My new book, Sunrise, the first book in my epic Dystopian Sci-Fi series will be out in less than two months. That’s pretty exciting, and a little bit terrifying, if I’m going to be honest. But as I ramp up, one thing my readers have been asking me is... what’s it like?Read More
As anyone who’s ever been foolish enough to try and write a novel will know, the biggest thing standing between you and the finished book is not the limits of your imagination, finding the time to write, or even writer’s block. No, the true enemy of the writer is procrastination.
It’s amazing, once you commit to sitting in the chair and getting some words down, how many other things present themselves as utterly urgent. Ironing, the internet, the urgent need to sharpen pencils. Or, in my case, making Spotify playlists.
It’s an addiction. I have hundreds of them, all arranged in folders, almost all created when i should have been writing. Today may well have been my nadir. Today I have completely wasted an entire writing day making a playlist of music to listen to while writing.
I am, as I’ve noted before, an idiot.
Still, it’s a pretty damn good playlist, if you’re into writing while listening to an array of music that sounds like the world is coming to an end in the most spectacularly aggressive or miserable way imaginable. It’s crammed full of post rock instrumentals, post metal aggression, and oddball weirdness. And I may have lost a whole day making it, but as I finish editing Sunrise in the next few days and move straight on to writing the second draft of its follow up, Sunburn, it’s going to be a pretty killer soundtrack.
Anyway, if you’re a fellow writer in need of some musical accompaniment, or just a fan of musical genres prefixed by the word ‘post’, check it out below.
Blood on the Motorway: An apocalyptic trilogy of murder and stale sandwiches is out now in ebook and print from Amazon and all other good bookstores. You can get the first book free by joining my mailing list or read along at Wattpad. Oh, and I’ve got a Patreon. Sign up for free books, a free weekly short story, and much more.
If last week’s post was all about taking stock (not drinking it, won’t be making that mistake again) then this one if much more fun, because it’s just a great big list of what I’ve enjoyed this year. Now, bearing in mind I tend to get round to books a good few years after they’re released, and I never get to the cinema any more, the one thing I can claim any current opinions on is music. So let’s start with my top 20 albums of 2018.
20. Allfather – And All Will Be Desolation: One of those rare times where you get to know the people through social media first and then their band turns out to be properly, crackingly good. No nonsense in its approach, this is sludgy thrashtastic metal at its modern finest.
19. KEN Mode – Loved: Given that their last album made it to pride of place in my end of year rankings, it’s hard to see this as anything other than a step backward, no matter how good it is. And that’s true of the music, too, with the band stepping away from the ultra-noise rock stomp of Blessed toward their more chaotic hardcore norm. Don’t get me wrong, it’s still great, but it’s not a pinnacle like Blessed was.
18. Harms Way – Postmortem: This album makes me want to fight dance everyone in whatever room I’m in at the time, so I’ve had to stop listening to it at work, just in case.
17. Cult Leader – A Patient Man: If I had a few more months with this one it would almost certainly be higher up the list. The most extreme noisecore you’ll ever hear nestled alongside harrowingly stark folk. Brilliant.
16. King Buffalo – Repeater: Only an EP, and their follow up album later in the year doesn’t exactly set my world alight, but there’s something achingly lovely about this shimmering, sad stone rock, even if it’s over far too quickly.
15. Messa – Feast for Water: Another album with sadness running through its core, this is all big doom riffs and soaring soul vocals, which is rarely a bad combination. This, however, steps above the rest of the pack. Sublime.
14. Boss Keloid – Melted on the Inch: Speaking of sublime. This is utterly baffling, taking the inventiveness of Leviathan-era Mastodon, the chest pumping song writing of Baroness, and throwing big barrels of heaviness at them until you’ve ended up with something quite odd, but utterly compelling.
13. Sleep – The Sciences: Sleep were always one of those stone rock bands I knew I was supposed to like but never really got the point of, until now. This is absolutely brilliant doom.
12. Black Peaks – All That Divides: If there were any justice, these would be the next big thing in metal. utterly modern, with great song writing, fantastic vocals, and just enough of a pop sensibility to be flung at a mainstream audience.
11. Erdve – Vaitojimas: Bleakest of the bleak. This has been a great year for post metal, a genre that seemed to be disappearing up its own collective misery pipe, but this, like The Atlas Moth and a few others that haven’t quite made the cut, show that there’s life in the old girl yet.
10. Idles – Joy as an Act of Resistance: If Black Peaks are the underground band who deserve the mainstream adulation, Idles are a band about to burst into the mainstream who sound utterly underground. Pop punk without any of the awful connotations of that phrase, this is politically fierce, packed with great songs, and fierce af. Their Later performance will go down alongside the At The drive in one for sheer joy.
9. Yob – Our Raw Heart: As achingly sad as it’s possible to get without becoming Leonard Cohen, this is somehow utterly uplifting, which is no mean feat. Glacial space doom made from tears of sorrow and joy.
8. Dessa – CHIME: I’ve not really listened to much hip hop this year, it’s just not really been my bag for some reason, but this has cut through that. Stridently feminist, as clever as you’d imagine, but pop enough that it’s one of the rare things I put on in the car without making my daughter want to die of embarrassment.
7. Haken – Vector: On a list of what are admittedly pretty bleak albums, this is a little ray of proggy 80’s synth metal that just makes me smile from ear to ear, just like their last album did. It’s a genre I care not a jot for, and it’s absolutely delightful.
6. Fu Manchu – Clone of the Universe. As much as I’ll always enjoy a new Fu Manchu album, I didn’t think I’d ever love a new one again, not like I did when I first heard The Action Is Go. This is astoundingly good, all fuzzed out petrol rock, big riffs flying everywhere before it goes all weird and un Fu at the end with a song that actually goes for longer than ten minutes. Even with that, it never outstays its welcome.
5. All Them Witches – ATW: I adore this band. In a year when I’ve spent a good few months listening to nothing but old stone records, this has been on heavy repeat along with everything else they’ve ever done. Bluesy, loose, heavy when it needs to be, it’s a long night in a good bar with best friends.
4. Conjurer – Mire: I’ve been trying to sum up my feelings about this, because the truth is that it just rages. Thoroughly, comprehensively, relentlessly. Just an absolutely brilliant modern metal album.
3. The Atlas Moth – Coma Noir: This first time I heard this, I hated it. All screechy vokills, pretentious cod-symphonic nonsense. And yet… I just couldn’t stop listening, until I had to admit to myself that I actually loved it very very much. I still don’t know why, I just know I can’t stop listening to it.
2. Dead Meadow – The Nothing They Need: This has been a good year for stone rock, with some great bands returning with career highlights, and nowhere is that more evident than here. They’ve done nothing revolutionary with their sound, still the same washed out Doors and Blue Cheer worship they’ve always done, but it’s miles ahead of their recent albums. An absolute cracker.
1. Rolo Tomassi – Time Will Die and Love Will Bury It. Every year, amongst a sea of fantastic albums, there’s always one that stands out above the rest, head and shoulders higher than the nearest competition. That one album that grabs you and won’t let you stop playing it until your children groan at the opening shimmer of the intro because they’ve heard it too many damn times. This is that album. If Rolo Tomassi were always also-rans of the noisecore scene, forever slightly in the shadow of the American giants like Dillinger, the disappearance of those bands has offered them the briefest glimpse of limelight, and chuffing Nora have they taken it. This is an album so confident, so bafflingly complex and utterly epic as to stand entirely on its own. 2018 has been a stellar year for albums, but to my mind there’s no competition for the top slot, and you have to take your hats off to Rolo Tomassi for that.
Book of the Year: Justin Cronin’s The Passage trilogy. I haven’t actually read any new releases this year, but I did read all three books of this trilogy, and absolutely adored it. Vampire plagues have never been this thought provoking.
Film of the Year: A Star is Born. I cried quite a lot at this, knowing full well how manipulated I was, not caring even remotely.
TV of the Year: Inside No 9 Live Special. Either you saw this and know, or you didn’t, and you don’t.
Podcast of the Year: The Daily. Absolutely essential for politics nerds obsessed with the slow decay of America
So, what did I miss?
Once upon a time, back in the dim recesses of the late 90’s, I came close to writing for the NME. It was a glorious time, full of dreams and free gigs and the possibility of all of my teenaged dreams coming true. Then I went and spoiled it all.
It started with me picking up the NME in our university shop, where it and the Guardian were probably the only two papers that did any trade. I was much more of a Kerrang! and Metal Hammer reader back then, and had a snobbish distaste of indie music that meant I rarely picked up anything with Morrisey’s face on, which is why I rarely got the nation’s flagship music weekly. I know I definitely got it when Kurt died, but then who didn’t?
Anyway, something about this issue persuaded me to pick it up — the cover story was on the true spirit of Independence or some such. It featured a load of mainly indie bands, and Mogwai, who were one of my favourite new bands of the time. So I went to the University library where there was functioning heating to keep away the perpetual cold that came from living in Sunderland, and read.
By the end, I was livid. Properly livid. How could you write about the state of independent, punk rock attitude, and not mention a single band from the rock scene? A rock scene that was at the time in full resurgence and had pulled in the spirit of punk to create some original, eclectic and wonderful sounds (or so it seemed — Fred Durst would come along shortly after and prove that to be a fallacy).
It was the absence of Tool that really annoyed me. Sure, they were on a major label, but they were so fiercely anti-commercial, so aesthetically unique, that their exclusion felt like a slight. From the animated horror films that replaced their pop promos to the sticker on the front of their CD that proclaimed ‘No #1 Fucking Hit Singles’, to the lead single about fisting, they burned with fierce integrity, far more so than whatever Suede knockoff the NME was touting in that feature.
So I went to the small bank of computers available to use, probably waited half an hour for one to become free, another hour to log in, and wrote an email to the editor. I know, how dreadfully middle class of me. I vented my spleen in a diatribe of invective aimed at everyone involved in the whole mess, apart from Mogwai, because I liked them.
I wish I still had that email because I bet it was DREADFUL. Even so, a few days later I got an email back, asking me if I’d be interested in writing for the NME.
Suddenly, my feelings about this great and august British institution changed. I was going to write for the NME! Finally, someone had seen my inevitable genius and was willing to pay me to share it with the world, or at least that subset of the world that extended to spotty young boys in parka jackets who lived in middle England.
My first assignment was to go and review the new pop-punk band A as they supported Reef. Cracking, since I’d wanted to go to that gig anyway. I went and turned in my 200 words of glowing praise for a cracking good gig.
The sub-editor assigned to look at it hated it. Properly hated it. It came back with notes not to make it better, but how to do better next time. They were not about to run with that pile of crap.
Next up, they sent me on a different mission. I was going to go and review up-and-coming band Janus Stark the night before Big Day Out in Milton Keynes, and I’d even get a free pass to the festival. They already had someone to cover the festival, but I could write some additional stuff to get some practice. Incredible. I really liked Stark’s first album, and Big Day Out had an amazing lineup.
I went, I partied, I met the bands, I was basically like the kid in Almost Famous. I came back and wrote yet more glowing praise for everyone and everything involved. Of course I did. I loved this stuff, and part of the point of my missive to the editor was that I wanted to see more positive coverage of the music I loved in their pages. That’s what I thought they wanted.
They really didn’t. When the notes came back, they boiled down to one major problem. There was no invective, no detachment. I had sent them fanmail to bands I loved.
Of course, being a spotty teenager who thought he knew everything, I took this as the final proof of what I’d been saying all along. They wanted a metal writer to slag off metal! They didn’t care about the music, they just wanted to slag off music they didn’t like! Pah, well they could get someone else to do that, thank you very much. I cut off contact and never heard from them again. For years I took it as proof of my own internal authenticity. I was right, goddamn it. They weren’t the NME, they were the enemy. God, it felt good to be right.
Now, I look back on that little idiot and want to smack him upside the head. Of course what I sent them was shit. It was the deluded ramblings of a child. And yet, there I had the experience of decades of music journalism willing to hold my hand, polish the turds into slightly shinier turds, and give me a leg up into the world of music journalism. Somewhere I wanted to be with all of my heart. I fucked it up through a confluence of arrogance and stupidity.
If there’s a lesson in all of this, it’s that if someone doing what you want to do is willing to help you, don’t be a cretin.
And now the NME is dead. I mean, it’s been dead for a while, as evidenced by the fact that it was being given away free in Tescos and the online version is more Buzzfeed listicles than Richey Edwards carving into his arm while being interviewed by Lamacq. But when I heard the news today that the print edition was finally (and some would say mercifully) dead, my first thought was that I’d never see my name in it, which was weird, because I didn’t really realise until today how much I’d still wanted it.
Blood on the Motorway: An apocalyptic trilogy of murder and stale sandwiches is out now in ebook and print from Amazon and all other good bookstores. You can get the first book free by joining my mailing list.
Good afternoon. I hope you're enjoying your January, the endless void of which has only another seventeen years to endure before we reach February.
Did you know that my third novel, A Final Storm, is on sale now? Did you? Well, that’s not really surprising, since just about every thought that crosses my synapses these days is trying to find ever more convoluted ways to tell people about it. Chances are that if you've crossed my real-world or digital path these last few months, I've told you all about it. I'll have told you that it's the final book in the Blood on the Motorway trilogy (now available as a standalone trilogy, fact fans), that it brings to a close the epic saga of five very different people as they battle serial killers, despots and people who like to dress up like characters from Highlander while trying to survive the end of the world. I'll have told you that it's really rather good, and that you should absolutely spend a few quid on buying it because that's like injecting endorphins directly into my brainstem, and who wouldn't want to do that for a friend?
Those of you who have been paying attention may recall that when it comes to the Blood on the Motorway series, I have a bit of an odd approach to naming my chapters, and indeed my books. Blood on the Motorway is named after a DJ Shadow song, and the second novel, Sleepwalk City, is named for the 65daysofstatic song of the same name. This third novel is from a song by the vastly underrated Swedish goth metal band, Khoma.
The same is true of each and every chapter title in the novels, which are all named after songs that were rattling around the caverns of my mind while I was writing the book. Songs from the likes of Mogwai, Pearl Jam, Oathbreaker, Meshuggah, and PJ Harvey, which is a fairly eclectic mix, of itself. Given what an unspeakable music nerd I am, this is a good way to shoehorn some music trivia into an apocalyptic world where music is very low down people’s lists of concerns, somewhere just below hunger, whether the corpse dangling in the next street might be boobytrapped, and how to battle marauding gangs with a hangover.
The other bonus is that it creates a soundtrack of sorts to the whole proceedings, so that you, the reader, can enjoy the kind of sonic palette that was such a huge part of creating the world of the novel. I’ve made playlists in Spotify for each novel, and you can follow along with the one for A Final Storm below, or check out the soundtracks for the first two books over on my Spotify page, along with some of my other fun playlists.
Hey there. Did you know that my second novel, Sleepwalk City, is on sale now? You did? Well, that’s not really surprising, since every other sentence to come spelunking out of my maw these days is an entreaty for people to, for the love of all that’s holy, go and buy my book. The mantra of ‘buy my book buy my book buy my book buy my book buy my book buy my book’ runs like a news ticker across the bottom of my field of vision. Trumpets herald the mantra inside my brainmush within scant seconds of my pulling myself towards consciousness of a morn. It’s all very tiring.
So. Have you bought my book? You really should. It’s very good. I’m hardly one to judge that for myself, of course, but I think it is. The people who’ve already read it seem to think it is, and I don’t really have any empirical evidence to the contrary. Let’s go ahead and declare it as the greatest work in the history of the written word, shall we, until someone tells us otherwise? And they will, of course. This is the internet, after all.
Those of you who have been paying attention may recall that when it comes to the Blood on the Motorway series, of which this is the second novel, I have a bit of an odd approach to naming my chapters, and indeed my books. Blood on the Motorway is named after a DJ Shadow song, and Sleepwalk City is named for the 65daysofstatic song of the same name. The same is true of each and every chapter title in the novel, which are all named after songs that were rattling around the caverns of my mind while I was writing the book. Songs from the likes of Radiohead, Etta James and Will Haven, which is a fairly eclectic mis, of itself. Given what an unspeakable music nerd I am, this is a good way to shoehorn some music trivia into an apocalyptic world where music is very low down people’s lists of concerns, somewhere far below gangs of soldiers, despotic lunatics and having to eat beans most of the time.
The other bonus is that it creates a soundtrack of sorts to the whole proceedings, so that you, the reader, can enjoy the kind of sonic palette that was such a huge part of creating the world of the novel. I’ve made playlists in Spotify for each novel, and you can follow along with the one for Sleepwalk City below, or check out the soundtrack for the first book here.
Of course, for maximum enjoyment, you really should buy my book buy my book buy my book buy my book buy my book buy my book…
Blood on the Motorway – An apocalyptic tale of murder and stale sandwiches, is available on Amazon, iBooks, Kobo and more besides. The sequel, Sleepwalk City, is available on Amazon, iBooks, Kobo and many more.
Welcome to Discovery Park – the chronicle of my increasingly frustrated attempt to listen to every album on Rolling Stone's Top 500 Albums of all-time list, is available now on Amazon Uk, Amazon.com, iBooks, Kobo, and many more.
Those of you who have already bought Blood on the Motorway (on sale now!) may have noticed something a bit odd about the chapter titles. Or you may not have done. Who am I to tell?
When I first started writing Blood on the Motorway I didn’t really bother with chapter names. I went for good old Chapter One, Chapter Two etc. It is, after all, a tradition as old as time. I’d kind of always worked this way, as a quick look through the ghosts of stories past can attest. Thankfully (for you, dear reader) these will never see the outside of the darkened corner of my computer's file system where I have sent them to die, but even a cursory look through them shows a historical predilection for those most boring of chapter headings.
Blood on the Motorway (did I mention it’s on sale, btw?) is a multi-narrative story, with each chapter changing perspective to a new character. When I started writing it I did consider naming each chapter after the character arc, but then I imagined that might give rise to a barrage of one star reviews on Amazon (‘Who do you think you are, George R R Chuffing Martin?’) So I decided against that. It’s something you see a lot of in fantasy books, and this isn’t fantasy at all, so I didn’t want to be misleading readers.
As I started editing the book, however, my position regarding chapter titles changed. It changed at exactly the point that I decided that Chapter Nine should be a lot earlier in the book, and moved it to Chapter Five. In Word, making that kind of a change means major manuscript heart surgery, and a high risk of fatality due to Word being completely useless, but in Scrivener (my weapon of choice when it comes to writing) it’s as easy as drag and drop. I may even have chuckled to myself at how easy it was.
Except then I realised that all my chapters now needed to be renamed, from five to nine. I know what you’re thinking – ‘How can anyone comprehend such hardship?!’ I know. It’s a hard knock life, being a writer.
My finger hovered over the mouse to make the first of these rather irritating changes when a tiny voice whispered into my ears:
‘What if you need to change it again?’
Bit weird, I think you’ll agree, but the creepy disembodied voice had a point. Having this capability in Scrivener would allow me to tweak the order of my novel to ensure the best possible read for the poor saps who would eventually be suckered into buying it, I mean, *ahem* my eventual customers wonderful people who would become my readers. But this restrictive way of numbering my chapters would probably stop me from actually doing that, lazy arse that I am. So I decided that what I really needed to do was come up with new chapter headers for the whole damn book.
‘Who do you think you are, George R R Sodding Martin?’
Ok, so not character names, so what? I pondered it for a second, then looked down at my Spotify window, where the Isis (the band not the terrorist outfit) track ‘The Beginning and the End’ was playing. Wow, I thought, what a good title for an opening chapter.
Now regular readers of mine will know that I’m a bit of a music obsessive, and the more astute of you will also have spotted that Blood on the Motorway is in fact a song title in itself, so I embarked on a mission to plunder my record collection for song titles that reflected my own tastes and the chapters themselves. When I write I have a massive playlist of stuff that becomes a kind of unofficial soundtrack to the words that go on the page, so why not make them into an actual soundtrack?
It’s a merry mess of different musical styles, but it’s also a bit of a hidden Easter egg hunt for the more musically astute readers, to try and follow the background noise that went into the creation of this book. It also reads like a who’s who of depressing song titles, which gives you an indication of what the book itself is going to be like.
So, now that the book is out, I thought I’d compile the chapter headers into a playlist, and let you, dear readers, have a listen. So consider this the 100% unofficial soundtrack to Blood on the Motorway.
My brief abscondment from blogging last year has rather unfortunately robbed me of the traditional look-back-on-the-year-gone post of which I have previously been so fond of boring my audience with. I’d look at the post I did last year for the year ahead, judge myself against it and write one for the next year, so I could end up in an endless feedback loop of recrimination. If blogging offers anything of value to the blogger beyond the knowledge of pestering multiple people at once, it is the accountability you can get by looking back and measuring yourself against that optimistic version of yourself. Last year I’d completely abandoned blogging and was about to walk away from writing online altogether, and so there is no post from this time last year going on about how much I was going to achieve this year for me to look at, get depressed and then write about how next year was going to be the year I’d actually get my life together.
Not that that’s going to stop me looking back anyway.
I seem to remember that at the turn of last year I actually took a conscious decision not to make any resolutions at all. I was determined not to mess about with dieting and all that nonsense (hence the additional stone or so that I’m now carrying), I was going to wrap up Demon Pigeon and make most of the people I know online cross with me for doing so (mission accomplished) and there was some kind of nebulous ‘I’ll do better with the writing thing’. That was about it.
So in the absence of any set goals, what kind of a year has it been? Well I started a new job and managed not to get fired from it, so that’s a good start. I seem to actually be quite good at it, so from that point of view it’s been pretty good. It has brought into my life a level of ‘work stress’ that I’ve managed to avoid for most of my work life to date, but I guess that’s what happens as you climb further up that greasy pole. It’s not unbearable and I’m a hell of a lot better off than a lot of other people, so I’m not about to start bitching about it.
On the health front the aforementioned stone or so (I daren’t look too closely at the numbers until next year, when I will actually do something about it) is testament to a year when I have at the very least enjoyed my food. And my wine. Mostly the latter.
As for the writing? Well I finished the second draft of Blood on the Motorway, my apocalyptic tale of murder and stale sandwiches, but more importantly I came to something approaching an epiphany about my writing, and what I need to do if I’m serious about wanting to make this anything more than a hobby. I sent the second draft out (or bits of it anyway) to some beta readers and seemed to get some fairly positive responses which have encouraged me that perhaps I’m not entirely barking up the wrong tree.
As for everything else, well it’s been a bit of a barnstormer of a year. My lovely family is pretty bloody brilliant. My little boy is currently at the period between three and four that guarantees peak cuteness and my daughter is growing up to be a brilliant, kind and sweet little girl with a tremendous curiosity about the world. My partner and I are nearly a year into planning a wedding and haven’t had to resort to murdering each other even once. She’s been amazingly supportive as I’ve taken on the new job and tried to determine my writing plan, and I can’t wait to stand up next to her next year and look slightly shambolic next to her radiance when we get married.
There’s been ups and downs, as there inevitably is, but as I sit astride December looking back on the year gone, I have to say that on balance it’s been a corker. I’m unbelievably excited about next year, even though it’s going to be one of the toughest of my life if I want to do everything I plan to achieve, but that’s for another post. Stop rolling your eyes, yes there’ll be more of this.
At this point all there is to do is splurge out a list of all the stuff I’ve liked this year, like a child shouting out his favourite Pokémon to a disinterested playground.
I almost never read stuff when it comes out, but the books I’ve enjoyed most this year are:
- Write, Publish, Repeat by Sean Platt and Johnny B Truant, and Let’s Get Digital by David Gaughran. Two self-publishing guides that have completely revolutionised my thinking this year.
- Old Gold, Runaway Town and Lost City by Jay Stringer. After a few years of meaning to get around to them I finally read these three books in quick succession, and they completely blew me away. All the brilliance of the American crime heavyweights like Pelicanos, but with a Wolverhampton accent.
- I am Pilgrim by Terry Hayes. A bit of a fluff read, this was a thoroughly entertaining Bourne style political murder mystery.
I have children so rarely make it to the cinema any more, but The Raid: Berendal was astounding, and I really enjoyed Captain America: Winter Soldier and Edge of Tomorrow. I’m sure I would have loved Gone Girl, Interstellar and Guardians of the Galaxy too, but I haven’t seen any of them so I can’t comment. No, I’m not crying, you’re crying. *weeps*
Despite there not being any albums that completely blew me away this year, there’s been a lot that I’ve really enjoyed. Here’s my non ordered top 21 albums of the year because why the hell not:
- Every Time I Die - From Parts Unknown
- 65daysofstatic – Wild Light
- Crippled Black Phoenix – White Light Generator
- Mogwai – RAVE TAPES
- Helms Alee – Sleepwalking Sailors
- Conan – Blood Eagle
- Dirge – Hyperion
- Cult Leader – Nothing For Us Here
- Lantlos – Melting Sun
- Fu Manchu – Gigantoid
- Electric Wizard – Time to Die
- Trap Them – Blissfucker
- Old Man Gloom – The Ape of God I
- Beck – Morning Phase
- Sun Kil Moon – Benji
- Se Delan – The Fall
- Goat – Commune
- This Will Destroy You – Another Language
- Emma Ruth Rundle – Some Heavy Ocean
- Mark Lanegan Band – Phantom Radio
- NehruvianDOOM – NehruvianDOOM
Of course, the new Colour Haze album comes out today and I’ve not heard it yet, so I fully expect that to make a late bid for Album of the Year.
So that’s it. 2014. All done and dusted save for the fun bit at the end. If you missed it the other day, I did a new post over at The Rolling Stone Challenge, so if you’ve not seen that, you should totally go and read it.