Picture the scene: It's a Friday evening in the main bar of Belfast's Waterfront Hall. The diminutive, lisping lead singer of an antagonistic synth pop duo is railing against the paucity of political alternatives available in Northern Ireland and the state of the national football team. He is wearing a smoking jacket and what look like a snooker referee's white gloves. Behind him huge – and pimpish – plate glass windows offer an outrageously flattering view of the city (twinkling bridge lights; dark, dramatic hills; boats and planes and trains); obvious stuff that you shouldn't fall for but can't really help. Every once in a while the singer glances at his reflection in the glass; smiling devilishly at the sight of himself transposed like a rusting, redundant crane on the city's landscape.

In half an hour The Fureys are due to play in the main auditorium. Their fans are starting to arrive at the venue and, as you'd expect, are filing into the bar for a well-mannered pre-show drink. Mums and dads, grannies and grandas, they order stout and G and Ts and decide to settle back for a few minutes and have a look at this other musical pair. They soon wish they hadn't.
"Protestants," Jamie Manners tells them, "are not popular. Ten chunky rings and a pastie supper. No concept of P.R… The Jews may have murdered Jesus Christ, but we murdered Oscar Wilde."
People start leaving. In droves. Quicker than The Grateful Dead at Altamont.
The Vichy Government deserve our gratitude for Carrion Camping, their provocative and dizzyingly insightful debut album, but on a personal level, I'd like to thank them for providing me with one of the funniest moments of the year. Beard meets fringe. And fringe wins. Splendid stuff.
Likewise, Roysta – the self-proclaimed 'Rod Hull of Hip Hop'. At some point in the near future the features editor of some Gotham City style mag is going to hear about the existence of a tattooed, skin-headed gangster rapper from the Belfast estates and commission an article on the bloke's wider social relevance. My advice: don't bother. If you're looking for 4 Real, post-Troubles 'consciousness', then the big fella's penchant for penis costumes and on stage dancing nuns might complicate your hypothesis. If, though, you're interested in hearing someone taking great relish in eating Belfast slang alive before spitting it out in barely manageable chunks, then I would advise you check him out.
I'm not sure that Rostya would share a record collection with Jamie Manners (they certainly wouldn't share hairdressers or tailors), but what they both seem to hold in common is a contempt for the hoary and contemptible old Northern notion that whatever you say, say nothing. And if that points to a generalised sea change in attitude, I'll welcome it with fireworks.
Penis costumes don't seem to be a huge priority for Edgeweather. Nor are they overtly concerned with the kind of audience-baiting described above. But their first E.P Make A Mockery made for an astonishingly confident introduction. The four-piece are all still studying at the moment, but somehow managed the trick of taking a whole host of influences (the Buckleys, Sigur Ros, Radiohead) that have, in other hands, been bled dry of late, to mould something subtle, powerful and hugely promising. New stuff next year is promised.
Also worth mentioning are Tom McShane and Robyn G. Shiels – a pair of singer-songwriters who have contributed some real nocturnal gems over the last 12 months. McShane, whose main job is guitar-player with Roque Junior, has impressed everyone who stumbled across his 'Songs Are Sad' demo. Shiels, meanwhile, when not threatening to take a crowbar to chatty members of his audience, brought out the harrowing but deceptively tender 'Songs In The Key Of Death'.
Shout-outs also to (amongst others) Vapour Lounge, Corrigan, Shine Recordings, Foamboy, Morph, Fortune Cookie, Kev Traynor, Jupiter Ace and Alternative Ulster magazine. And can I take a moment to thank gentleman Ritchie Havens for his two Empire shows this year. The first one, especially, which took place as 'coalition' troops invaded Iraq, was a privilege to be at.
Next year watch out for Element, Iain Archer and Hello My Captor, the autumnal sounding debut LP from The Amazing Pilots. And keep your fingers crossed that loose talk will begin to catch on. Look after yourselves.