Perhaps it is true that the word ‘genius’ is bandied about too often these days. Whatever, I hold by my view that there are several of those amongst my Unpopular advent this year. Simon Rivers, Davey Henderson, Edwyn Collins, Vic Godard, Phil Wilson, the young ladies of Smoosh. Add to the list Chris T-T.

I have been under Chris’ spell for some years now, ever since seeing him play support slot for Brakes in Brighton over five years ago. Gosh, how time flies. I said then that I thought Chris was a great soul singer and I stand by that claim even though I know it will sound strange to some. Some will instead claim Chris as a splendid folk troubadour, and even though there is much truth in that it remains true that all the best folk artists have been great soul singers.

Soul and heart are at the core of what Chris T-T does. The music, the songs, those are just the physical embodiment of something much stronger and more vibrant. More important, perhaps. I suspect that Chris would not object to being called a political animal. He understands the fact that politics (as opposed to Politics – although in these days it seems the capital P is becoming more and more crucial) is something that inhabits every aspect of our lives and that to write about politics is to write about life, love and loss: the ingredients of all great Pop.

There is a deeply felt connection between Chris’ songs and the world that informs them. The relationships, loves and hates. The observations and the memories real and imagined. You get the impression from Chris’ songs that he cares deeply about our world and the people he finds in it. It is a feeling that is, crucially, backed up by every other aspect of his public life: in his articles for The Morning Star and in his tweets (most notoriously Chris was the instigator of the fabled ‘iamspartacus’ hashtag*), all of which suggest that Chris is an artist in whom you can put some faith and trust.

Some would say that Chris is an ‘authentic’ artist but I do not hold with the ridiculous notion of ‘authenticty’ in general and in Pop particularly. Everything is a construct, defined in no small part by its context. No, I do not believe in an authentic artist. I do however believe in integrity, artistic effort and reflective rigour. I think that Chris T-T is someone who embodies those facets more than most; is an artist who is intelligent and self-aware enough to acknowledge the contradictions of being both a critic of and an inevitable cog in the industry. He is an artist who understands how to work within and with it instead of against it.

So ‘Love Is Not Rescue’ was always likely to be right up there in my list of most treasured records of 2010 regardless of how it sounded; it’s songs amongst the most played, their lines the most likely to be recalled in moments of solitary reflection. Even the one about Kerouac smiles.

And how did it sound? Well, it was measured and mature, more downbeat and sombre than 2008’s marvellous ‘Capital’ and none the worse for that. Songs like the magnificent ‘Elephant In The Room’ with it’s lines about forgetting how to have a private life (“put it on the Internet and called it ‘sharing’”) and the frankly gorgeous ‘Tall Woman’ with it’s closing lines about the bankers sending their bills said more about the state of contemporary Britain than any number of witty placards. ‘Nintendo’ and ‘Open and Shut’ were beautiful piano driven pieces that continue to display a depth of warmth at odds with the icy fingers creeping over our land (and I don’t mean the Arctic air…). Indeed, my single most treasured musical memory of the year was Chris performing ‘Nintendo’ at Dartington Hall on a Steinway grand. He even sang the ‘correct’ Kerouac line. I felt so privileged. As I said: Genius.

‘Love Is Not Rescue’ may not have been taken Chris into the Premier League of Pop but it certainly delivered a feast of beautiful goals. And in the words of the poet; now I’m using football metaphors. I fucking hate football metaphors…

Chris T-T – 'Nintendo'

Buy 'Love Is Not Rescue' on CD or download from Amazon.

_{*note to self – re-read this in ten years time and see if you can remember what either a ‘hashtag’ was or that ‘iamspartacus’ was not in some way related to Fabian Cancellara)}

Having spent much of the past month writing on this blog about how Pop is no longer a young man’s game, here come Smoosh to prove that even if that is true, Pop is very much a young woman’s game too.

It is astonishing to think that this is already Smoosh’s third album. Astonishing perhaps too that it is such a mature work given that none of the group must be much over 18 years old. There was a time of course when pretty much all that was written about Smoosh was prefaced by something about their age. I guess I’m as guilty as any in that respect, but really, we should no longer think about it other than to allow us to realise that some young people really are capable of remarkable things.

I do not buy into the whole veneration of youth thing. I do not subscribe to the view that all children are innately creative, imaginative, intelligent individuals who get destroyed by schooling and society. After all, who is forcing them to spend their time watching X-Factor and reading books about vampires?

I do however believe that some young people who may be artistically gifted are sadly either never given, or never allow themselves to be open to subtle guidance and encouragement. They are never given the sufficient blend of space and inspiration to blossom. They fail to develop the artistic maturity and rigour required to be take their talent  beyond the limits of their age. Incidentally, that’s not a criticism per se, just an observation, and before this turns into an essay on why the pulling of funding for Arts in this country will, alongside the Education Secretary’s apparent determination to sideline Arts subjects to the dumpster, screw the creative industries in the way that Thatcher and her cronies fucked over our heavy industry in the ‘80s, let’s quickly return to Smoosh.

For Smoosh do transcend their age. And how! On ‘Withershins’ they manage the difficult task of capturing something of the ennui of teenage years without resorting to cliche (either lyrical or musical). They sidestep the tedium of hipster chic and the banality of mainstream chart pop with remarkable agility. There are so many highlights on ‘Withershins’ that it feels wrong to pull out one to showcase; but although I may have been tempted by the bleakly piano led ‘Dark Shine’ (now there is a song whose title aptly describes its sound!) or ‘The World’s Not Bad’, and although the sparkling shiver of ‘Aaarplane’ makes me quiver and puts me in mind of Sugarcubes snogging The Orchids, it is to album opener ‘Finnerödja’ that I return time and time again. With its hoarfrost atmosphere pierced by restrained guitar icicles and Asya’s voice floating softly through the mist it sounds for all the world like a gothic (as opposed to Goth – I’m sure you understand the importance of making that distinction!) masterpiece.

I said back at the start of October that ‘Withershins’ had slipped to the top of my list of ‘albums of the year’ and it’s remained firmly embedded there ever since. Although the ludicrously limited edition CD (fifty copies!) is long gone, the entire album is still free to download from their Bandcamp page. Give yourself an early Christmas gift. You won’t regret it.

Smoosh – 'Finnerödja'

Download 'Withershins' from the Smoosh Bandcamp page.

Speaking of being sceptical… You know, I hated Allo Darlin’ when I first heard them. I don’t remember what song it was, but it got my back up. ‘Identikit Twee Indie Shit’ are the words that probably spat out of my mouth. Listening back now to some of their eponymous set I admit I still feel the same. There is too much of a reliance on that weary Camera Obscura wannabe sound (and yes, Camera Obscura are way up there in my chart of most appallingly boring live act ever), there is that infuriating indie anaemia in some of the songs and yes, there are beards and hipster chic in evidence and yet… and yet… When things are properly, intentionally stripped back there sparkles a core of gorgeous, quirky folk pop. ‘Heartbeat Chilli’  and ‘My Heart Is A Drummer’ work a charm, but it is ‘Let’s Go Swimming’ with it’s whale song guitar weeping over muted, stroked drums that I return to most from the set. Is it worth the admission price alone? You know what, I think it might just be.

In truth though I would never have heard the album if it had not been for my friend Tim very kindly passing me a copy of the first Hangover Lounge 10” back in the summer. I told him then that I hated Allo Darlin’ but he assured me that I would love ‘Tallulah’. Who would have guessed that come year end I would chose it ahead of The Claim’s ‘Old’ from the same 10” EP for this advent? But as wonderful as it was to have a new Claim recording, it is ‘Tallulah’ that has seduced me the most with it’s plaintive ukelele and lines about old Go-Betweens albums and bars playing the Maytals.

And see, that’s what you can’t really guard against, isn’t it? You can put up the barriers and strap on the blinkers. You can think you’ve trained the heart to be cold and hard in an attempt to guard against pain and then you’re nailed by a reference that pierces the armour like a burning scalpel blade through the snow.

Allo Darlin' – 'Tallulah'

Buy 'Allo Darlin'' on CD or download from Amazon.

I will admit that at first I was sceptical. After seeing some reviews that mentioned ‘indiepop’, ‘twee’ and posting comparisons to groups that can cause apoplectic fits in the Geek Lair, I was more than ready to unleash my hatred. Then I heard ‘Love Doesn’t Just Stop’. I hit ‘repeat’. I kept doing it for a week and then finally moved onto the rest of the ‘Noyelle Beat’ set that it opens. I was not disappointed for a moment.

It is a matter of personal context of course, but as with the Kid Canaveral set, there is something of the theatrical in Standard Fare’s songs. Where once, a long time ago, they would have spoken to me of my life (or at least of the life I wished I were leading) now they appear as set pieces: episodes of slightly surreal docudramas that I would never watch. They are like watching people’s Facebook updates and posts unfolding on the screen: lives lead elsewhere, each more interesting than the one you just posted. And of course everyone else feeling the same, wanting to be anywhere but where they are. But then, I guess this has always been the nature of the finest Pop Art – the creation of vessels into which to place our own experiences, hopes and fears; to be eased and magnified as we require.

So yes, Standard Fare make magnificent Pop Art noise, and of  course it goes without saying that anyone who has called them ‘twee’ has been talking out of their arse. For there is an edge that sets Standard Fare apart from all the, ahem, ‘standard fare’ of the dreary introspective indiepop world. It’s in the dynamic Punk Pop drive of ‘Philadelphia’ and it’s in the awkwardly brilliant switch of expectation in ’15’. It’s in the would-be-anthemic riffs of ‘I Know It’s Hard’ (saved from that ignominy by being a razor sharp edge on a rusty barb) and it’s in the bittersweet ache of ‘Married’.

Mostly though I think it all hinges on the vocal delivery of Emma Kupa. For where most vaguely ‘indie’ female singers are content to wheel out the tinny ‘girlie’ whine or the studied Camera Obscurist boredom, Kupa is not afraid to let rip. And it is at those moments when she and Standard Fare are at their finest, tearing out of the indie ghetto with an emotional directness and a fearless grin of defiance.

Standard Fare – 'Love Doesn't Just Stop'

Buy 'The Noyelle Beat' on CD or download from Amazon.

Looking back through the entries in this advent so far, it strikes me how few of them are from artists I had never heard before the year began. I should point out that this is not entirely reflective of my listening practices. Do I spend all my time immersed only in old groups, records and fading memories? No. Do I instinctively look on new, younger groups with the eye of a grumpy old codger with the words ‘go on, impress me. Just fucking try and impress me’ hovering over my head in a cartoon thought bubble? Well, yes, probably.

Kid Canaveral were one of the groups who evaded my bubble. Kid canaveral were one of the groups I had not heard before who made me smile broadly this year. Perhaps I should have known of them? Had I heard ‘Smash Hits’ when it was first released as a single in 2007, for example, I am certain I would have been sticking it on a million mix tapes and proclaiming them a group of geniuses. As it was I hadn’t, and I didn’t, and it made my discovery of them in 2010 all the more exciting.

‘Smash Hits’ cropped up on their ‘Shouting At Wildlife’ debut this year however, and if I had anyone to share mix tapes with it would have been a regular appearance. Also vying for attention would have been the gorgeous ‘And Another Thing!’ with it’s line about washing faces in the sun and the brittle ‘Her Hair Hangs Down’ with that refrain about how it’s funny how things work out sometimes. I could have chosen any of those for this advent, but instead I’m going for the wonderfully titled ‘You Only Went Out To Get Drunk Last Night’ because it’s a glorious recollection of moments passed and for the perfect poignancy of that mumbled line about being a man who doesn’t like himself.

Of course what’s interesting comparing ‘Shouting At Wildlife’ with, say, Vic Godard’s ‘We Come As Aliens’ is that unlike the Subway Sect’s adventurous re-appropriation of a broad musical palette from times before punk’s self-proclaimed Year Zero, Kid Canaveral instead inevitably populate their own sound from the landscape of ‘80s and ‘90s ‘indie’. Most of the time this would be more than enough to have me spitting venom on generic dreariness, but in this case it works. Mostly this is because the ingredients I hear are from a record collection I would warm to – a spark of Yummy Fur, perhaps a slice of Aislers Set and a dusting of Wedding Present jangle.

So like Decoration and Ballboy before them, Kid Canaveral slot into a niche in my collection populated by groups whose records make no excuses for sounding just the way they do, and that’s just grand thank you very much. Will they continue to grow into interesting new forms as the years go by? Clearly that remains to be seen, but I know I for one will be watching closely from now on.

Kid Canaveral – 'You Only Went Out To Get Drunk Last Night'

Buy 'Shouting At Wildlife' from the Kid Canaveral website

For many like me it is impossible to think of artists such as Phil Wilson, Davey Henderson and Edwyn Collins without also thinking of Vic Godard. It is fitting then that Godard and his Subway Sect should have been in the thick of it again in 2010, a year in which all these old outsiders seemed to reappear with work that shone like beacons in the bleak darkness.

Vic titled his 2010 set ‘We Come As Aliens’ and that seemed entirely apposite, with Godard and his Subway Sect having always come across as some of the most beguiling outsiders of all. One of the most appealing aspects of Godard’s career has been the different styles and phases he has passed through, from arch Punk to lounge crooner and back again it’s been a mighty entertaining trip. ‘We Come As Aliens’ came over broadly as a leap back to the Punkish era, though like Davey Henderson this seemed to be filtered with a sense of pre-Punk influence. So whilst bristling with the shattered glass edginess of, say, that great lost and found Subway Sect debut album, ‘We Come As Aliens’ also conjured echoes of what one imagines may have been playing on the record player in that old Clash rehearsal room. A dash of electric Ye-Ye, a splash of Jesse Hector and a spin of Marc Bolan. A blast of raucous, raw rockabilly and a White Heat squeal of noise.

‘We Come As Aliens’ sounded like a record only someone of a certain age (and a certain age) could have made. It sounded like a record that could only have been made by someone for whom musical heritage is as much something to reject and hold in disdain as it is to be cherished and enjoyed. It sounded like a record made by a group of people who instinctively understand that the past is a delight to be moulded into something new and challenging.

And that, as much as anything, is what for me united the likes of Godard, Henderson, Wilson and Collins in their records this year. It’s something we should be enormously grateful for and that should be celebrated every bit as much as their respective back catalogues.

Vic Godard & The Subway Sect – 'Best Album In The World'

Buy 'We Come As Aliens' on CD or as a download from Amazon.

Phil Wilson has said that the Sexual Objects’ ‘Cucumber’ set was the one of best of the year, and who am I to disagree? Now you should know that The Sexual Objects are the latest in a line of Davy Henderson’s projects, and that Davy Henderson is one of the key figures in the mythic story of (Un)Pop. Perhaps you were scratched by his Fire Engines when they first blazed briefly across the Pop landscape in 1980 or perhaps you were touched by Win and their Tennant’s Lager advert. Then again, perhaps you picked up on The Nectarine Number 9 with the resuscitated Postcard label in the early ‘90s and then in the subsequent decade with Creeping Bent and Beggars Banquet.

Perhaps too you are of an age where you discovered some of those delights only retrospectively thanks to the support of others (for you it may have been Alex Kapranos in the naughtes, for me it was Kevin Pearce in the eighties). Whatever, we should certainly all be united in our delight at Henderson’s reappearance with The Sexual Objects.

So what does it all sound like? Like a Davey Henderson record of course. Which is to say the sound of melody clashing with abrasion: an orchestration of electric energies feeding on the spirit of Don Van Vliet. It’s The Beach Boys surfing rusted, burnt out cars on council estates. It’s The Velvet Underground of Robert Quine’s tapes, and the Subway Sect in Paris. It's T-Rex dancing a last tango with Robert Frank. It’s Kurt Schwitters and Hannah Hoch cut with Manson’s cake knife. Right between the eyes. Scalpel kisses and heartbreak smiles.

Sexual Objects – 'Baby Wants to Ride'

Buy 'Cucumber' as a download from Amazon.

Let me immediately admit that I find it impossible to be objective about the first Phil Wilson album in twenty years. This is how it should be with art that matters after all, regardless of whether we have had even a small part in its creation.

I suspect, however, that I would find it impossible to be objective even if I had not been involved in some small way (in case you didn’t know I designed the sleeve for the album and this single). Like many others I found Phil’s group The June Brides to be one of the very finest purveyors of post-punk guitar Pop in the early to mid 1980s. Yes, in hindsight they may have had a hand in giving birth to what grew up to be the vile monster of ‘Indie’, but don’t hold that against them. And anyway, how many ‘indie’ groups would cast off their hand-me-down cardigans and opt for Nudie shirts and bootlace ties?

Phil has tested the waters in the past few years, as I am sure you know. His ‘Industrial Strength’ EP for Slumberland nodded to the past with an eye firmly on the future and hinted at what might come. I’ll be honest though and say that fine as it was it did not prepare me for quite how wonderful a full blown album might be. Credit for that surely goes at least in part to Phil’s new group of collaborators. Armed with a battered Pop Art paintbox, a couple of former June Brides come together with a raggedy band of newcomers from the depths of the South West to colour Phil’s songs red with purple flashes. It sounds marvellous.

For me though it’s Phil’s voice and songs that really make ‘God Bless Jim Kennedy’ stand out. There is yet more proof here, if more were needed, that Pop is no longer a young man’s game. Proof too that the Pop of middle-age need not be something tired and weary or nauseatingly nostalgic and irrelevant. It can be witty and moving, insightful and wildly energetic.

‘God Bless Jim Kennedy’ indeed, and God bless Phil Wilson and his band of artful troubadours. Let’s just hope we do not have to wait another twenty years before another album…

Phil Wilson – 'I Own It'

Buy 'God Bless Jim Kennedy' on vinyl from YesBoyIceCream, vinyl or CD from Slumberland. Or buy CD or vinyl from Amazon.

“So in up over my head I was seeing red
I had the ten-year Tory blues
Down in my pointed shoes
And all hell to pay”

So sings Jonathan Beckett in the early stages of this, the final of our trio of Occultation releases from 2010, before eventually unfurling a list of musicians who helped him through the dark days. One rather hopes that at the end of this decade we will not have anyone feeling a similar way, although it must be admitted that there is something remarkably heartening in seeing how just a few months of Tory rule has sparked fires of discontent. Whatever…

Now Umberto Eco has said that we like lists because we don’t want to die, so at least it’s nice to know the reason for all those Saturday morning hours spent completing Facebook memes… Anyway, I’m guessing he thinks this is the same reason we like list songs. Songs where we can make easy, immediate connections. Songs where we can both empathise and argue the toss.

My guess is that anyone who regularly drops by the world of Unpopular would find themselves smiling at the groups and artists Jonathan lists in ‘1989’. Even if, like me, you do not quite hold with his retreat from blissed-out beats… Of course as a reflection on the value of their influence the list is far from exhaustive and as Jonathan says some artists were chosen as much for the cadence of the name as anything else, but nevertheless it’s a list you feel tempted to use as the basis of at least one mix tape.

Jonathan Beckett – '1989'

Buy the 'She's A Vampire' EP from the Occultation shop. Or download from Amazon.

If Nick Halliwell’s own recording of ‘Oil Painting’ had found its way onto record this year then I would have jumped at the opportunity to include it here. Believe me, it would have made for a tremendous double bill. Perhaps Nick will record it with a full Granite Shore group in 2011 and we can have the same song in an Unpopular advent two years in a row. That would indeed be a pleasure.

Not that this Granite Shore cut is any less a treasure. If you picked up on the epic ‘Tomorrow Morning, 3 a.m.’ 12” in 2009 then you knew what to expect of this year’s 7”. Lush orchestration, literate lyrics, seductive melodic subtlety, a vocal wrapped in whisky tinged honey. Now I am sure that you will know that The Granite Shore is essentially Nick Halliwell’s solo escapade and that on the previously mentioned 12” he found support from various Wild Swans amongst others. Well this time around Nick has found some other similarly minded musicians to colour in the songs in what is essentially Phil Wilson’s new group. And what a fine job they do, delivering a gloriously rousing backing, complete with a beautiful southern californian Spanish guitar flourish. Delicious.

The Granite Shore – 'Flood of fortune'

Buy 'Flood Of Fortune' from the Occultation shop or download from Amazon