#47 Perfume Genius: Ugly Season

Picture the scene: an American dude called Mike Hadreas walks into a bar. Now, this bar is in America. Obviously, Mike still doesn’t trust that the danger posed by COVID to yet feel confident enough to contemplate long haul travel. Sure he could go to Mexico – which if you look at a map you’ll see is to the South of the USA – but he’s smart enough to know that Mexico produces Corona beer so he’s not foolhardy enough to take that kind of risk, and he is well read enough to have noted a number of Facebook posts shared by his Uncle that actually place the blame for the Coronavirus outbreak squarely at Mexico’s door. Mike feels that there isn’t enough evidence to confidently state any interpretation of the facts he’s seen. He’s just asking questions. He could also go to Canada, which is commonly referred to as being ‘above’ the USA, but that’s simply due to centuries old Eurocentric indoctrination regarding the supposed superiority of the (richer, whiter) global north over the (poorer, browner) global south. Canada is actually to the north of the USA. But Mr Hadreas has heard that Canada is full of sexual predators and cultural genocide, so that’s out. Charity basketball game? No thank you, Mr Butler, says Mike Hadreas. No, Mike will be visiting a bar in the good ol’ US of USA. ‘Over the pond’. Except Mike Hadreas won’t be crossing any pond. Because he lives there.

Now, again, Mike Hadreas is in America – I think I mentioned it – so this wouldn’t be one of your standard old English style pubs that my readership in this part of the country might be picturing. There’s no intimate wooden interiors; there’s no dartboard; there’s no border collie, soaking wet from that morning’s walk, sleeping next to an open fireplace. There’s no old man with a stick sat on his own in the corner. Being all racist. No, this is an American bar.

YOUR PAINTING BEAUTIFUL PICTURES IN MY MIND

#50: Andrew Bird: Inside Problems

The Bird! Birdy, Birdy, Birdy! El Burdmeister! The Birderino! Big Bird! He’s tall! He’s thin! He plays the violin! Birdo, Birdooooooo! You’re going home in a Birdo ambulance! You’re going home in a Birdo ambulance! He plays arco, he plays pizzicatooooo-woah-woah! That boy Andre Bird, means everyone else blows!

God, I love Andrew Bird. He is brilliant enough, beloved enough (by me) and well behaved enough to always have a place on this list. He’ll never align himself with some of the world’s most boneheaded white nationalists! He’ll never let me down by aggressively and continuously sexually assaulting his teenage fans!

YAY FOR THE BARE MINIMUM!

#51 Arcade Fire: We

Ah, old dependable Arcade Fire! I can always count on including them in the year end list with no controversy! Their sixth album is a miner return to form – not really coming close to equaling their imperial phase of their first four albums, but certainly superior to their messy and unfocused fifth ‘Everything Now’. There are real moments of stirring beauty, as the band lean into their real status as the stadium rock band that it’s not embarrassing to admit you like. Like, never embarrassing. Up to around the 27th August 2022, this statement is watertight. To me, they’re the 21st century New Order, in that their fantastic music is almost always enough to cover up for their frequently awful lyrics (“But some people want the rock without the roll/But we all know, there’s no God without soul“, uuuuuurgh, “We unsubscribe/Fuck season five“, uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuurgh!). ‘We’ is a tight, anthemic effort, which might consider pleasing the crowd more important than making any real creative strides, but nonetheless crowd pleases enough to let its lack of ambition slide.

YAY! ANOTHER EARLY DINNER!