This time last year, I could not find enough positive words in any language to describe Slowly Slowly's third full-length record, Race Car Blues. It was this magical collision between a recommendation from a friend and something that took a space in my life that was a lot larger than I could have expected. Almost two years down the line, listening to these songs I know like the back of my hand still sparks vivid memories and retains the same hope and comfort I initially found in it.

At the end of 2020, just like an early Christmas present of sorts, the Australians gave us the gutwrenching Comets & Zombies as well as the promise of the second chapter of Race Car Blues. I don't know if I should, technically, count it as "an album that came out this year" in the technical sense of the term, seeing as it is the extended edition of something that already existed, but in this house, I make the rules, so I decide it is, and I think it was in the run for the album of the year title as soon as I first heard it, one Friday afternoon that I remember being somewhat sunny, for the month of February.

Comets & Zombies opens this side of the story, this second chapter, and it is a strange metaphor, but please, follow me on this one. Trust me. Everyone has a book they read, a film or an episode of a TV show they watch, and they know it will end terribly, but even though they have visited it hundreds of times, they still hold on to the silly little hope that it might not end so awfully this time around. It's like wishing no one dies at the end of Romeo & Juliet, just this once. This is what Comets & Zombies always feels like when I listen to it. Knowing this ends in death but always hoping it won't, because the love woven in its tapestry is so wonderful, it deserves not to end in tragedy. Comets & Zombies is inspired by the story of two people frontman Ben Stewart knew, who passed away from drug addiction issues, but it focuses on the way they loved each other, their "unbreakable adoration for each other." It's heartbreaking, of course, it is, but there is still something so poetic about it all. Not about the circumstances. About the way this love is described.
Favourite line: "You kinda look like a comet / Burning up to impress all the stars you hate."

Urgency. It is the word that immediately springs to mind whenever I listen to The Best Bits. It stems from the composition of the track, a music element I find utterly fascinating in Slowly Slowly's artistry. I could spread praise all over it like butter on toast, but let me just try to explain the feeling first. The Best Bits, lyrically, is a reflection on how exposing ourselves on social media, always stating facts and sharing opinions, and generally spending time on our phones stops us from experiencing the essential parts of life, the things that truly complete us as human beings. As we are all aware, social media has become a largely overwhelming element of our lives. I'm a firm believer human brains were never designed to handle such a large amount of information at such an alarming speed, and I easily become overwhelmed by things I read on social media or things I hear on twenty-four-hour news channels. This onslaught of information is drowning us and clouding everything else around us. The modern world somehow made us believe that it was our duty as good people to know everything in the universe, every problem, issue, battle and struggle, and since we all want to be on the good side of history, we comply and educate ourselves. And never process any sort of information. This goes way beyond the age-old "get off your phone and live in the moment" debate. This ties back to The Best Bits because the verses truly feel overwhelming in their vocal delivery. They have that streaming of consciousness quality Slowly Slowly have showcased in their songs before (Creature Of Habit springs to mind) and, if you don't pay close attention, they are hard to follow. The chorus is the breaking point, the moment when you admit that this is all too much, and you want to get out. The first chorus is quiet and almost shocking in its contrast with the verses. The second chorus and onwards become louder, the soft voice starts shouting, and I believe it is when the urgency truly kicks in. If I had to put this song in an image, as if it was a scene from a film, I would describe it as being held underwater and fighting as hard as you physically can to get out.
These are all compliments, by the way. I believe The Best Bits is a masterclass in song composition, and I wish more artists would utilise their instruments in similar ways to highlight their lyrics and messages, especially in the heavier parts of the scene.
Favourite line: "Then hang me from the brightest star, I wanna see the best part."

It is the least cool thing to say in the scene, or about music, as a general rule of thumb, but I am a big fan of consistency. I am a firm believer in "if it ain't broke, don't fix it." I think that you do not have to change who you are and what you sound like with every release to remain interesting. I hate the concept of "being relevant." That being said, I love it when artists explore new sounds and keep you on your toes too, as long as it feels organic and not like chasing the ever so elusive relevance.
Learning Curve, the third track of this chapter, fits into the first category, and quite beautifully, at that. Sound-wise, with its chunky, almost post-hardcore sounding guitars and harsher vocals in the choruses, it steers towards heaviness. However, the melody of the intro reminds me a lot of Dinosaurs, the opening track of the band's second album, St. Leonards. It even retains its twinkly quality, its almost light guitar, a delicate sound one would not necessarily expect in a heavier sound.
When I talk about change that feels organic, this is what I mean. Learning Curve is one of Slowly Slowly's heaviest tracks, but it still feels anchored in the band's roots.
And it teaches me that listening to a tale about regret and death, a "steep rise to regret" assorted with a crescendo in the melody is, for lack of a prettier phrase, fucking awesome.
Favourite line: "I've got my sights set on on the walls / And I forget why I'm climbing / And all I want to do is fall."

Low, the fourth track, was used in the short video teasing the release of this second chapter and, as a long-time lover of the song, I was excited to discover what its home would be and sound like. It was already out into the world before the original version of Race Car Blues, a bridge of sorts after St. Leonards, and it has been one of my favourites since.
I like hearing about a band's influences. I don't mean guessing them by myself, and I don't tend to scream bloody murder about plagiarism either. I just like artists talking about who they listen to and what sounds make them tick. I love the pages in music magazines in which artists talk about their beloved albums. After that, it all becomes a game of putting the pieces of the puzzle in the right place, trying to hear what part of someone's artistry has been used as an influence. Was it the songwriting or the way they conduct themselves? The guitar work or the live performances? The possibilities are almost endless. Sometime between my first time listening to Slowly Slowly and now, I stumbled upon their old triple J Unearthed page, and the "influences" section listed Jimmy Eat World.
Anyone who knows me, even just a little, will get it. For those who have just hopped on board: welcome to the party, Jimmy Eat World is my all-time favourite band. After that, I kept trying to hear it. Saying you've been inspired by a band like Jimmy Eat World is wide. They have an extensive back catalogue and, musically, through their three decades long career, they have gone from exciting garage rock to emo classics to pop-punk to beautiful alt-rock sounds, with a sax solo thrown in the mix. They have done it all.
One day, it clicked. Low sounds like something that's straight out of Futures. Again, if you know me, you know it is the highest form of praise I could give to any music, ever, as Futures is my absolute favourite record. I mostly hear it in the layered vocals, towards the end of the song. Not a lot (enough?) people still do that. I feel it somewhere in that unbelievably satisfying guitar solo, but I don't know enough technical terms to explain it prettily.
The lyrics seem to touch upon mental health, but it's the third verse that attacks my heart the hardest. The ideas of loneliness and finding one's place in the world are recurring in Race Car Blues (Chapter 2), but not in the sense of "I'm going to carve my place under the sun" with an inspiring undertone. It questions where one fits in this mosaic of people, and the association with the astronomy, celestial references, also recurring in this album, is beautifully worded.
Favourite line: "Do the stars look down upon the earth / Make constellations as people merge / Connect the lines that they find / While I look at them in vain."

"Being in someone's house after they passed away" is what the band said track five, House On Fire, was about when asked on an Instagram Q&A session. Almost a year down the line, I still cannot believe how I did not hear it straight away- but that's the magic of music, isn't it? Figuring it out as you go. If I'm being honest, I find House On Fire horribly heartbreaking and comforting all at once, even though I cannot picture a worse feeling than having nothing more than empty places and vivid memories, after someone you love passes away. House On Fire is a beautiful reflection on everything that could possibly come to your mind after you lose someone, from old memories to the meaning of life, in all their messy chaotic jumble of an existence. It seems to be briefly touching on religion in the chorus ("I hope there's a place like all the books say"), but I think it's hard for me to gush about this song appropriately because it really does break my heart. But don't all the best songs?
Favourite line: "A transient night, nothing here to report / Except all of life's meaning, just echoed down the hall."

"I wouldn't choose the Internet with you over a noose."
I love a song that exposes its subject matter in such an eloquent yet straight to the point manner, and I love a song you can sum up in one of its lines. I tend to link this song to The Best Bits, which deals with a similar topic, all tracing back to the Internet, which is, all at once, a great evil and one of the most incredible things humanity has created. What I get from this song is the conclusion that the Internet can be an utterly lonely place. "They're not your friends, they just like to pretend that everything is the new problem." One of the hardest lessons I had to learn, maybe especially as a socially awkward person who struggles to relate to others, was that complaining together did not equate to friendship. It equates to mutual loathing for something, anything, and that is no basis for a genuine connection with anyone. I love how this song addresses the subject of how lonely the Internet can be, paints a picture of technology that is far from being rosy but, just like The Best Bits, it manages to do it in a way that feels removed from the "get off your phone and live in the moment discourse." To me, the message behind The Internet is that it tricks you into thinking you build real friendships, relationships, connections, but a lot of the time, you simply don't, and you end up missing out on experiencing moments with people who matter in a tangible way. Last thought for the road- is "making a friend in a fire escape" the smoker's equivalent to making friends in club bathrooms when you're drunk?
Favourite line: "We'll take the long way home / And sing every song we know." 

Restless Legs had been released on the band's Patreon, sometime in the spring of 2020, during various lockdowns, and, after the website closed, I started mourning this little, short song I loved, a piece of the puzzle I didn't know what to do with, but I liked very much. When the full teaser came out, I almost did not register it on the tracklist, for reasons that shall be explained later on, but when it finally clicked, I became ecstatic to see how it fit into the narrative and to be able to listen to it again after almost a year
The first thing I remember reading about Restless Legs was on an album review, and the writer said: "I don't know who broke up with who." After many a listen, I don't know either. I want to believe that, when songs are out into the world, even though they have their own meaning and stories behind them, they become open to interpretation, just like paintings and the ending of Citizen Kane, and this is just my two cents on Restless Legs. I think not knowing who breaks up with who, who leaves, who stays behind is the whole point of the song. I believe it's split into two parts, and they're each from the perspective of one of the parties, first the person who leaves, then the person who stays behind. I also believe it's part of a story within a story, but we'll get to that when we reach the other chapters.
And the truth is, I don't want to know if I'm wrong or not.
I also remember someone praising how Slowly Slowly could write huge choruses when they used not to, and I like that Restless Legs doesn't seem to have a traditional song structure. It's just a story, and stories don't always come in predefined packages, they tumble out from behind your teeth and get the hell out into the world, sometimes. "But God it caught me like a cold" is one of the most fantastically mundane comparisons I have ever heard, and I love the idea of "restless legs" meaning the almost-primal urge one has to run away from their stable situation. (Here, a family.)
Favourite line: "And I'm thinking about love / How when it won't wake up / It just ups and leaves."

The reason why I did not register Restless Legs on the tracklist, at first glance, is our next track, First Love. It features Yours Truly's Mikaila Delgado, and the words "feat. Yours Truly" were more than enough for me to grow impatient and excited. I have talked a few times about my love for Yours Truly and Mikaila's fantastic vocals, and the collaboration with Slowly Slowly turned out magical, no less. First Love was my most played song in 2021, and it is largely to do with the voices merging together, the power ballad vibe, and the incredibly poetic lyrics. First loves are a common subject in music and in fiction, something romanticized, for the most part, something holding a mystique and a power over us all, and Slowly Slowly painted a perfect picture of them, half something you desperately need to forget, half something you know will live inside of you forever. Whatever happens, a part of your heart and your brain will always be drawn to your first love, whether you like it or not, whether the feelings are positive or not, and the song beautifully captures the idea, the contradiction at their core, something "lethal, dilute all your like," and "something pretty and impermanent that I could admire" all at once. I believe we all have our people we "turn to when you're drunk and you're empty" - first loves,  by essence, have to leave a different mark on our lives because they are the blueprint, they are our first experience of the wide and complicated spectrum of love and all that it entails. And we need it to be romanticized, dissected, and turned into pure poetry.
(The first time I listened to it, my brain felt drawn to the title track from the Phantom Of The Opera soundtrack, and I long wondered if it was not because I had just watched the Phantom episode of The Goldbergs. I couldn't help but hold on to the thought and, I can still hear it, somewhere. My tiny knowledge of the musical and I can tell the subject matters are wildly different, but everything that reminds me of a musical in some way is as good as gold.)
Favourite line: "Was I just your mistake / Cinnamon to the taste / Bitter but graceful" (the whole song)

Set The Table (The One That Got Away) was given to the fans on the band's Facebook group a few weeks prior to the release of the album. I think it was the catalyst to the first analysis of a description of the record: every sound we had heard from the second chapter, this far, had been wildly different, a tapestry woven with different threads. Low had Futures era Jimmy Eat World, mid-2000s emo vibes. First Love could almost be called a power ballad. Comets & Zombies was an alt-rock gem with unbelievable drums. Restless Legs didn't have a chorus to speak of. The Level was the grooviest little tune.
And Set The Table was a wildly heartbreaking acoustic track, complete with violins and trumpets towards the end.
Set The Table is a reflection on a relationship that went down the drain, went up in flames, or quietly disappeared, maybe, and had its share of traumatic experiences. It doesn't hold anger or bitterness, only sadness and regret. It is storytelling in its purest form and, in its songwriting, it takes me to my two all-time favourite lyricists, The Wonder Years' and Aaron West And The Roaring Twenties' Dan Campbell, and Taylor Swift.
The first time I listened to it, I immediately thought of the first Aaron West record, We Don't Have Each Other, especially the song Divorce And The American South. There was a similarity in the subject matter ("And hey, Dianne, I know I fucked up / It's just when we lost the baby, I kind of shut off" // "But we lost a baby, lost our love, and I just wasn't good enough") and the same simplicity that lied in describing a love that faded away without anger and along with a simple melody. The feelings and events are violent, but their delivery isn't. The mundanity of the actions described, the way you can paint a picture of who does what and where everybody is, reminded me a lot of Taylor Swift's All Too Well ("Cause there we are again, in the middle of the night / We're dancing 'round the kitchen in the refrigerator light" // "In my doorway backed by light, by the kitchen sink at night"), and I don't think I could pay a higher compliment to a piece of music than by linking it to works by my two favourite songwriters.
If, musically, The Best Bits gave the feeling of being held underwater and fighting your damnedest to get out, Set The Table is best described by two lines in the song: "silent movie, black and white" and "flower blooming in reverse." Even though the title mentions someone who gets away, you don't know how the story ends when it starts, you don't know how tragic events will become. The flowers start as a beautiful bouquet in a detailed vase, set on a table, and they end up back as seeds on the ground, summer turning to winter again.
If you remember the story within a story I mentioned when I spoke about Restless Legs, I believe this is the second part. I still don't want to know if I'm wrong. I just know that, to me, they are connected, part of the same narrative, and the truth of it all does not matter.
Favourite line: "But I will not be victim to / The broken love I have for you / If I can dig a hole to die in / I'll build a life to live in too." 

As we have spoken about quite at length so far, or at least as we have deduced from the novels I have just written, Race Car Blues, Chapter 2, is nothing short of emotional and tackles some heavy subjects (death, addiction, grief, regret).
And there  comes The Level, the light-hearted break in an emotion-filled record, a story of "not wanting to be swept up in whimsical emotion, stay grounded and be pragmatic about the situation- all while butterflies swim around your stomach."  I suppose one could interpret the fact that being in love is described as "dancing with the devil" as something deep and full of meaning, but I see it as something almost tongue in cheek, the protagonist in a rom-com that claims they don't want to fall in love, kill them if they do, is being dramatic about it, but on the inside, they are in so deep about someone else? This is what this song feels like.
The light-heartedness of the track definitely lies in the music video, too. The Level starts with a running joke within the band's universe ("Softly Softly"), is set in a seventies type of background, all clunky, tentative computer work and wide-legged trousers, and ends with a fake ad for a soft drink called Slowly Soda. It's fun, brilliantly done, hilarious and light-hearted, exactly what the track needs. Try being emotional or teary-eyed while someone does a running man in an almost floor-length fur coat and turtleneck sweater. Yeah, you can't. (And believe me, I'm emotional over all sorts of things.)
According to frontman Ben Stewart, there are two Bruce Springsteen lyric references in the song, and my baby knowledge of The Boss only led me to one- "take my hungry heart" refers to the song Hungry Heart. That's literally all I've got. (Is it fate telling me I should finally sit down and listen to Bruce Springsteen?)
Favourite line: "I'm so sick of being so sentimental now." 

Let's mention the story within a story I have spoken about throughout this post: Small Talk is, to me, the last part of the trilogy, the end of it. One more time, I do not want to know whether I am right or on another galaxy of wrong- I just know my brain connects this track to Restless Legs and Set The Table, and that is all there will be to it.
Another thing I associate Small Talk with is the original album closer, the ending of the first chapter: Race Car Blues. I believe there is a similarity in song composition (starting off slow, taking you by surprise by launching into a massive chorus, lulling the listener into believing we're slowing down again, only to end heavy, whether it comes in the form of bold guitars or loud breathing), but also in the lyrics. It dawned on me when I first registered the parallel between "haven't slept in ten years but found the one" and "I wrote your name on shower screens, for ten years long, ten more it seems." Maybe, yes, ten was the figure that rolled off the tongue best, something less specific than nine and a half or twelve and a quarter, maybe it's an aesthetic decision rather than a meaning-based one, but...If you know me, you know I will always pick the meaning over the aesthetic, and it was enough to seal the deal for me.
Small Talk, in its strange little tale of a wedding party in a hospital, seems to interweave the concept of social cues to the story. ("I'm polite to all you boys and girls / But every one of you was small talk.") The idea of interaction between human beings, whether it is through social media, the Internet, or in person, whether it is the grand scheme of things or specific relationships, is all over this album, and I believe the string that ties this whole thing together, both chapters and all, is human interaction, human connection, through all its forms. And I understand it would be a tough mission to write about things that do not involve relationships between people, so this might be like saying the sky is blue, but, there it is, my two cents.
All of these songs are tied together like a family tree.
And, because I always love a fantastically mundane line, "I just came to party for the free drinks" stands out.
Favourite line: "I fell in love in an inhale / Standing at my coffin, you're the last nail."

The opening notes of the album closer Anywhere sound light and breezy, airy, as if they were floating, which strikes as a stark contrast with the vocal delivery, quick and precise. After much consideration and thinking, almost a year off of the activity, I realised that Anywhere was a song about being a musician ("If I had one breath left, I'd sing for you"- talk about something that was in my face the whole time), and about looking back on your teenage dreams. I wish fifteen-year-old me had said "If I'm not up there, I'm not gonna be anywhere" in the face of her ambitions, but after having them shut down by a questionable school counsellor and taking more wrong turns than me on my holiday in Venice, she'd be damn proud of adult me for making them come true, working at them, finally. I was always questioning whether there was hope in Anywhere, because I am a master at finding hope in unlikely places and devastating songs, but I can safely say there is, and there was just the story of it. I don't think I had realised until today how much I would relate to those lyrics, even though I am not a musician (the ten minutes during which I have known how to play Green Day's Boulevard Of Broken Dreams on the bass do not count), and maybe that's the hope I needed today. For some reason, too, Anywhere reminds me of Trophy Eyes' Lavender Bay, but I think it's just a small lyrical parallel and similar energy between "If I'm not up there, I'm not gonna be anywhere" and "I won't sleep until Sydney knows my name." And The American Dream was a record in which I found a hell of a lot of unlikely hope, so maybe that's a sign.
Favourite line: "If I'm not up there, I'm not gonna be anywhere."

This is by no means a review. This is just stories upon stories, thoughts from every road in my tiny countryside village, from the Paris train, from my brother's car, from my small space in the house, from every overthinking corner of my brain. I would rather try to understand than pass judgement on an artist's or a band's music, I'd rather interweave my stories with their words than slam them because I don't get it. Race Car Blues, Chapter 2, takes the listener on a journey, a journey through human connections and interactions, through hope and the saddest stories you could possibly think of, through heartbreak and beauty, through highs and lows, and I have learned that for an album to cover such a vast array of feelings, you need to have the music to follow, and it won't be linear, and I love that more than I could put into words. Human emotions and connections are messy, bloody, beautiful and gory, they're loud and intense, and they're quiet and subdued, sometimes. And the music that accompanies it has to be all over the place, too, in the best possible way.

 As 2020 is nearing an end, it is time to review the albums I have vibed with the most this year. I had made a point and a resolution to keep in touch with music in the scene, as I am sure I have said before. I now find myself with too many albums to make a definitive list, but many things to talk about.
This is not a top anything. There is an album of the year, but that's about it. There are a lot of albums I really, really liked. Some I have novels' worth of content to talk about, some about which my feelings fit in a few lines. There is a little bit of everything.

Throughout the garbage fire that was 2020, I found myself drawn to positive albums. As I discuss somewhere in there, I believe positivity, especially in music, is a double-edged sword, because it's ever so easy to fall deep into the toxic positivity, "I am so disconnected from life so I will be telling you how wonderful life is, even though I know nothing about struggles" vibe. I found the sun, hope, and comfort I needed in albums that dissected feelings, explored the ups and the downs, in honesty, and in company. Strangely enough, despite seeing so many of my favourite heavy bands releasing music, I have not listened to -core bands as religiously and regularly as I usually do. But it's winter, accidental heavy metal season in my world, so, don't worry, I shall be finding my way back to screaming and breakdowns soon. Maybe I'll rediscover hidden gems. I am not purposely ignoring anything or anyone.

THE DEATH OF ME
(Polaris, released February 21st)

I have become picky with my heavy music, and I think it stems down from years of disappointing shows and albums I cannot relate to anymore. When I listen to heavy music, metalcore, deathcore, hardcore, whatever, I want to be blown away, I want to be stopped in my tracks and think well, this is one hell of an album.
I also tend to find most of my favourite heavy bands live, and Polaris was no exception. The first time I saw them was supporting Architects in Sweden, and, as the tour went on, I found myself more and more excited to see them play. In no time, in a click of the fingers, in the blink of an eye, their music has become important to me, and as soon as the state of my brain dips down into the uncertainty and the dark, it's the signal that I have to play Crooked Path on a loop until it gets better. This song has quickly become the musical version of emotional support.
Obviously, I was madly excited at the idea of them releasing a new album this year. I think one of the main reasons why I find it hard to relate to heavy albums is that I feel like some of the bands making them do not want to be making those songs and those albums. I don't know if they realise how easy it is for listeners to hear that the band on the other side of the microphone, the guitar, et al, would rather have their eyes scooped out of their sockets with a rusty teaspoon.
We can tell.
There is nothing like that at all with Polaris, there has never been, and I pray to God there will never be. The Death Of Me is the album of a band that is confident in their sound and who they are as a band. They have some of the most incredible vocals and don't overdo the split between clean vocals and harsher vocals. It never appears like their music sticks to a pre-made formula or something they should adhere to. It all feels very organic and natural, and, as a result, genuine. I couldn't be further away from being a musician, but Polaris also has some of the best guitar work I have ever heard. I love a good, strong, technical riff, as long as you don't try to revive the six-hour guitar solo à la Iron Maiden. I just love heavy music that isn't heavy for the sake of being heavy.
Metalcore has been through many trends and phases, often dictated by the bands who make it big, and all the bands that follow in their exact footsteps in the hopes of making it big too. Metalcore is a constant rotation of tropes and clichés, of keyboards, of breakdowns, of signature sounds, of music videos filmed in decaying warehouses or in forests, of aesthetics, fonts, everything. Metalcore somehow feels a lot more codified than other genres, and I love that Polaris is above it all. They are heavy, ridiculously so. They have screams and clean vocals. They tick all the metalcore boxes, but in a way that feels a lot more genuine than most bands, sometimes more experienced than them. Polaris is, right now, one of the very few truly exciting heavy bands. I wanted to find a better way to conclude this than "Fuck, I love them," but, fuck this. I fucking love Polaris, and The Death Of Me is gnarly perfection.
(PS - Anyone want to talk about their recent triple j Like A Version cover? I don't know what a Black Fingernails, Red Wine is, but I have no doubt Polaris made it 100% better than the original. I think my brain exploded when I first listened to it.)

NO GOOD LEFT TO GIVE(Movements, released September 18th)

SELF CARE
(Yours Truly, released September 18th)

NEW WAYS OF LIVING(The Winter Passing, released July 3rd)

HELLO, IT'S YOU(Bearings, released November 20th)

AFTERBURNER(Dance Gavin Dance, released April 24th)

Afterburner was one of the strangest things that happened to my 2020. I have always liked Dance Gavin Dance, but do not ever ask me how or why I got into them, because I have absolutely no fucking idea. I just do. They're just here, in my life, and if you ask me, yes, I like Dance Gavin Dance. I have seen them live, once, four years ago, when they did that anniversary tour that somehow included all four of their vocalists, taking turns on stage and then all performing together like they were one big, happy, headbanging family. It was one of the weirdest live experiences of my life, and by weird, I may mean awesome. I mostly remember the confusion I felt when everyone was on stage, even though I was aware it was a celebration of their whole history as a band.I have also no idea what genre Dance Gavin Dance actually is. On instinct, I would say metalcore, but they don't sound anything like any other metalcore band I know. Post-hardcore? Who the hell knows. We're going to settle for Dance Gavin Dance-core, because they are so weird, and wonderful, and unique, and different that it would be criminal to force them into a defined genre.Afterburner was one of the strangest things that happened to my 2020 because, despite me seeing some of my adored heavy bands releasing new material, THIS was my favourite heavy album of the year, and I wasn't expecting it. I KNOW their sound, I KNOW their music, and I still can't quite believe they manage the utter and complete feat of making heavy music sound so...groovy? Like, yes, you could totally have a mosh and a crowdsurf to this, I mean, they ARE a heavy band, after all, but...you can absolutely dance to this. I can see myself busting some serious moves at their show. (It sounds like a threat, and considering the state of my dancing, it most definitely is.)My personal highlight of the album is Calentamiento Global, which translates to Global Warming. No, this isn't an enlightened song about the horrors of global warming and climate emergency. From what I have gathered online, correct me if I'm wrong, it is a song dedicated to vocalist Tilian Pearson's partner, who is Hispanic, so, as a tribute to her, half the song is in Spanish. Yes, you read that correctly - this is a metal song in Spanish. The lyrics, in true Dance Gavin Dance fashion, all bizarre metaphors and positively random associations of words, roughly translate to "Your ass brings world peace, the way you move solves global warming." This is, quite literally, the most incredible thing I have heard in...ever?(I'm also really excited because I now speak enough Spanish now to sing along.)I am aware most of these ramblings sound like the written-down version of those "so and so reacts to such and such" videos on YouTube, and this is basically a word for word vomit of the inside of my brain, but, in better words, Afterburner blows my little mind with every single listen. I love everything about it. I love the dual vocals, the harmony between Tilian Pearson's stunning voice and Jon Mess' brilliant screams is unmatched. I love the heaviness and the groove. I love the fact that they have included the word Kyrgyzstan in the lyrics (Lyrics Lie) and I am still adamant that it is a masterpiece of an album.


BIG VIBE(Seaway, released October 16th)

BRAIN PAIN(Four Year Strong, released February 28th)

WAKE UP SUNSHINE(All Time Low, released April 3rd)

FOLKLORE/EVERMORE(Taylor Swift, released July 31st and December 11th)

20/20(Knuckle Puck, released September 18th)

RACE CAR BLUES

(Slowly Slowly, released February 28th)

 2020, for all its flaws, was a year filled with kickass new music. Despite being the hardest ever year for musicians and touring artists, especially in the independent, alternative world, our favourite bands and artists kept creating and gave us the gift of music to sustain and help us get through a time we will remember as one of the toughest in history. Having a lot of time on my hands, and having made the resolution to keep up with the scene, I lent an ear to everything. Artists I hadn't paid attention to before, names I didn't know well, recommendations, everything was fair game.

It is the reason why there is no ranked list of the releases of the year, because I cannot and do not really want to compare completely opposed genres and styles. How do I compare metalcore and folk-pop? Pop-punk and folktronica? The correct answer is I don't. I have a top six, but, most importantly, I have a jumble of albums that have helped along the way, brought a smile to my face, proved to be the perfect soundtrack for a sunny day, a rainy day, or a bottom-of-the-bin brain day. That's what we're celebrating today.

I want to start with live albums.

I usually pay very little attention to live recordings, for reasons that elude me. This year, two managed to catch my eye, and I have a sneaky little feeling that it is because they involve some of my very favourite artists. One of them is the Live At Asbury Park by Aaron West And The Roaring Twenties. For those who aren't in the know, AW20 is the side project of The Wonder Years' Dan Campbell, who is one of my favourite songwriters, musicians, and all-around people. The two studio albums attached to it, We Don't Have Each Other and Routine Maintenance, are a story based on the life of a fictional character, Aaron West. I got to see it performed live twice at the end of last year, and, shocker with me, it ended in tears. There will be songs you listen to, in life, and you think they are lovely acoustic songs, they have a nice vibe to them, and then, you register the lyrics? The saddest line you have ever heard during your time on Earth will hit you straight in the gut. That's the basic summary of Aaron West's discography. Two studio albums, a bunch of songs here and there, and a live record compiling raw sadness and pain. I was meant to see Aaron West And The Roaring Twenties as a full band experience before Slam Dunk, this year, which would have included brass instruments, and hopefully fewer tears, but, you know. 2020 was who she was as a year. In the meantime, I have Live At Asbury Park, a record player, and a whole lot of tears to sustain myself.
Though I will always live for the hope I find in Runnin' Toward The Light. What a song.

I will use the verb discovered for the second half of this very short list, as opposed to talking about a release. It popped up on Spotify, but I have no recollection of the band ever mentioning it, and I have no idea if it was meant to be something more than "something that, one day, popped up on Spotify." It's the triple j live at the Wireless, in Melbourne, by The Story So Far. I think it helped to fill the void of not seeing a band I had become so used to seeing all the time and everywhere, but, then again, does anything fill the void at all? Maybe it was just here to remind me of the great times I had, and hopefully will still have, appearing everywhere, one beached whale-like crowdsurf at a time. Lord, I miss seeing The Story So Far everywhere. Just like live albums tend to do, it allowed me to pay more attention to the instruments, the quality of the playing, and the details I cannot necessarily hear when I am caught in a moment, beaten up in a moshpit, taking in the atmosphere instead. Also, if you must know, it's a little corny, but the first minute of Solo absolutely destroyed me.

I miss the era of split EPs. I miss bands teaming up to release music together. I miss bands collaborating more together, come to think of it.
Split EPs, though deserving of their own post, gave me some songs I adore. The first one that comes to mind is Clairvoyant by The Story So Far, part of an EP with Stick To Your Guns. Imagine what a tour that would be! 

There was only one split EP that I found this year, which is nowhere near enough. It hailed from somewhere between Melbourne and Tasmania, a little bit of both. It was announced through minimal promotion, just pictures of coffee makers and tags on Instagram posts, and it gave us two of the loveliest songs of the year. It was the Slowly Slowly x Luca Brasi split EP, and a part of me will always be annoyed that I missed out on the vinyl and the coffee maker. (Damn shipping fees, timezones, and vinyl hoarders)
Slowly Slowly's half of it, Slow Learner, is a short acoustic number packed with feelings. The vocal delivery and lyrical vibe are very reminiscent of the band's first album/EP/musical situation/whatever anyone wants to call it, Chamomile. It was released the day after my birthday, and I listened to it for the first time in my brother's car, under the pouring rain.
It was perfect.
Finally lending my ears to Luca Brasi, this year, filled part of a gap in my heart. Despite the heavy lyrical content, their half of the split, Yossarian, feels comforting. There is something comforting about Luca Brasi in general, something that feels like the sunshine warming you up, and road trips with the windows down. I can't quite put my finger on it, but feelings like these make more sense to me than describing music in elaborate genres and technical words.
Music is now something that feels like weather types and activities.

A few awesome EPs graced the virtual shelves of streaming apps this year, and some struck my attention, big time.

I have always been picky about "reimagined" type of materials. If I am a sucker for acoustic music, I don't want my favourite bands to slap an ambient beat over a song with the vocals turned down and call it a day. It's lazy and unimaginative. If I am going to dig something reimagined, it has to give me a whole new take on the song. It has to pack on the feelings and give me a way to rediscover it, appreciate its intricacies and details, bleed the emotions from the lyrics dry. It has to live up to the implications of the term "reimagined."
Two of such EPs gave me all of those feelings this year.

The first was the second volume of The Wonder Years' Burst And Decay series. See, no one said anything about it being a series. I just want the hope of it all. The Wonder Years acoustic is the best thing since sliced bread, it might even be better, and it gives you the opportunity to rediscover the band's music. You get more places and more moments when you're going to burst out crying every single feeling that has ever crossed your heavy heart. While Washington Square Park gave me all the hope and shoulder-to-cry-on type of vibe I needed when it first came out, Passing Through A Screen Door was a swifter kick to the stomach, an existential crisis of a song amped up to the max. Weirdly enough, this is a compliment. Passing Through A Screen Door, despite being unbelievably sad, remains my favourite TWY song, a solid companion when my brain makes me feel like I have quite literally fucked up my whole life.

The second one was Between The Kitchen And The Living Room, by Alex Lahey. First of all, the title is a reference to 2019's I Want To Live With You, and, if you know me, you know I am the biggest nerd for songs and albums that reference each other. Second of all, I loved that it was all recorded in Alex's apartment during quarantine, every song in a different room. Everyday's The Weekend was dubbed the Laundry Version and came attached to one of the sweetest music videos of the year, full of kitties, puppies, and hope for the future. The weirdly eye-opening and relatable I Haven't Been Taking Care Of Myself was recorded from the hallway. It genuinely felt like a reinvention of the music, a moment when an artist took the cards they were dealt with and made something beautiful out of it. It was lovely, peaceful, and quiet, and, believe you me, my brain needed the break. 

As far as original EPs go, a couple have stood out to me, too. I noticed more than I usually do, this year, and while I appreciate all the effort and creativity artists have put in their newer material, not everything struck a chord. Such is life. 

If there were ever any favourites as such, the title would be won by Good At Feeling Bad by Best Ex. I have been through this dozens of times before. Everyone knows Mariel Loveland is one of my favourite artists, and most importantly, songwriters in the world. I simply adore the way she can paint a picture with her words, make every line a snapshot of a precise moment, and, at the same time, deliver it in a way that leaves space for your personal experience to grow. The shimmery, glittery pop sound mixed with emotional lyrics is a deadly combination, the best of both worlds. Immersing myself in Best Ex's music always feels like being given a best friend to hold your hand while you're overcoming all the obstacles, the times life brings you down, the boys that will break your heart, the ever going conflict between hope for a brighter future and the anxiety of right now. It always feels like being less alone. Good At Feeling Bad is the kind of music that makes you want to dance your heartbreak away with a sugary sweet drink in hand, go on stupid, yet unforgettable adventures with your friends, or maybe give yourself a makeover, à la 2000s coming-of-age film, but maybe not just for the wardrobe. Maybe I could do with a brighter exterior, but maybe I could shine a light on the inside and start believing that I will be okay. This is what Best Ex feels like.

Another EP I adored this year was World In Colour by Luke Rainsford. I have been following Luke's various musical endeavours for the past almost-five years, and if you think this means I liked Layover, you are right. Listening to World In Colour again yesterday afternoon, I found myself missing them making every possible line-up just that little bit better. World In Colour is all I could possibly want from Luke's music.
Tip Toe is one of the most joyous, hopeful songs I have heard during this hell hole of a year, and I spent many a walk in the fields listening to it and resisting the call of the truly awful dad-dancing. (At least, the people in the village would have had a valid reason to stare at me.) Lack is one hell of a deceiving track, perfectly associating some of the most heartbreaking lyrics I have ever heard to unbelievable catchiness. Frame and In Spite Of All My Worry weren't new, and they took me back to the one time I got to see Luke play this year, in Birmingham, in support of Cory Wells. It was a lovely night I miss dearly. Despite being on the sad, so, so fucking sad side of everything, they feel comforting, somewhere in the memory of that one night. I don't have a lot of very good words for this, which completely defeats the point of me writing any of this. Just know there is something so infinitely special about Luke Rainsford and their music, something I wish everyone in the world could see.
(For future reference, when we have live music again, I WILL make up for all the dad-dancing I missed out on, which I know sounds like a threat. It is. I would like to use this opportunity to formally apologise in advance.)

As a description of No Pressure's self-titled EP, I will use a comment I read on a Nate The Mate YouTube video: "Parker literally Beyonce'd us with that EP and I'm grateful." 
No Pressure is the newest project from The Story So Far's Parker Cannon, and one of the best parts about it is that it was dumped on a scene that was not expecting any of it, no explanation, nothing, just five songs, take them or leave them, and then, that was it, aside from a vinyl and cassette tape release. It felt like "Hi, have some music, bye now." No Pressure's music is fast and energetic, reminiscent of two of my great loves in life, early-2000s pop-punk, and early The Story So Far. It's very in your face, and that's what I like so much about it. It's here, yours for the taking, the enjoying, the loving, and that's quite literally it. Weirdly enough, as a huge TSSF fan, what I love the most about it is the early-2000s influence, because it takes all the best from that era, and mixes it with the best from our present time. It has a nostalgic vibe, it feels like it could have been huge at a time when film soundtracks were basically blink-182 and Sum 41 albums, but it doesn't feel stuck in the past. No Pressure perfectly mix nostalgic influences and a modern sound.
You know, when you listen to a band who cites old school blink-182 and American Pie style pop-punk as their influences, and all they do is try to emulate everything from that era to a point when it feels outdated when it was released three days ago? That's the trap No Pressure doesn't fall into. Despite having no information whatsoever on background and influences, it's obvious at least some inspiration came from somewhere early this century. At the same time, it was done by a group of musicians and artists who know what they're doing, who know how to combine styles without falling into soulless imitation and clichés. Quite simply put, it's really fucking good, and I hope that at some point in the future, it gets a live show. The money I would pay to hear those five songs in a tiny, health-and-safety hazard, hot mess of a room. 

The last of the EPs does everything I am unable to do in life: keep it short and sweet. This year, as previously mentioned, I have connected a lot with Homesafe's music, and, to my rare unbridled joy, the four-piece released a two-song EP in April, entitled What's Mine Is Yours. It felt like, almost unannounced, the band dumped some of their best material on us, and left us (me) to deal with all of the feelings. Slide and Down are both heaven in musical form, all about love and being here for someone, about wanting to do something and save yourself. They are quiet, simple, but delicate melodies, the harmonies are pure perfection, and the result has that sneaky little power of making the world around you just that little bit quieter. Down ended up the unlikely soundtrack for a tour music video, and there aren't many things I love more than tour footage turned into music videos, unless they have dogs, which this one does. (Down also ended up near the top of the list of my favourite songs released this year, and by Homesafe in general.) I said it before, but when this is all over, when we have live music again, I want my experience to include at least one Homesafe show, and these songs definitely influenced the idea (and better make the setlist).

I know there were many more EPs released this year, some of which really good, too, more critically acclaimed, I don't doubt, less unknown, too. But these are the ones I played the most, the ones that came up first when I thought about EPs. If I may, as a last present of sorts, because too much music is better than none, I would also recommend State Champs' Unplugged EP, because Crying Out Loud made me, well, cry out loud, and Mat Kerekes' Songs For Breanne and Amber Park, because his solo music is one of the loveliest and most comforting there is.