Best of '98

For over 10 years, I wrote a weekly music column for the local newspapers at which I began what I'll call, in defiance of all available evidence, my career in journalism.

It was an absolute blast. A welcome break from council meetings and the district court round-up (there are only so many ways even the brightest young cub reporter can enliven two-paragraph tales of unwitting drivers defying the speed limit on Wilderness Brae), and an apparently inexhaustible source of free records, I'm amazed I ever gave it up (when marriage and the better-paid pastures of the national press came calling ... but that's a whole other blog post).

And then at the end of each year, when the editor's mind was elsewhere (generally on an 11am departure for the pub, in my first editor's case), I was allowed to take up even more column inches than usual with my round-up of the year's best records.

One day, I'll hit the library microfiche and track down all the others, but here's 1998's list, straight from the sole surviving computer file of my 1990s output. If anything in this ranking comes as a surprise to you, I share your astonishment. There are a few I barely remember, several I haven't listened to in years and one record I've become so obsessed with over the intervening decades I was astounded to discover I hadn't actually made it my number one at the time (that record would be, for the avoidance of any health-threatening suspense and tension, Stephen Duffy's peerless 'I Love My Friends', which was given a lovingly remastered re-release on Pete Paphides' Needle Mythology label in 2016).

The writing is of its time, but I've left it pretty much as it was on the original file. This is the boy I was, and this is the story of my year's listening I wanted to tell (whether that's the true story or not is another matter).

So here they are, then. The best albums of 1998, as decided by 1998 me, who was certainly an enthusiastic little tike, I'll give him that...

13. SWELLING MEG: 'Roc' (Blue Music)

One of those rare artefacts which endlessly repays any invested effort, 'Roc' may initially sound dark and difficult - but there's real magic behind the twisting, spinning melodies and perplexing lyrical flights.

Cora Bissett and co stirred up a heady blend of folk earthiness, seductive rhythms, fairy-tale eeriness and moments of stark, raw beauty. 'Roc' gave up its secrets slowly – but what secrets! Played out on acoustic guitar, stand-up bass, cello, whatever’s-at-hand percussion and one of the year’s truly extraordinary voices, this was an album to delve into, to discover, obsess over and find new things every time.

Cora Bissett’s supple, tender, ferocious voice made the journey that little bit easier - drawing you in with a   hushed, crystal-pure note here, breaking your heart with a shattering howl there, mesmerising with an effortless display of balladry elsewhere. Wedded to a keen story-telling and scene-setting lyrical skill, 'Roc' showcased a remarkable talent.

12. ARAB STRAP: 'Philophobia' (Chemikal Underground)

1998 was an interesting year for Arab Strap. First becoming more hip than anyone from Falkirk’s ever been (well, can you think of any Bairns cooler than Aidan and Malcolm?). Then causing a storm of controversy by claiming their home town wasn’t really much cop. Then releasing 'Philophobia', about as beautiful a dissection of booze, birds and bad behaviour as you’re ever likely to hear.

Aidan handled the mumbled tales of love among the hangover set, full of throwaway viciousness and surprising tenderness, while Malcolm (aided by various members of Belle and Sebastian and Swelling Meg’s Cora Bissett) set his tales to tunes that’d bring a tear to the eye of the hardest-hearted pub cynic.

Sure, it was full of attention-grabbing squalid imagery (and had maybe the year’s most arresting opening line), but there was a lot more to 'Philophobia' than met the unwary ear. For all its lowlife posturing, this was one of the year’s most unashamedly romantic albums – just listen to 'Soaps' and 'Islands' for proof of that. It was also one of 98’s wittiest, funniest and most warts-and-all human records.

At its best ('Not Quite a Yes') all these strengths came together seamlessly – 'Too steaming to impress/not a no, not quite a yes...' Now that’s poetry...

11. DUFFY: 'I Love My Friends' (Cooking Vinyl)

The artist formerly know as Stephen Duffy once again staked his claim as Britain’s Most Underrated Pop Songwriter with this nakedly autobiographical collection of tunes. The kind you can hum, holler and dance around to. The kind with wry, clever lyrics and hooks at every turn.

It’s a brave man who starts an album with the sound of a radio tuning through snatches of his greatest moments (and Duffy has had more than a few of those). But 'I Love My Friends' is easily the man’s most consistent set of songs, from the scene-setting 'Eucharist', with its scrummy, sunny melody, through '17' – easily one of his most brazenly poppy tunes - and 'You Are', which towered good-naturedly over everyone else’s puny attempts at making perfect pop in 1998.

So he could still set pulses racing with sublime honeyed pop tunes. But our Stephen also used 'I Love My Friends' to twist hearts in knots with painfully beautiful songs like 'The Deal', 'The Postcard' and 'Autopsy', songs so openly honest and delicious it’s a wonder he wasn’t carried through the streets in a tickertape parade for writing 'em.

But then, Duffy’s never really had the recognition he deserves. Long may he remain an undiscovered treasure, if he can carry on making records like 'I Love My Friends'.

10. LAMBCHOP: 'What Another Man Spills' (City Slang)/VIC CHESNUTT: 'The Salesman and Bernadette' (Pinnacle)

Now, this might look like a cynical attempt at cramming in even more records to this festive countdown, and I couldn’t argue against that too strongly, but...

It’s hard to separate these two wise, lovely, warm and quietly hilarious records. Lambchop backed the mighty Vic on his latest, and the man returned the favour with a guest appearance on 'What Another Man Spills'.

Lambchop continued to expand on their immensely charming, subtly subversive country thang, while simultaneously refining it. Kurt Wagner, the 14-strong collective’s frontman, delivered his tales of everyday life in his soft, velvety drawl while the band twinkled merrily, funked things up mightily and set more than a few seductive lap-steel heartbreakers in motion.

They proved perfect bedfellows for Vic Chesnutt, providing deft backdrops for the Athens, Georgia, singer-songwriter’s flights of countrified surrealistic mischief. 'The Salesman and Bernadette' emerged as a moving, intimate and often laugh-out-loud-funny record, thanks to Chesnutt’s audacious way with a rhyme ('I’m a sorry sorry knight in a horrible castle/Hoping to avoid certain societal hassles' being a particular favourite) and impish, reedy delivery. If there’s a better songwriter at work in the US today, it can only be Kurt Wagner...

9. MARK LANEGAN: 'Scraps at Midnight' (Sub Pop/Beggar’s Banquet)

...or Mark Lanegan. The Screaming Trees frontman’s third album was a deep blue wallow in simmering country/blues melancholy, dusted with ravaged, mournful guitar and blessed with songs soaked through with soul.

Lanegan’s torch songs burn slow and fierce, but there’s a subtlety and delicacy in his approach that balances out the intensity, making 'Scraps...' much more than a cheap holiday in someone else’s exquisite misery. This was classic American songwriting, pure and simple: timeless, touching songs for the wrong side of midnight and the bad side of sober.

With such a potent songwriting talent, it seems unfair on the rest of us regular Joes that Lanegan also happened to be blessed with the kind of way-down-low drop-dead-cool drawl that makes women go weak at the knees and men start smoking 40 Camel a day. When that voice stalked through the likes of 'Wheels' and 'Bell Black Ocean', dark greatness was instantly apparent.

8. GARBAGE: 'Version 2.0' (Mushroom)

It's all in the tunes. Dark-hearted, sexy, sassy, razor-toothed beasts, these were, full of rampaging guitar noise and head-drilling beats, warped technology and wicked, wicked hooks. Things like the first single, 'Push It', a relentless, glassy groove with a pummeling chorus, or 'Special', which ripped off the Pretenders then beat them at their own silken pop game, and 'The Trick is to Keep Breathing', vulnerable and quite lovely.

And there at the heart of it all was Shirley Manson, unobtrusively easing herself into the slot marked Woman of the Year with a volatile mix of tigerish vocals, soul-baring lyrical twists and unshakable strength. Shirley was the Anti-Spice, and 'Version 2.0' a mighty jolt of barbed pop.

7. SOUL COUGHING: 'El Oso' (Slash/London)

Soul Coughing mix sharp intelligence, artsy experimentation and sheer funky glee up into one big, infectious mass of pin-sharp beats, distorted samples and unshakable pop hooks.

Mischievously playing around with hip hop, jazz, drum & bass and just about anything else they could get their mitts on, they made 'El Oso' one of the year’s finest albums, and a powerful return to form after the patchy 'Irresistible Bliss'. M. Doughty’s wiseguy raps reached new heights of surreal concision, twisting words and phrases around, dropping syllables like rhythmic charges and generally performing the unlikely act of turning beat poetry into a funky art.

But all that lyrical cleverness wouldn’t amount to much without a tune to play around in, and 'El Oso' boasted plenty of those, all bursting with melodic hooks, great lolloping basslines and mighty grooves five miles wide. Try listening to the first few seconds of something 'St Louise is Listening' without falling for that effervescent mix, I dare you...

6. FOIL: 'Spread it all Around' (13th Hour)

It took its time coming, but the mighty Foil’s first album finally arrived – and what an explosive collision of ferocious noise and melodic power it turned out to be.

If ever you wanted a dream mix of Husker Du rock and shining pop tunesmithery, look no further than this West Lothian foursome. 'Spread it all Around' opened with live favourite 'A.C. Rocket', an instrumental with fire in its heart, napalm in its belly and a rocket where you really wouldn’t want to find one, segued into 'High Wire', which gave singer/guitarist Hugh a chance to roar like Black Francis’ long lost spawn, ground into the speedpop of 'Acid Kewpie' and kept the fast tunes, big riffs and ecstatic noise coming all the way through to the end.

Along the way, we were treated to 'Are You Enemy?', a singeing blast of white-hot melodic noise, 'Don’t Come Around', as bouncy and fizzy a broken-heart song as you’re likely to hear, and 'A Place to Hide', a wistful, moody piece which proved their grip was just as tight and focussed without the screaming guitars. Best of all – though, with songs as good as these, it’s hard to be sure – was 'Control Freak', a wise and hilariously sarcastic kiss-off rant with a thermonuclear chorus.

Rock album of the year, no contest.

5. MOJAVE 3: 'Out of Tune' (4AD)

Sheer sun-stroked loveliness. Slip on 'Out of Tune' and bask in those warm, radiating melodies, lovingly stroked guitars, swirling Hammond and sweet, sweet harmonies. Mojave 3’s wistful charm may not be fashionable but who cares, when the tunes are as good as this?

Make no mistake, these were some of the year’s finest tunes. Not the kind to bash you about the lugs and demand entry, mind – no, these were subtle, delicately fragrant tunes which worked their magic slowly. Songs with the hazy, unhurried grace of Nick Drake, Mazzy Star or Leonard Cohen, and the kind of gentle, slow-burning intensity that’ll beat any amount of in-yer-face showboating every time. Classic songs.

Neil Halstead, Mojave 3’s songwriter and lead singer, turned in nine classics here, with not a moment of this brief but beautiful record wasted. 'Some Kinda Angel' had a little of the louche late-night glamour of peak Cohen, while 'Caught Beneath Your Heel' possessed a still, chilly beauty and 'To Whom Should I Write', the closer, boasted as much enrapturing warmth as anything Nick Drake ever delivered. And when Halstead’s tremulous whisper met Rachel Goswell’s crystal tones ... Heaven.

4. THE BOO RADLEYS: 'Kingsize' (Creation)

There are people out there for whom the Boo Radleys are just the 'Wake Up Boo' band. Those people need to hear 'Kingsize', an album overflowing with extraordinary ideas, gorgeous songs and just about enough melodic madness to rival the Fab Four at their most inspired.

Sounds like an overstatement? Not at all. Just listen to first track 'Blue Room in Archway', which shifts from piano-led lament, with singer Sice on his best choirboy behaviour, to swirling orchestral epic to howling noise tantrum without skipping a beat – and while holding tight to the creamiest of pop tunes. And it’s no one-off, either. Martin Carr, in by far his best collection of songs, covered mad-eyed beat lunacy ('Free Huey'), brass-flavoured swinging sixties dub ('The Old Newsstand at Hamilton Square') and heart-melting balladry ('Adieu Clo Clo') and all points in between. More inventive on this one album than most bands dare to be in an entire career, Martin and his fellow Boos unhurriedly displayed their sheer mastery of the pop art.

If your jaw doesn’t drop at least once during each and every one of these songs, you don’t deserve the Boos, really you don’t.

3. UNKLE: 'Psyence Fiction' (Mo Wax)

Years in the making and featuring an all-star cast, 'Psyence Fiction' was so eagerly awaited it could easily have been a monumental disappointment. That it wasn’t is down to the wizardry and invention of DJ Shadow and Mo Wax supremo James Lavelle.

Riding on Shadow’s beat mastery (and not so far removed from his 'Endroducing' masterpiece), 'Psyence Fiction' stirred up some of the year’s darkest, but most irresistible grooves, with a little help from Radiohead’s Thom Yorke, The Verve’s Richard Ashcroft and Beastie Boy Mike D.

From the sultry, brooding soul of 'Bloodstain' to the insistent guitar and remorseless beats of 'Unreal' to Thom Yorke’s overwhelmingly moving 'Rabbit In Your Headlights', 'Psyence Fiction' was an eclectic, powerful and endlessly rewarding record.

2. BEASTIE BOYS: 'Hello Nasty' (Grand Royal)

Pinching Gary Numan riffs ('Super Disco Breakin'), delivering the year’s best single ('Intergalactic') and spewing out outrageously daft rhymes left, right and centre, the Beasties made 'Hello Nasty' sound like the best party in town – and we were all invited.

Dipping their mischief-making toes into everything from old-style electro (that’d be 'Intergalactic' again), rubberised hip hop ('Just a Test'), jazzed-up instrumentals ('Sneakin’ Out the Hospital') and deep-fried dub ('Dr Lee PHD'), the boys made it all sound easy and, more importantly, fun. Big fun.

Sure, their minds may be on higher things these days than dancers in cages and fighting for their right to party, but Ad Rock, Mike D and MCA still sound like this is the best time they could possibly be having. Come on, how can you say no to an album with a line as unashamedly daft as: 'Don’t mean to brag, don’t mean to boast, but I’m intercontinental when I eat French toast'?

1. LISA GERRARD AND PIETER BOURKE: 'Duality' (4AD)

Lisa Gerrard has the kind of voice that raises all the hairs on the back of the neck; a soaring, nakedly beautiful, rawly emotional sound that’s as close to pure soul as anything I’ve ever heard. And 'Duality' put that voice to work on songs that were playful, beautiful and, for those expecting a spot of dusty sub-classical warbling, shot through with throbbing percussive grooves.

Collaborating with Bourke certainly seems to have loosened the Dead Can Dance chanteuse up nicely – 'Duality' was a much more inviting prospect for newcomers than her austere solo debut, 'The Mirror Poo'.

The Voice is in full effect for the middle eastern-flavoured 'Shadow Magnet', shimmering over a lush web of strings and driving percussion. It’s heartbreaking on the choral lament 'The Comforter'. And  it’s simply astounding on 'Sacrifice', far and away one of the most starkly lovely, most deeply moving piece of music Gerrard’s recorded.

The uninitiated might like to begin with 'The Human Game', one of my songs of the year (and the one great 'should’ve-been-a-single' track of 1998), in which Lisa shows what a Bond theme could sound like if it were injected with hefty doses of mysticism, lyrical melody and towering, unabashed melodrama. It’s funny, ravishing and endlessly replayable.