Personal Highlights of 2017 (aka more musical ones…)

You’re probably sick to death of these ‘Highlights’ blogs, but I love making lists and reminiscing…so get on board, or get over it.

I spend 99% of my time listening to, looking for, and writing lovely things about women in new music, but – contrary to popular belief – I love writing about men in new music too. WHAT?! A FEMINIST WHO LOVES MEN?! SHOCKING! *keels over from this unexpected revelation*

2017 was a turbulent and frightening year (and I’m not just talking about my Glandular Fever diagnosis), but it would’ve been far worse if I hadn’t discovered these bands/artists. So, if you want a quick distraction before you wave goodbye to 2017 soaked in gin and your own bitter tears, take a look at the musical offerings that made my 2017 so bleedin’ good…

Everything Twitcher Records released this year melted my mind.

The independent label based in Brighton has a penchant for all things strung-out and unsatisfied, and I smiled like the Grinch who stole Christmas each time an email holding precious musical cargo appeared at the top of my inbox.

If you’re in to scratchy guitars, delightfully droning vocals, and introspective lyrics, you need to check out the bands on their roster. It was hard for me to pick a favourite, but I listened to Collapse Of An Easy Sunday, the debut EP from the weird and wonderful Honey Creeper multiple times when I was hungover/bored at work. Check out Ezeikel Doo, Slabtoe., and Die Mauer too.

Wolf Alice’s ‘Yuk Foo’ was one of the first pieces of new music I heard after my 21-day-Glandular-Fever headache finally subsided.

I’ll never forget the sheer sense of simultaneous joy and relief I felt hearing Ellie Rowsell shout the words “you bore me to death!” the first time I heard this song. It’s since become a personal anthem.

Don’t think I’ve mentioned a band called Ho99o9 before? (LOL JK. seen them 5 times this year)

My anticipation for their album United States of Horror was palpable, and it sparked what most people would deem a borderline inappropriate obsession with the rap-punk duo. Their political, aggressive, racially charged lyrics align perfectly with the manic drums and thrashing guitar samples.

Each time I’ve seen them live I’ve emerged with all sorts of physical damage – a black eye, swollen knees, bruised hips, ripped fingernails – and I left their Sebright Arms gig topless. What can I say? They bring out the be(a)st in me.

(Ho99o9 also led me to find Bob Vylan, who is 10/10)

I listened to Bjork’s divine new album Utopia, thus keeping my 2016 New Years Resolution to “listen to more Bjork“.

NO, YOU’RE CRYING AT THE BEAUTY OF ‘The Gate’. PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER. FFS.

We launched the Get In Her Ears website alongside our radio show and live night, and it might just be the best thing we’ve ever done.

On the eve of the launch of the Get In Her Ears site, there was a part of me that felt genuinely concerned. What if people didn’t read the blog? What if no-one shared the link? Have we made a mistake branching out on our own? Fortunately, I’m glad to report all of these anxieties subsided within 24 hours. We’ve received so much interest, love, and support from bands and fellow journalists, that it’s wiped away all the doubts I ever had.

I hope 2018 is just as prosperous and proactive for us.

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SUNDAY #82 – Black Eyed

I’m re-bobbed, permanently jobbed, and my body is mobbed with bruises.

I know you shouldn’t gloat about a black eye, but I’ve never felt so punk in my life (an admission that immediately removes any punk credentials I formerly possessed). I was lovingly elbowed in the eye socket at Ho99o9‘s gig at The Old Blue Last a week ago. Despite being pinned to the front of the stage and being told by security “NOT TO TOUCH THE MONITORS!”  I felt no pain for 45 minutes, and I would happily live that night on repeat for the rest of my black-eyed days.

It was the most insane gig I’ve ever been to. It was also insane of me to mix white wine with tequila, but that probably helped me on my journey to black eye city. I’ve been furiously applying foundation to cover it up at work. By day I’m a genuine adult with a job and responsibilities, and by night I’m a juvenile wine connoisseur who finds the meaning of life in a mosh pit.

During the week I also received some shining news to go with my shiner: I’m being made a permanent member of staff at my current job. This means a) I’m actually quite good at my job, and b) the next time I get a black eye at a gig, hopefully I’ll be living in London, so I’ll have less of distance to commute home with my war wound.

There were a few low points this week amidst all the glory. I’d pre-bought dinner on Friday night because I had plans to go out and drink gin and love life after work. Unfortunately, those plans got cancelled last minute, and I got in a bit of a strop and went to bin the pre-purchased food. I decided I was going to storm home, tear my bedroom walls down to some Blood Red Shoes, and if I felt lie it; cry to my Mum – because that’s what adults with full-time jobs and black eyes do.

I approached the bin ready to chuck my dinner in to it, then I realised I was being a selfish, stupid arse. I returned to my desk, put the food in my bag, and on my walk home through central London I passed it on to a homeless man. Even when you think you’re having a mildly shit day, it’s best to remember that someone else is probably not going home to a bed, a nice family, and a hot dinner. That’s the kind of punch in the face we all want to avoid really.