To be honest, we spent quite a lot of 2005 gamely trawling for something to love, and failing.
We could only get the most nominal and fleeting of thrills (say, three-and-a-half minutes each) from the ‘heroes’ of summer 2005, Kaiser Chiefs, Bloc Party, Maximo Park, Hard-Fi & The Magic Numbers. We were glad Live 8 happened without having any interest whatsoever in watching it. We admired but didn’t truly fall for I Am A Bird Now, even though Antony, looming awkward and gentle-giantish at the Mercury Awards, certainly deserved to win. And for us, the coolest bit of Franz Ferdinand’s continued success was the fact that all that money is going back to a record label who will probably use it to go find the next Will Oldham.
We found our skin pimpling uncomfortably at the fretless-bass-and-synthesiser Adult Rockisms of the Kate Bush album. We came away from the Dylan documentary more electrified by pretty much every other artist featured on the programme, than by Mr Z – not least Odetta, with her otherworldly train-whistle howl, and the ghostly, almost alien purity of Joan Baez.
We cheered as gifted underdogs got their due (the word-of-mouth success of Arcade Fire; the post-OC mainstream popularity of Interpol; the insane ambition of Sufjan Stevens). We delighted as old faves continued to amaze us (Low and Dirty Three barnstorming the Village; Roisin Murphy and Stuart Staples flying prettily solo; Gemma Hayes and Damien Dempsey proving patience pays off; The White Stripes still ringing our doorbell five albums in). We applauded as local promoters kicked against that tired notion that new bands have to ‘pay their dues’ by playing scummy gigs in crappy venues with deaf engineers, black-souled publicans and no audience: and thanks to them, we saw trumpetloads of jazz oddniks in the International, Windings at Lazybird, The Ghost Of The Thirteenth Lock and Josh Pearson at the Ballroom of Romance, Derrick Devine and assorted weirdos at the Four-And-Twenty Halloween Special, and loads more at Hard Working Class Heroes, the Hoot Nights, the Sunday Roast and the Boom Boom Room.
Elsewhere, we were reminded that you can tell the truth and still have a career by Kanye West. We were inspired, in the most harrowing way, to embrace life every day by Six Feet Under. And then there was the matter of Arcade Fire again, along with Mercury Rev, The Redneck Manifesto, The Kills, LCD Soundsystem, Nick Cave, and The Flaming Lips themselves – that is to say, we found ourselves wanting to give the warmest of embraces to the organisers of Electric Picnic, for clearly having asked themselves the question, “What would our dream music festival be like?” and then answering it so beautifully. Whoever you fearless freaks are, thanks so much.