you, but it proper put me off joining a cult.
Pain & Glory
Critics love films about people making films, but while the surname of Cinema Paradiso's protagonist Salvatore Di Vita suggests life, the name of Pain & Glory's fictional filmmaker Salvador Mallo suggests something more negative. The physicality in Antonio Banderas's performance is key, with his only true freedom from pain coming from swimming or, well, that would be a spoiler.
The film plays with time to such an extent, you begin to question what's real. It looks incredible, is carefully paced, but never loses a raised eyebrow: there's a wall-decoration moment in a waiting room which was as silly as anything in Airplane! Pure Pedro Almodóvar and then some.
The Favourite
I watched a period drama and loved it: this is a rare thing indeed. Below is a YouTube clip of the film's opening few minutes. Everything that's wonderful and strange about the film is here:
The luxurious sets masking the grubby reality of humanity. The isolation and longing, often separated by mere moments. The "macabre" rabbits representing so much about Queen Anne. The fish-eye camera angles distancing us from the drama. The awkward title cards doing much the same thing. The saturated light casting main characters into shadow and reminding us there's another world outside. The horrible, horrible men. Olivia Coleman. Olivia flipping Coleman.
The Favourite was constantly surprising and I want everything to look this odd from now on.
"Just how do you compile your annual Best Electronic Albums list?" people never ask me.
It sounds complicated, listening to a zillion albums and shuffling them into some sort of order. And certainly there's lots of admin and lots of writing to be done.
Actually, it's pretty easy if I follow some simple rules. Here's how I come up with my best-of-year list, posted on this blog at the end of every December.
One.
Firstly, I have to ask myself: what is an album. What *is* an album? No, seriously, what is one? I know they tend to be round unless they're made of internet. Are they like a frisbee? Is albums made of frisbees? What is music? Why are album? Huh?
Two.
When starting my list, I scratch around the bins at the back of Fat Roland Towers. There's usually a rat chewing on a Robson & Jerome CD, which I usually take as a sign. If someone's scrawled KASABIAN 4EVA next to the bottle recycling, it's straight into my top ten.
Three.
There is a practical experiment for choosing what goes into an end-of-year list. It involves: a copy of the British Book of Hit Singles; a blindfold; a set of darts. And if the dart should choose, for example, the Bonzo Dog Doo Dah Band who haven't graced the album charts for 45 years, it's tough. The dart has spoken. They're in my list.
Four.
Twenty phone calls, tonnes of texts, sometimes scented letters. Roland Rat never answers, but one day he will give me a tip for my year-end list. In that furry brain of his, there is a bottomless well of music knowledge. For now, I just stroke his framed photo, and hope.
Five.
I listen to music. Simple, I just listen to music. Unfortunately this never works because I have replaced my ears with eggs, and eggs are notoriously bad as audio receptors. I once replaced my knees with a small mining village in the Balkans, but the neighbours complained due to the noise.
Seven.
When writing your list, skip a number. No-one ever notices, and it's less work for you.
Eight.
Chant this incantation: huthatha baloobie flam flam yaargle butt. Then whittle a candle into a stake and bury it in a south-westerly position. When the moon is full, run about with your clothes off. None of this helps the year-end list, but it sure does pass the time.
Nine.
Go to the internet. Press control-A, or command-A if you're fancy. This will highlight the entire world wide web. Paste this into your list, making sure you choose "text only". Bang. A billion words. Somewhere in there will be the best albums of the year, a sonic record needle in a towering information haystack. You will experience a glowing satisfaction that you technically - TECHNICALLY - finished the job of end-of-year listing.
Ten.
Don't bother. Wait until I write the Best Electronic Albums of 2019, due to hit this blog before the end of the year. I'm not sure of the date yet: it depends on how much chocolate I eat at Christmas and whether I get into a fight with a reindeer again.
It has been an unusual few days. A week ago, everything was green fields and frolicking bunnies. But on Thursday, the general public voted for a blue-tentacled behemoth of pain and destruction, and now all the bunnies are dead.
I am, of course, talking about the 2019 general election in which a floppy-haired buffoon got a billion people to vote for him. I'm not sure what happens next, but I think all the poor people get deported to Brussels while we spend £350 million turning hospitals into whiff-whaff clubs.
The election was a conversation which essentially went like this:
"How about this?" [holds up dead cat]
"Nah."
"This?" [holds up turd on a stick]
"Nah."
"What about this?" [holds up Daft Punk's Get Lucky]
"Come on now."
"All I've got left is this." [holds up actually racist Bullingdon thug]
"Mmmm, yes!" [rubs over body for next 5 years]
I started election day keyholding for a polling station in a safe Labour constituency, and ended the day in A&E with a sprained foot. I'd done my foot in a few days ago, as mentioned here. I'd stumbled on a broken sloping pavement covered in ice, unseen because of a broken street light – it was a live-action health and safety video demonstration. My foot probably flared up again on Thursday because it was a Corbynista nervous about the election result.
The emergency room was packed to the rafters, and someone in the queue ahead of me collapsed, I suspect at the cost of the wifi. The doctor showed me a fuzzy x-ray of my foot, which had as much clarity as a Lib Dem bar chart. He said my foot won't heal until we get Brexit done.
Thankfully, this is the season of Christmas ghosts, and I fully expect Greta Thunberg to descend on a heavenly cloud to cure my painful foot. She's good, isn't she. I found Thursday's election result hard to understand, but folks like Greta give me a huge amount of hope that one day the bunnies will frolic again.
We might as well fill 10 Downing Street with spiders for all the good this new government will do. But as we limp through the next five years – literally for some of us – there's an opportunity. Let's respond to the election result by being active, being practical, and being creative.
Make your new year resolutions now. Do something special. We're going to need it.
Anybody want to come and live in Fatro Land instead?
