‘Better later than never’ the kids are fond of saying, but really though? Really? I mean, my mate Paul- y’know, Paul– said that he was going to post dog faeces through my letter box on Monday, and though it finally arrived three days late this morning I’d still have preferred it if he didn’t do it all.
I wrote two books in 2016, the first one of which I to this day struggle to convince people is a daringly obnoxious work of borderline genius that I honestly believed would create a new style of fiction writing. Unfortunately, it was not an easy read and I know for a fact that nobody I know ever reached the end of it. So, I quickly wrote another one that was a thousand times easier to read and about a hundred times less a explosion of unrefined inventiveness. Nobody even started to read that. The reactions hurt me, because I am a Delicate Snowflake Social Justice Cluck, so I deleted all the titles from the Kindle store.
It was then around the glorious;y suitable bygone era of October 2016, so I started writing Necessary Evil 2016. However, I realised I couldn’t do it, struggling under the fallacy that I was a proper music writer, rather than a guy who made nob jokes for 400 words before telling you that the new Pixies album is terrible. I jacked it in and decided to write my third book, as I’d begun to find fiction writing so much easier. It depressed me greatly when I discovered that I could no longer do that either. All I listened to were 30 year old Prince records, becoming the kind of person I have always correctly hated
Just before Christmas, because the government are such dedicated trolls, it was decided that I was no longer disabled and my Employment and Support Allowance would be stopped. I was talentless and moneyless, and music ceased to give me joy. I began wondering what the easiest way to commit suicide would be, but because guns are illegal in this country and I’m an especially unimaginative sort, I couldn’t think of anything appropriate.
BUT! But but but! But! I recalibrated my brain and kissed myself in the mirror repeatedly, and early in 2017 I began to consider myself worthwhile again. Then the Magnetic Fields released a new album in March, and listening to it convinced me that I should do these lists again.
Of course, you’ll have to wait until next year to hear my response to ’50 Song Memoir’, as I couldn’t let a year as musically important as 2016 not be garbled on and so it’s important I get all my affairs in order. So, yeah, I’m going to always be a year out in future, but just… just… shut up
So, yeah, NE2016 has grown to be fucking ridiculous: there are 117 (one hundred and seventeen) albums, and that’s after I decided it was getting a little excessive and began harshly trimming the herd.
It is, however, fucking brilliant, and emboldens my claim as perhaps the greatest living essayist. It’s definitely the best Necessary Evil so far because, y’know, it would have to be, wouldn’t it?
It might actually be the greatest year end list of all time, as I have always considered the shameless subjectivity inherent in many similar undertakings a real affront to science, and so the list you are about to receive is based on points and maths and shit
It’s also about 70’000 words, because I hate myself and the reader
Now leave me alone…