Wouldn't it be nice to know what the paper doesn't show, what the TV doesn't say?

I salute A. He’s gone all end-of-year crazy over at his place with two lists summarizing his varied highlights. It’s a witty and interesting selection and I’m proud to note I was stood loyally by his side (mainly physically but also, at times, in spirit) on numerous occasions.

Anyhow, it’s time for me to look back and select my album of the year. To be honest, for months it was seeming a one horse race as The Decemberists’ The Hazards of Love eagerly won my heart and the fierce battle for my aural affections. Wilco’s self-titled gem entered the fray back in the summer but, latterly, I have been swooning at several brilliant offerings from these very shores known tenderly by the cognoscenti simply as ‘Britain’. I congratulate the youthful, understated and subtle XX on an unexpected but richly deserved, er, victory. The nippers’ eponymous debut is an absolute treasure and I could (but I won’t) become a touch emotional considering how a collective of earnest young hepcats could produce such a tender, thoughtful and, heck, moving set of songs. It has become my go-to album of choice over the past few months, its breathy and intimate vocals and sparse instrumental swagger proving gripping enough to hold this oft-wavering attention again and again. I think XX by The XX is a masterpiece and will be spoken of in hushed and reverent tones many years from now. I reckon it’s that good. Nice work, lads and lasses.

Here is my Top Ten, pop-pickers:

1. The XX –XX
See above.

2. Euros Childs – Son of Euro Child
Sumptuous melodies coupled with eccentric/compelling lyrical glee.

3. Wild Beasts - Two Dancers
A belter. Packed with swagger and insouciant poise.

4. The Decemberists – The Hazards of Love
Intense and ruddy clever. A bit noodly in places (which I enjoyed).

5. Wilco – Wilco (The Album)
My favourite live act of the year. An album teeming with class and confidence.

6. Dirty Projectors – Bitte Orca
File under ‘Benefits from several plays’. Challenging but wondrously multi-layered.

7. Girls – Album
Madder than a box of frogs. In-your-face pop explosions galore.

8. Madness – The Liberty of Norton Folgate
A classy piece of work. Mature but fun, clever, wry and tender. A wholly unexpected treat.

9. Super Furry Animals Dark Days/Light Years
Celtic masters of melody weave wondrous webs of whimsy and wit.

10. Japandroids – Post-Nothing
A big, big noise from Vancouver. Husker Du-esque mix of mayhem and melody.

Barking in the street to tell what I have hidden there

I thought I’d mention my enormous admiration for the BBC’s Great Lives podcast which has been absent for a while but has, in the past couple of weeks, been slipping elegantly onto my iPod once again. As the title suggests, this is a production dealing with the biographies of fascinating folk but it’s the format that provides this listener with deepest satisfaction. Engaging host Matthew Parris traditionally, er, hosts a couple of characters, one a (forgive me) celebrity enthusiast of the great life in question while the other guest is an expert, often a biographer of that edition’s focus. The (forgive me again) celebrity’s job is to wax lyrical and come over all enthusiastic and devoted while the expert pithily debunks myths and bombards the listener with wondrous facts and tales. The recent edition when Sir Ranulph Fiennes and historian Juliet Barker examine Henry V proved an utterly compelling half an hour and I’m currently loving (but failing to stay awake through) wry comedian Rich Hall’s take on Tennessee Williams. It’s the juxtaposition of (...and again) celebrity and great life that often delights and I’ve appreciated John Major on Rudyard Kipling, Kate Humble (who I’ve ne’er admired really but who came across really well) on Miriam Makeba and, O tempora! O mores!, Paul Daniels on Harry Houdini. I wonder who the next one will be about*.

If any hepcats are reading this and wanting some more recommendations for podcast joy, then I am always thrilled to mention my favoured magazine Word’s weekly (or so) broadcast which never fails to entertain. Essentially, ageing dudes Mark Ellen and David Hepworth and guests chew the fat, reminisce and demonstrate more wit, wisdom and humour than I frankly deserve. Another favourite of mine is Chicago Public Radio’s Sound Opinions during which a pair of cooler-than-cool Illinoisan music journalists and anglophiles (Jim DeRogatis and Greg Kot) debate with giddy effervescence new releases and old long playing classics. Guests of the highest vintage (Grizzly Bear, Joan As Policewoman, Steve Earle) often pop by. It’s pleasing to hear views about modern music from a different source although the affable pair love British music with as much unabashed fervour as the latest stateside sounds. You can search for all these treats on iTunes.

*I'm informed that upcoming shows include Neil Innes on Vivian Stanshall and, heck, Christopher Biggins on Nero. The prospect of both, but especially the latter, renders me delirious with excitement.

But I'm changing my scene

The rugby was adequate yesterday. Effectively a dead Heineken Cup rubber against an earnest and energetic Glasgow proved mildly entertaining and reasonably encouraging. An insipid and somewhat dull first half, dominated by aimless kicks, made way for a fairly energetic second period in which the Gloucester backs conspired to run with a touch more guile and grit. A couple of well-taken tries proved ample reward for my favoured team’s ambition and the strong galloping of Morgan, Sharples, the young prince Simpson-Daniel, Robinson, Voyce and Molenaar. It’s hard to judge just how strong or weak this current Gloucester outfit is; sterner tests await and I suspect the away fixture against a wounded Bath and the new year’s opener against the, er, Warriors of Worcester will provide keener clues as to the team’s progress.

But moondust will cover you...

I returned home from the gold-lined streets of the nation’s capital yesterday, weary and wan but contented. It had proved a splendid day and a half in ‘the smoke’ shopping and strolling and, importantly, enjoying an evening of that new-fangled rock music at the large and impressive Barbican Centre. Spiritualized presented the whole of their classic 1997 long player Ladies and Gentlemen We Are Floating in Space and, my word, ‘twas a mesmerizing, loud and wondrous event. This album has only recently soared into my consciousness and I’ve grown to admire its melodic and introspective allure. This concert enhanced its reputation. A wide, wide stage housed a large number of people; band leader Jason Pierce sat to the right, dressed casually but wearing a huge pair of sunglasses and oversaw a traditional rock line-up, a lively brass section, an intense collective of string musicians and a stylish, riddimic and white-robed gospel choir. Heck it sounded great and from the Cole party’s excellent vantage point (three rows from the front) looked remarkable too. A lot has been written about this recording and its personal nature and its advocation of, er, pharmaceutical usage to help ‘take the pain away’ but challenging and passionate subject matter is nothing without strong tunes and Ladies and Gentlemen... contains a significant number of soaringly beautiful moments which swept over a delighted Barbican audience. I’d suggest the album doubled in length in the live format and this punter approved; longer renditions of the songs allowed hypnotic grooviness to caress the ears and presented fabulous opportunities for the superb musicians to proffer their skills and talents. It was a marvellous night. Here’s a cheeky clip from Youtube.

Listen to the music, shuffle up your feet

Well, the first Green Man Festival headliner was announced today and, although I hadn’t tipped The Flaming Lips in my last posting, I wasn’t too surprised to hear they would be playing on the Saturday. I’m not delirious with happiness at the choice, nor am I sinking into depths of despair. I think they’ll put on a fine show. The Coles enjoyed this combo at Birmingham’s historic Academy 1 a few years ago although I felt they were slaves to the video accompaniments that formed a backdrop to every song. There was a vaguely contrived wackiness to the proceedings which I wasn’t fully comfortable with although the band surely didn’t expect the dancing girl who had donned a panda costume to pass out with heat exhaustion after the third song.

I’m thrilled with my new iPhone which is a breathtaking piece of kit. I almost sob with joy every time I hold it in my hands. My old and loyal iPod mustn’t feel too jealous as I still love it with all my bleedin’ heart too; I’ll still be using this for all my music and podcast needs especially as my new machine contains 16GB of memory and I have over 70GB of music to delight in. I’m loving the news feeds (and plethora of other Apps) I can access on my iPhone and the user-friendly and aesthetically pleasing text messaging and emailing functions. I’m playing plenty of chess with gaming geezers on it and generally having a ball. I confess I’m tweeting on my Twitter page a lot more and sense I will be micro-blogging on a much more regular basis.

Turn the treble and...

The first headline act for the Green Man Festival is to be announced next week. A clue from the official website states giddily: ‘they’re one of the best bands in the world ever, they’ve never played Green Man before and we’re literally going out of our minds with excitement!’ Who could it be? I suppose one hepcat’s idea of a top combo is different to another’s. It hints that this group has been around for a goodly while which (possibly) rules out The Decemberists or Midlake. The word ‘best’ is a touch insipid and I’d rather have seen ‘innovative’ or ‘eccentric’ to help the guessing process. My first thought led me to Super Furry Animals but they have already played the Brecon event. A glance across the Atlantic leads me to proffer the names of both Yo La Tengo and the newly reformed Pavement but I have a horrible feeling it might be housewives’ favourites Elbow taking the stage one late evening next August. Or it might be Sonic Youth. Or Primal Scream.

Some people are on the pitch

I must admit to feeling enormous excitement at the World Cup draw last Friday evening. I know I favour the rugby union code of football but I do love soccer’s main event – possibly more than any other sporting occasion. Well, on Friday it was simply a few balls being selected and countries being allocated groups and locations but this viewer was thrilled and was heard to ululate loudly, ‘Not Portugal! Not Portugal!’ when it was time to select a non-seeded European side to face England. As things stand, one must be contented with the draw; U.S.A., Algeria and Slovenia will prove determined but limited opposition and the nation of my birth should progress with ease. I can’t wait. If time allows, I’ll be watching as many games as possible. The side I picked to win the World Cup at the time of the last European Championships, Russia, aren’t even attending so I am a hapless pundit. It is wide open, isn’t it? However, I fancy the Italians, a heady mix of the pragmatic and pulchritudinous, to come good again and possibly retain the fabled trophy.

I said you've gotta stop chasing rainbows

I’m looking out for something new to read although I’m dipping into one or one things at the moment. The last two books I’ve finished were really enjoyable. Sebastian Faulks’ Engleby was rather different from his classic Birdsong but, nevertheless, compelling and powerful. It’s a first person narrative focussing on the troubled childhood and awkward university years of a socially inept but exceptionally academically gifted misfit. Progressive rock aficionado Mike Engleby is able to breeze into Cambridge but makes appalling decisions and struggles in all social situations away from the lecture halls. Dark happenings, er, happen and Engleby impacts on others’ lives dramatically but, as with many other anti-heroes, you can’t help admiring the central character’s wit and distinctiveness that highlight the humdrumness and conventionality of practically everyone else in the tale. He’s trouble though. Engleby (the novel) is quite unusual and unlike anything I’ve ever read but it’s an absorbing character study that mixes up (the darkest) comedy with plenty of insightful flourishes and magnificent set pieces.

Zoe Heller’s The Believers was a novel I just picked up, started reading without any great excitement or expectation but ended up loving. Heller paints glorious characters and her depiction of the Litvinoff family, a hugely dysfunctional group, headed by prominent liberal New York lawyer Joel and his waspish English wife Audrey. The couple’s three children Karla, Rosa and the adopted Lenny are as different as chalk, cheese and, heck, ectoplasm and the glimpses Heller offers into their lives are packed with wonderful detail and crushingly satirical elements. Essentially the plot evolves after Joel suffers a serious stroke and the family along with other fringe players come to terms with new circumstances. It’s a biting look at left wing politics, political correctness, race, religion and social class – enough for any novel to be sinking its teeth into – and hits the target again and again. Few of the characters are truly likeable but it’s a rare pleasure when key players’ selfishness and awkwardness are exposed with richly comic consequences. This is probably the most enjoyable book I’ve read all year.

The nature of all greatness...

I congratulate my favoured rugby union team on a hard-fought but merited victory over a spirited and hard-running Newcastle this afternoon. Gloucester are much improved from the ramshackle rabble that proffered mediocre fare earlier this term and I am delighted to note a considerable improvement in handling skills, commitment and forward grunt. Despite a tricky twenty minute period in the first half when the visiting side conspired to play some keen and incisive football, the city club won plenty of the key confrontations and offered a fairly simple gameplan that lacked a touch of ambition but made the hard yards, forced mistakes and clinched crucial penalty decisions. Oliver Morgan made a pleasing return to the side and this supporter welcomed his strong running, purposeful chasing and trademark catching acumen. We’ve missed him. Elsewhere, Rory Lawson enjoyed a busy match and linked generally well with half-back partner Nicky Robinson. The ebullient centre Eliota Fuimaono-Sapolu was probably the outstanding back with several sniping runs at the heart of the Newcastle defence while ‘Big’ Dave Attwood took a further stride towards a deserved ‘Player of the Season’ gong with another towering performance in the ‘engine room’. I am encouraged but not carried away by my side’s recent form. The spectre of relegation appears to have abated for the time being and has been replaced by the mundane but comforting cosiness of mid-table respectability. Time will tell if a top six finish beckons; if Gloucester can salvage Heineken Cup qualification from such an unpromising autumn it shall be an achievement of epic proportions.

Wall of Noise

I salute the beat combo Primal Scream for journeying to the (ye?) historic city of Gloucester last Thursday; their set at the compact and bijou Guildhall proved loud, merry, vigorous, up-tempo, melodic, rifftastic and loud. When a ‘big’ group attends the Guild, it’s part recital, part happening and the plethora of hepcats in attendance (some e’en travelling all the way from Cheltenham Spa) indicated that the scene was celebrating itself effervescently. The Scream rocked and rolled with insouciance and cool. The lead vocalist Bobby Gillespie played the part of lead vocalist Bobby Gillespie with wit and swagger, sprinkling a sprinkle of Michael Philip Jagger into a performance of gleeful pop/rock; the fellow, approaching his fiftieth year with alacrity, donned the skinny-hipped trousery, shook his tousled locks, shimmied and swayed like a young ‘un and belted out belters. The band proffered tight and energetic backing and ‘twas merry to witness the legendary Mani wielding his bass and conjuring up a no-nonsense masterclass in riddimic rigour. Highlights included strutting versions of Rocks, Swastika Eyes, Country Girl and Suicide Bomb but this ageing character particularly appreciated a courteous doff of the cap towards some Screamadelica classics: a quick blast of Loaded and Movin’ On Up (and a slow song I’ve forgotten the name of) and it was suddenly 1991 and I was wearing desert boots and plaid shirts and looking young again. I enjoyed this concert and offer gratitude to the movers and shakers at my local Arts Centre for arranging such lively entertainment.