The return of gigs. The return of people talking too loudly over the top of gigs. The cancellation of gigs all over again. Lorde’s bum on the beach. Rick Astley singing Smiths songs for some reason. What a year we’ve just had. But if there’s one thing that got us through it, besides mass vaccination and two ageing comedians gradually catching some fish together, then it was heavily marketed music! Without further ado, here are Spinal Bap’s top albums of the last twelve months.
Bobby Gillespie & Jehnny Beth – Utopian Ashes
When promoting this unbearable collection of duets, Bobby Gillespie announced his ambition to put “pain back into music”. The Primal Screamer didn’t think there was a lot of it about, you see. Presumably because he’s the only person in the country who’s never heard of Adele.
Gillespie also yearned to make an “honest” record, so he quickly roped in Jehnny Beth (not her real name), who he’d met at a glitzy fashion show, for a concept album about a fictional break-up. Incidentally, Beth has never quite been able to shake-off the possibly unfair accusations that her former band, Savages, were manufactured. Whether they were or not doesn’t really matter. Some manufactured bands are superb (Sugababes) whereas plenty of non-manufactured ones are utter plop (Arcade Fire). It always felt like Savages were a manufactured band, who were pretending not to be, which is the only important thing.
In March, the shittest duo since Sting and Shaggy revealed the video for ‘Remember We Were Lovers’, in which the platonic pair proved they were one horse away from a Lloyds Bank advert. Utopian Ashes ran with the theme of the single, providing no respite whatsoever from the half-baked, sexless Gainsbourgisms.
Bobby wanted to put the pain back into music. It’s
a painful experience, all right. You wouldn’t want to inflict these ballads on
Westlife’s aunts.
Black Country, Worn Road – Not For The First Time
Talking over post-rock backing tracks hasn’t been quite this massive since the indie message-board boom of 2003. Of course, twiddly-widdly Tortoise instrumentals aren’t quite irritating enough on their own. Better let a man named Isaac, with a gargling voice like another man named Isaac (the one from Modest Mouse), talk over the top about Cambridge science fairs and Cirque du Soleil. By the way, if you fancy yourself as a poet then maybe try to think of a better name for your opening instrumental than ‘Instrumental’. Come on, man! Did Mogwai ever resort to that? No! They come up with proper, grown-up titles like ‘Elvis Bacon’, ‘We’re The Spry’ and ‘Where’d You Put That Footstool, Susan?’ Oh, and don’t just let your gherkin dangle out of your dressing gown by mentioning Slint in your lyrics, for Britt’s sake! It’s not like Louisville’s finest were singing – sorry, talking – in their tracks about “Minutemen this” and “Minutemen that”, is it? Have some decorum.
Hercules – The Tears Of Rod Stewart
Talk about a comeback attempt. Last we heard of him, Hercules
had been hunting down Cerberus, the hound of Hades, in between reciting numbers
from The Great Athenian Songbook. The dulcetly toned hero returned in 2021 with
his thirteenth labour: to rerecord the appalling songs of Rod Stewart. It was
Hercules’ most challenging task to date. A mythical figure from ancient
history, often portrayed in skimpy outfits to show off his calves, with a
hairstyle that’s not been in fashion since 300BC, Rod Stewart was once singer
in The Faces. Hercules tried his best to complete this daunting mission but
fifty seconds into ‘Kookooaramabama’, when required to consider Rod’s lines
about sex being “cool” and sex being “nice”, the heroic figure decided this was
too gruelling even for him and immediately surrendered his soul to the
underworld.
Nick Cave & Warren Buffett – Cashage
Not content with raking it in from dubious online merchandise
and Peaky Blinders soundtrack dosh, Nick Cave found the collaborator of a
lifetime when he hooked up with Warren Buffett, one of the ten wealthiest
people in the world. Hoping to out-twat Elon Musk in the billionaires without
dignity stakes, Buffett was only too happy to don a pair of tight trousers and
have a fiddle.
Eric Clapton – Bumper Bootleg CD Box Set From eBay
Are you searching for that perfect gift to mildly distract
your loved ones while also irritating one of the worst men in rock? Then why
not buy (and then sell again) this exhaustive collection of unauthorised live
recordings from the man whose 2010 eponymously titled album contained just one self-penned
song among a load of old blues covers? The new career-spanning multidisc bootleg set
includes ropey concert renditions of other songs the petty plagiarist didn’t
write such as ‘I Shot The Sheriff’ and ‘Little Wing’. The tracklist also
features the rare spoken-word tracks ‘Britain is becoming overcrowded and Enoch
will stop it and send them all back’ (1976) and ‘My views have cost me all my
friends apart from Van Morrison’ (2021). Spinal Bap is not responsible for the cost
of any sudden legal fees.
Gary “Ebenezer” Barlow – The Dream Of A Christmas
Carol
Ebenezer Barlow was a meanspirited and selfish old
man. He was cruel to those who worked for him, frowned at kindness wherever he
saw it, and resented paying tax.
One wintery night he was visited by the ghost of an old business partner, Jason Orange. “But you’re not even dead!” exclaimed Barlow. “I might as well be,” replied Orange, “judging by the lack of texts you’ve sent me over the last few years. Besides, oranges are traditional at Christmas.” The white-haired ghoul then warned Barlow that he would be visited by three more ghosts, before the morning came.
The first of these spirits, The Ghost Of Christmas Past, was a wiry figure with paper-thin skin who appeared to be young and old at the same time, a bit like Cliff Richard. The ghost showed Barlow scenes from his lonely childhood, when he had been bullied for being a tight sod with his dinner money and enjoying the music of Cliff Richard. Barlow was also forced to relive the moment when a young Cheshire lass he’d been courting decided to end the relationship because she realised that Barlow would never love her as much as he loved his own money or his collection of Cliff Richard calendars. Observing this sorry scene from the olden days, Barlow hoped the ghost hadn’t brought him back for good.
The next spirit was a loud, boisterous, jolly giant, obviously played by Brian Blessed. He took Barlow to a jubilant party attended by all the members of Take That, even Robbie. “My invitation must’ve got lost in post,” muttered Barlow. Before he could add “Royal Mail’s extremely busy this time of year,” a toast was made in his honour. “I think it’s time we all raised a glass to the smirk-faced goon,” announced Mark Owen. “…Who couldn’t be here tonight for personal reasons,” added Howard. “The reasons being that none of us wanted him here!” hooted Robbie. “Tight-fisted wanker with turd-like eyebrows,” slurred a very drunk Lulu.
The Ghost Of Brian Blessed then took Barlow on a tour of all the local hospitals which are forced to operate on a shoestring budget because of greedy, penny pinching misers like himself. This took up most of the night. “I officially apologised to anyone who was offended by my financial arrangements,” grumbled the dodger in question.
Finally, Barlow was visited by The Ghost Of Christmas Yet To Come, a blank-faced and skeletal figure who said very little at all, or at least very little of any substance. The ghost reminded Barlow of Amanda Holden. The spirit’s sticklike finger pointed towards a poorly attended funeral. James Corden was there, of course, but only because he can’t resist a free buffet. As thin as one of the many Twiglets that Corden had just stuffed into his leering mouth, the spirit’s finger then gestured towards the gravestone of the un-mourned man. “Here lies GARY BARLOW,” it read, “who used to be in a boy band with Robbie Williams and once wrote a song for Matt Cardle from The X-Factor.”
Confronted by his future lack of legacy, Barlow fell to
his knees and began to sob. “Whatever I said, whatever I did, I didn’t mean
it!” he cried. “It’s not what you’ve said that’s the problem,” said a passing
Sam Fender, who was just on his way to help out at the orphanage after dropping
off some donations at the food bank. “It’s your actions that are the issue. Your
morals, or lack of. Your greediness. Your absence of empathy for your fellow man.
Your inhumanity. Your continued support for the Conservative Party.” “Oh, I’m
not changing any of that,” replied Barlow and ordered the biggest turkey in the
shop to consume all by himself. Fender let out a deep and despairing groan. “I
guess everything changes but you,” he sighed.
