2018: A year that did not immediately lend itself to a crafty, punny headline

Frank Yang
6 min readDec 28, 2018

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Fisherman on Lake Kawaguchi, Yamanashi Prefecture, Japan

So it turns out that a few weeks ago was the fifth anniversary of my shutting down the blog, and while it had previously occurred to me that I should mention it even with just a tweet, the day came and went without my remembering it at all. I wasn’t especially busy that day, I just totally forgot. I don’t even really know why I think that’s funny, or even worth commenting on. Five years. What a surprise.

But let’s talk about 2018… about which there’s not really a whole lot to say (aside from that the world is still awful, in case you didn’t notice). Relative to the past few years (Engaged! House! Wedding!), this one wasn’t quite as eventful, though I suppose changing jobs for the first time in 13 years counts as a thing worth noting — change is scary but sometimes/ofttimes necessary and in this case, I think it’s been all for the best (read: the new gig is fine). Other than that… we redid a bathroom. That was exciting.

There was some globetrotting these past 12 months, mainly in the Spring when a combination of eight flights through seven airports in six cities in three countries (not counting all the buses, trains, taxis, cars, etc) over 14 days took me to Japan and Thailand. Aside from that, there were short jaunts to the USA to celebrate our first anniversary in Boston, finally see Belly live in Chicago, and continue a tradition of dog-sitting over Thanksgiving in New York.

That Belly show was definitely the musical highlight of the year — bucket list stuff that came with a photo pass, no less — and there were no shortage of great shows this year. Radiohead and Nick Cave from the front row of the Scotiabank Arena (not together, don’t be ridiculous)? Tiny club shows from The Horrors and Johnny Marr (not together, don’t be ridiculous)? Finally getting to see New Order? All great.

As for my take on the year in recorded music, it’s noteworthy that as late as mid-year, it was entirely possible that this list would have been made up entirely of female- or female-fronted acts. And maybe if I was a little less sentimental about old favourites, it would have been — sufficed to say the runners-up are mostly women. But the final list — alphabetical as always — is decidedly co-ed.

Olafur Arnalds / re:member (Mercury KX)

After going big (and vocal) with his last studio album For Now I Am Winter, not to mention his more electronic pursuits with Kiasmos and Nils Frahm, Arnalds surprised me by returning to pianos — albeit robotic pianos — pivoting back towards the beautifully skeletal instrumentals of …and they have escaped the weight of darkness. An instant aural portal back to the otherworldly beauty of Iceland.

Eric Bachmann / No Recover (Merge)

I’m a little sad that Bachmann has retired the Crooked Fingers name in favour of his own if for no other reason than I like band names, but as long as he keeps making tremendously affecting, masterfully arranged folk music like this, he can call it whatever he wants. Except Archers Of Loaf. Archers has gotta rock.

Belly / Dove (independent)

Even in this era of every band that has ever been will someday be again, I can’t quite believe there is a third Belly album and that it’s actually really good. And if you could fully appreciate just how much I love King (and Star, slightly less), you’d understand just how high praise that is. Proof that a quarter-century off can be excellent for recharging the creative batteries.

Anna Calvi / Hunter (Domino)

Calvi may have dialed back the ferocity of her debut somewhat for 2014’s One Breath, but her latest , a study of gender and sexuality, turns things right up to feral on her third album. And for those who wished there was just a little more guitar pyrotechnics on offer, your “Wish” has been granted. Yow.

Christine & The Queens / Chris (Because)

Fears that the more masculine persona Héloïse Letissier adopted for Chris would blunt the elegance I loved about Chaleur Humaine proved unfounded. Yes, the beats are harder and there’s more swagger, but Letissier’s grace and vulnerability still elevates everything.

Echo Ladies / Echo Ladies — Pink Noise (Hybris/Sonic Cathedral)

I am convinced there is a lab somewhere in the wilds of Sweden tasked with assembling bands expressly for my tastes. It may sound reductive to describe Echo Ladies as The Radio Dept. with the Belle & Sebastian DNA replaced with The Jesus & Mary Chain — dial down the twee, dial up the post-punk — but it’s not wrong. In fact it’s great. The full-length didn’t quite measure up to the self-titled debut EP, but I’m perfectly happy to think of them as a single piece of shoegazey-dreampoppy perfection.

Hatchie / Sugar & Spice (Double Double)

Yeah it’s only five songs over 20 minutes, but I listened to Harriette Pilbeam’s debut more than most full-lengths this year. And if you add in follow-up single “Adored” and the Robin Guthrie remix of “Sure”, you’ve almost got a… slightly longer EP. Wistfully buoyant dream-pop that could well have come from the Australian branch of the same laboratories that concocted Echo Ladies, you can expect to see her full-length in this space next year.

Melody’s Echo Chamber / Bon Voyage (Fat Possum)

A lot of folks expected Melody Prochet’s sophomore effort to suffer for the absence of Tame Impala’s Kevin Parker, whose pedalboard was all over her debut album. Instead, she found new collaborators in Sweden’s Dungen and released a record that’s more experimental and psychedelic than anything Parker is every likely to. A complete head trip from start to finish that reveals something new and mind-bending with every listen.

Spiritualized / …And Nothing Hurt (Fat Possum)

It’s not inaccurate to say that Jason Pierce has, to some degree, been making the same record again with each Spiritualized release, grappling with the same themes of drugs, death, and religion. And if …And Nothing Hurt is, as some have suggested, is his final release — I don’t believe it, personally — it’s a fitting one. There’s a sense of gentleness and peace throughout Hurt that’s new; after all the years of searching, perhaps Pierce has found his grace.

Suede / The Blue Hour (Rhino)

This isn’t Suede’s best album; it’s not even the best of their three reunion records — I still favour the immediacy and urgency of Bloodsports — but it is a Suede record that sounds unmistakably like a Suede record in an era where very little sounds like a Suede record. So it may be that I more love the fact that this record exists and is as good as it is than I love the record itself, but that’s okay. It’s enough.

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Frank Yang
Frank Yang

Written by Frank Yang

Retired music blogger. I now care even less about your remix.

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