These productions deserve more than simple label tags though, as each one renders an entirely different cinematic scene. Yes, there are hints of hymns and doo-wop, but there’s also tastes of industrial, ambient, classical and drone – ultimately, the only label that seems to apply is the wholly unsatisfactory ‘experimental’. The resulting Fountain is a completely indefinable triumph and a confounding listen what you might be sure is a synth or a drum or a violin is simply not. While her love of singing was born out of a youth spent in church choirs, as she moved into adulthood she started experimenting with what her voice could do – and what she could then do with those sounds through recording and production techniques. If that suggests to you that it’s a choral record then you’d be a little right, but mostly wrong. The only sounds on Lyra Pramuk’s debut album are made by her voice. For 11 months, Debris has been a worthy companion to anyone looking to clear their mind and look to themselves in reverence for their own ability to endure and survive hardship. What’s left is a stark, gorgeous, and often tantric exercise in artful restraint. Forsyth doesn’t forsake the precious debut effort by burying it in white noise. Spots of self-consciousness often shroud newer voices in vats of reverb and wetness. Its flexibility knows no bounds it simultaneously sustains a low frequency while jazzing its way through the blunt chording of songs like “Black Bull”.įew artists would dare leave their songs so naked in the breeze. She’s equipped to handle this reset, however, as indicated by her voice. Angels are waiting, but they’re mocking Forsyth for losing her way on life’s path. It ends with “Start Again”, after all, which sees Forsyth resetting her path in the eyes of God. But, most of all, this isn’t an album meant to bring you down. This isn’t an album about pain, it merely sounds painful. This isn’t an album about mourning, it merely sounds mournful. The more you dig into the minimalism of Debris, the more the ghosts of negativity dissolve into the ether. Sure, these are dark, often painful songs, but there’s a blanket of peace at their core. Everything we need to make it through the darkness of Debris lies within our own ears.

“Look to yourself and you will know everything that there is to know,” advised Keeley Forsyth at the start of this year. Hell, we had to find something to enjoy in this cursed year.Įnjoy a Spotify playlist of the highlights from our Top 50 albums here.Ĭatch up with all of our Best of 2020 content here. There’s no possible way to highlight them all, and apologies to anything released following our selection process (Son Lux, we love your album!), but we hope you enjoy.

Here, we’ve attempted to collect some of the very best albums to arrive during this maelstrom. What we got was sure as hell a, let’s say, unconventional year, but nonetheless a memorable one. Add it to your sins), the business – the artform – somehow chugged on. (Hey, film industry, first time?)Īs surely countless releases were halted and delayed (we just know you took a Kendrick LP from us this year, COVID19. But, hell, we made it, and so, as you’re reading this, did you.Īs a combination of global meltdowns, a petulant, brain-addled child belching his dying gasps in the office of the most powerful entity on Earth, and a goddamned pandemic ran 2020 into the ground, the music industry, somehow, braced itself. We still are, but I’ll be damned if 2020 won’t go down as the most possibly ignoble year for a publication to come back into existence. When we got back together, a mixture of old school BPMers and some blessed new blood, we were excited for what was to come.

Dej loaf no fear bpm