The Obligatory Round Up And Pointless Best Of List For 2007
Yes, it's that time of year again when people with too much time on their hands make lists of what they've done in the forlorn hope that someone else will be the slightest bit interested. Not that anyone will be - this is my list and I'm not all that bothered.
So here we go. First up, books.
I seem to have read lots this year but managed to avoid most of the books people talked about loudly at parties. I've been mostly reading and re-reading British stuff. Julian Maclaren Ross, Patrick Hamilton, Graham Greene (including letters and Norman Sherry's forest-devastating three volume biography) and, more recently, David Peace's Red Riding Quartet. As usual, Hard Case Crime kept up their usual high standards, notably Charles Ardai's own Songs of Innocence. Ray Banks' Donkey Punch was quite a belter, as was Allan Guthrie's Hard Man. And it was brilliant to see him win the Theakstons Waterstones Best Novel prize in July. The right guy won for once.
Cathi Unsworth's The Singer was, I thought, one of the literay events of the year. And if it didn't get the exposure it deserved, I reckon that was done down to sexism on the part of lots of reviewers. What's the matter boys, scared that a girl knows more than you do about music? And can express it better? The other book that rocked my world was James Lee Burke's The Tin Roof Blowdown. Yes, I know I'm biased and that when he's going less than full throttle he's better than 90% of writers (crime and otherwise) currently operating. But he was at the top of his game for this one. Come the awards next year, he's going to be sweeping the board. And deservedly so.
But I never got round to some of the stuff I wanted to read. David Peace's new one is still sitting there, as is Joseph Wamburgh's Hollywood Station. I'm also trying to work my way through Christopher Booker's The Seven Basic Plots - Why We Tell Stories. A brilliant book but since it took him thirty four years to write it's not the kind of thing you can just skip through one weekend.
And I never read On Chesil Beach. But then neither did anyone else, apparently. They just bought it and didn't get round to it. I didn't even buy it.
TV. Apart from Doctor Who I didn't watch much. But that didn't matter - DW had some of the best stuff I've seen on TV in ages this year. Blink and Human Nature were fantastic, Blink in particular. I was completely in awe of Steven Moffat's writing. Bastard.
I tried to get into Heroes but was away during the summer so got hopelessly lost off. I'm persevering though - I've bought the boxset and will while away the winter with that. Speaking of boxsets, they seemed to be the only way of keeping up with the shows I love. I loved both The Wire and The Shield. If anything they got better. The Sopranos finished, completely unmourned in this house. I long since gave up on it when they tried to get the characters to jump through every decreasingly interesting hoops.
Film. Didn't go. Saw nothing. Apart from Harry Potter, and wished I hadn't. That's the trouble with living out in the sticks. No decent cinema.
Music. Went on a massive Scott Walker kick which is never a bad thing. Re-listened to everything and was once again dazzled by Scott 4 and scared by The Drift. He's the only artist who makes me wish I had synatheasia because his songs sound like colour-filled soundscapes. And I bet I've spelt that wrong.
Listened to tons this year. Really wanted to love Richmond Fontaine's new album, ending up just liking it a lot. Did love Bruce Springsteen's new one (and suprised myself in the process). A real return to form. Hasn't sounded this good for years. And Radio Nowhere was the best song of the year. Apart from Biffy Clyro's Machines, that is. Jim White's new one was a little disappointing although I hope it may be a grower. Richard Hawley came up with another belter but not a good one for listening to in the car - too soporific. Live, CSS were fantastic and erased everyone else I saw from memory. And, although I know it wasn't a 2007 album, the Trials of Van Occupanther was my most played album of the year. Fantastic.
So there you go. Another pointless list. Happy New Year, everyone.
Yes, it's that time of year again when people with too much time on their hands make lists of what they've done in the forlorn hope that someone else will be the slightest bit interested. Not that anyone will be - this is my list and I'm not all that bothered.
So here we go. First up, books.
I seem to have read lots this year but managed to avoid most of the books people talked about loudly at parties. I've been mostly reading and re-reading British stuff. Julian Maclaren Ross, Patrick Hamilton, Graham Greene (including letters and Norman Sherry's forest-devastating three volume biography) and, more recently, David Peace's Red Riding Quartet. As usual, Hard Case Crime kept up their usual high standards, notably Charles Ardai's own Songs of Innocence. Ray Banks' Donkey Punch was quite a belter, as was Allan Guthrie's Hard Man. And it was brilliant to see him win the Theakstons Waterstones Best Novel prize in July. The right guy won for once.
Cathi Unsworth's The Singer was, I thought, one of the literay events of the year. And if it didn't get the exposure it deserved, I reckon that was done down to sexism on the part of lots of reviewers. What's the matter boys, scared that a girl knows more than you do about music? And can express it better? The other book that rocked my world was James Lee Burke's The Tin Roof Blowdown. Yes, I know I'm biased and that when he's going less than full throttle he's better than 90% of writers (crime and otherwise) currently operating. But he was at the top of his game for this one. Come the awards next year, he's going to be sweeping the board. And deservedly so.
But I never got round to some of the stuff I wanted to read. David Peace's new one is still sitting there, as is Joseph Wamburgh's Hollywood Station. I'm also trying to work my way through Christopher Booker's The Seven Basic Plots - Why We Tell Stories. A brilliant book but since it took him thirty four years to write it's not the kind of thing you can just skip through one weekend.
And I never read On Chesil Beach. But then neither did anyone else, apparently. They just bought it and didn't get round to it. I didn't even buy it.
TV. Apart from Doctor Who I didn't watch much. But that didn't matter - DW had some of the best stuff I've seen on TV in ages this year. Blink and Human Nature were fantastic, Blink in particular. I was completely in awe of Steven Moffat's writing. Bastard.
I tried to get into Heroes but was away during the summer so got hopelessly lost off. I'm persevering though - I've bought the boxset and will while away the winter with that. Speaking of boxsets, they seemed to be the only way of keeping up with the shows I love. I loved both The Wire and The Shield. If anything they got better. The Sopranos finished, completely unmourned in this house. I long since gave up on it when they tried to get the characters to jump through every decreasingly interesting hoops.
Film. Didn't go. Saw nothing. Apart from Harry Potter, and wished I hadn't. That's the trouble with living out in the sticks. No decent cinema.
Music. Went on a massive Scott Walker kick which is never a bad thing. Re-listened to everything and was once again dazzled by Scott 4 and scared by The Drift. He's the only artist who makes me wish I had synatheasia because his songs sound like colour-filled soundscapes. And I bet I've spelt that wrong.
Listened to tons this year. Really wanted to love Richmond Fontaine's new album, ending up just liking it a lot. Did love Bruce Springsteen's new one (and suprised myself in the process). A real return to form. Hasn't sounded this good for years. And Radio Nowhere was the best song of the year. Apart from Biffy Clyro's Machines, that is. Jim White's new one was a little disappointing although I hope it may be a grower. Richard Hawley came up with another belter but not a good one for listening to in the car - too soporific. Live, CSS were fantastic and erased everyone else I saw from memory. And, although I know it wasn't a 2007 album, the Trials of Van Occupanther was my most played album of the year. Fantastic.
So there you go. Another pointless list. Happy New Year, everyone.
posted by Martyn Waites at
3:42 PM
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