Where to start, really? Whilst I am still reeling in layers of JOY from the recent IDLES end of year / era gig at Ally Pally last weekend, they only released ‘Mercedes Marxist’, apart from the seriously exciting trio of new tunes as live, so I cannot list them here. It matters not, since it’s highly likely they will be front, centre and forward by this time next year.

Overall, I found myself sidling more towards R ‘n’ B and hip-hop again during the last 12 months. I can’t help myself, it makes my heart soar: production is so vital to any listening experience and when you have people like DJ Premier and 9th Wonder pumping out life-enhancing samples and beats that make heads nod and hearts work harder. This was no more evident in Rapsody’s follow up to ‘Laila’s Wisdom’ which emerged, fully formed, butterfly rich, leaving behind its chrysalis shell like a delicate memory and then attacked, full frontal with extensive levels of celebration and huge positivity in amongst 9th Wonder’s perfectly composed musical backing. In ‘Eve’, Rapsody came of age, her raps reaching levels previously unscaled, her clarion clear voice a mode of inspiration for womanhood. Highlight, amongst a panoply of them, was ‘Sojourner’ where J Cole combined with Eve to singularly devastating effect. Close to this writer’s standalone track of the year and, yes, there was a bulging handful to choose from.

Just so my Editor doesn’t despair at the lack of ‘guitar-based’ artists in my list, I’ll deal with those now. Until my actual release of the year [more of which later] emerged from the late summer shadows, Robert Forster produced a peerless collection of his world-weary musings in the form of ‘Inferno’, a record that burrows gently underneath your skin until submission is the only response. His laid-back style is irresistible and the laconic delivery always makes me smile. Robert continues to grow old with grace and humour.

Like several of my standout releases this year, the running time clocks in at just under 40 minutes. This links to a common theme amongst the artists on display: they rarely overstay their welcome. Going somewhat against this grain, Vampire Weekend’s fourth release ‘Father of the Bride’ develops the style set up on their earlier albums, replacing the punk pop excursions with some more reflective, country-tinged anthems, featuring various members of Haim, stretching out the crystal-clear melodies over 18 tracks. There might be 2 or 3 too many but this is offset by the clarity and purity of the songs, instantly addictive ditties to love, commitment and life’s crazy journey.

Set against this like a buzz saw is the riotous torrent of literary references scattered throughout the debut from Dublin’s Fontaines DC. ‘Dogrel’ is a blast of fresh out of the furnace punk pop smarts with a harder, darker seam. ‘Boys From The Better Land’ contrasted wildly with the delicacy of ‘Roy’s Tune’ and ‘Dublin City Sky’ that revealed elements of The Pogues mixed with Fatima Mansions at their most splenetic. They are a winning combination – I just hope they can survive the hype around them and don’t fall apart from exhaustion and expectation. Their songs are as essential as breathing, gloriously ragged around the edges and burnished with direct, political proclamations, reminiscent of mid-period IRS R.E.M. and all the better for it. Fellow countrymen The Murder Capital crashed into view with ‘When I Have Fears’ which, unfortunately, failed to replicate the harsh wall of sound they project onstage. There are still rich pickings inside and I, for one, look forward to how this band grows.

As mentioned above, the predominant sound this year came in the form of layered, multi-faceted beauty, sonic spaces that rose above the day to day, elevating listening pleasure to new heights. Snoh Alegra is a case in point: a voice like liquid caramel, an album title that leaves nothing to the imagination (‘Ugh, those feels again’) and with lead single ‘Find Someone Like You’, a smooth, delectable hybrid somewhere between Jorga Smith and Amy Winehouse. Meanwhile, Solange retreated back down the stairs from the strident, powerful ‘A Seat at the Table’ with a more personal excursion into her soul. The result ‘When I Get Home’ plunged new depths of artistry, quietly redolent of Frank Ocean’s ‘Blonde’, both alienating and seducing their audiences yet, at the same time, increasing the ferocity of our love for them both. Solange really is the anti-Beyoncé. No ululating for her, just suggestion, puffs of genius, endless experimentation with form and structure to lush, ear-licking effect. Long may the mainstream support her in her quest to defy the commercial odds. We really do need more like her in a world of copycat Sheerans. 

Before celebrating one of the most fruitful years for hip hop in recent memory, I should rightfully highlight a truly outstanding masterpiece by Michael Kiwanuka that burst like a summer breeze into the dying days of Autumn. ‘Kiwanuka’ is one of those rare beasts, a concept album that reignites the souls of Curtis, Stevie, Marvin and Donny, encapsulating a 70’s sound, updated for the disillusioned last years of the present decade.  This collections clocks in at just under the hour mark and includes the momentous ‘Piano Joint (This Kind of Love)’, an epic two-parter that makes progressive sexy once again. It is not commercial but it has tangible substance, melodies that spin your heartstrings and a mood that lingers, infinitely. Timeless is written in outsized letters all over its grooves. A moment, indeed; and a vocal that rips away at your soul, so you become a willing slave to its plaintive commands.

We’re on the home straight now, folks.  Let’s continue with Kate Tempest.  Her ‘The Book of Traps and Lessons’ saw her still full of righteous anger but adding a minimalist sheen to the musical backing, so accentuating even more the desperate beauty of her words, her voice often breaking apart. ‘People’s Faces’, preceded by ‘Holy Elixir’ and ‘Firesmoke’ forms part of a trio of incandescence to close this, frankly, incredible recording. Tears will flow. Her honesty surpasses cynicism – “more empathy / less greed / more respect.” The desire for change, for bubbling love, bleeds forth, openly.

I’ll swiftly pass over the abomination that was ‘Jesus Is King’ by Kanye West: proof, if any were needed, that he should really just stick to producing now, really. Much more welcome was the sparkling return of Gangstarr. ‘One of the Best Yet’ lived up to the complete lack of hype, with Premier concocting tightly-knit beats, slick sampling and scratching to stunning effect whilst still sounding firmly up to date. The true miracle is how he knits GURU’s vocals into these tracks as though he were actually there in the studio – some skills there.  Set this mini-opus against the ridiculous genius of Freddie Gibbs and Madlib’s ‘Bandana’, which came close to taking the honour of most arresting album of the summer. Madlib is fast overtaking J Dilla in terms of legendary production intellect. Unlike Premo, he doesn’t rely on boom bap; instead, he goes the way of RZA and others, reducing the beat quotient, generating psychedelic samples over which Mr Gibbs surfs the groove, intoning about cocaine deals and street violence mixed with knee deep philosophising. This is indecently good, genuinely ground-breaking, chucking out the hip hop rule book with every verse.

As the last 100 metres stretches out in front of us, the highest of praise is reserved for the variety of UK hip hop on offer during 2019.  Dave’s ‘Psychodrama’, winner of the Mercury prize, is a shock to the cranium, an excoriating examination of depression and imprisonment. It is difficult for the listener not to be sucked into the narrative and you are left feeling quite vulnerable and overwhelmed. For that reason alone, this album finds itself placed in prime position. I am reminded of the debut Plan B album; yet, where the speaker there was awash with rage, Dave provides an endlessly sympathetic portrayal of suffering. This is challenging listening, for anyone, the BPMs don’t try to catch up with the dance floor but the credibility is always apparent, with Tempest-like open-heartedness to the fore. It’s not grime, it’s not really hip-hop, but it feels like everything.

Little Simz broke the mould and the glass ceiling in one fell swoop with ‘Grey Area.’ Her flow, let’s be frank, is extraordinary. Hard to explain, her voice is forceful, pulls the beat along with it, almost tripping over itself but maintaining complete control, it is quite unlike anything I’ve come across in recent times. All I know is it comes on furiously addictive, veering between righteous invective then soulful confessional and, on ‘101 FM’, she swallows up syllables, stretches words out, then contracts them. Like I said, it’s difficult but she is in your ear, making it burn and singe with the verbal dexterity on display. She missed out on the Mercury and would have secured my vote, every day of the week. Her versatility is simply breath-taking.

And so, I reach the end. There is only one way to wrap this up. Kano. Kane Robinson. Sully. ‘Hoodies All Summer’ is a fully-fledged concept album, autobiographical like Dave’s but universal as well. It reeks of London, the inner city; it is perfectly sequenced, reveals light and shade in every track, exposes itself to vulnerability at every turn. It is humorous, scared, hopeful, celebratory and, with ‘Class of Deja’ combines all 3 of the most arresting voices in grime to stunning effect: Kano, D Double E and Ghetts, riffing off each other with crazy pleasure. This is a huge step forward from ‘Made in the Manor’, clocking in at just under 40 minutes, it covers so many topics even within one verse. His variety is endless, his anger palpable, his raw emotions spilling out onto the page, via your speakers, headphones, sound system. ‘Pan Fried’ and ‘Can’t Hold We Down’ bring smiles and positivity, whilst ‘SYM’ builds slowly to a furious, righteous diatribe on the injustices of Windrush. This LP replays multiple listens and still you can discover more.

2019 was a year of layers, seeping ideas into the soil of history, allowing us to look back in 10 years with due reverence and reflect upon this embarrassment of riches at our disposal.

Words by Hugh Ogilvie