Sidling away from the atmospheric dream pop recordings of Still Corners and the experimental psych of Modern Nature, multi-instrumentalist Jim Wallis has taken to the world of modern classical with a treatise on life, death, and that whole wobbly stretch of existence that straddles the two. Europa is formed of pieces designed to accompany (and share the name of) a film that tells the true tale of an asylum seeker who takes his own life.

Last seen (heard?) upsetting the locals with their dread-ravaged score to the sinister and affecting folk horror film – Hagazussa – MMMD have since returned to the studio and carved out another low end wonder of equally distressing proportions. At times the reloading chug of their strings bring to mind the darkest valleys of hailed drone overloads, Sunn O))) (particularly during their Black One sessions).

Whilst we’ve been sat on sofas, sweating out Chinese takeaways and scrolling through a smorgasbord of not-for-right-now options on Netflix, The Salford duo of Hyperdawn, comprised of Vitalija Glovackyte & Michael Cutting (both impressive experimental artists in their own rights), have been busy constructing a palette of sounds that are both intriguingly odd and familiar enough to latch on to with relative ease.

This quote, which, at various times, has been attributed to the political theorist Frederic Jameson and also to the philosopher, Slavoj Žižek, really hammers home both the parasitic and apocalyptic nature of our modern political realm.

There seems to be a thread running through the albums that I’ve gravitated towards this year. One of a sort of wary hopefulness. Things may have been tough, they will inevitably be tough again but there is a sense of perseverance laced throughout. The world may feel like it’s taking two steps forward and one and a half backwards at any given moment but through this we are left with a choice: give in to the mounting gloom or battle to find some light emerging from within it.

I was a bit slack at watching films this year. A boatload of 'em passed me by. Anyway, for what it's worth, here are 25 that I thought were decent.

“We are all chimeras, theorised and fabricated hybrids of machine and organism; in short, we are cyborgs.” The Cyborg Manifesto by Donna Haraway, 1985. Knowingly or not, we all seem to have acquired additional elements of technology that we now include in our daily lives. Some of us wear glasses. Others, hearing aids. Most walk around with headphones on or earbuds in. There are those with prosthetic limbs, pacemakers, and digital tattoos.

Off the back of last year’s divine Homes, Shida Shahabi has seized time as if it is a tangible commodity and forged this short but affectingly delicate EP with the help of cellist Linnea Olsson and engineer Hampus Norén.

Ushering aside the noise pop of his previous Dead Gaze project, R. Cole Furlow has extended his limbs into more arcadian realms for this, his first release under the Low Variety moniker. On first listen #1 could easily be mistaken for a series of simple yet entrancing, guitar-based folk instrumentals. Conjuring images of sunlit melancholy, pastoral cavorting, simpler times. But you don’t have to scratch too deep for this idyll to distort. Cracks appear, images phase in and out.

Pyroclasts begins with deep sounds unfurling like the wings of a quetzalcoatlus in the morning light. Wings that beat their first and heaviest, causing trees to bend, buckle, and all manner of avian habitats to skitter and tumble to the earth. Dust kicks up in a whipped pool. Fur and scales shrink back into underground hollows. Each flap of a wing is enough to strobe light into night for the world beneath. Borne out of improvised sessions beginning or closing the day’s recordings, these 4 heavi

Franz Kafka once wrote that “A book must be the axe for the frozen sea inside us.” It seems that the fresh pairing of Ian William Craig and Missy Donaldson (an, up until now, unreleased music therapist) have taken this quite to heart with their new musical venture – Minor Pieces.

Sunn O))) guitarist, Stephen O’Malley, certainly seems to be operating with the sun drenching his face at the moment. From the positively uplifting chimes on Life Metal to the early reports that Pyroclasts expands further upon such cheerily ruminating soundscapes, Cylene, initially at least, appears to also follow this sparkling thread, this glowing vein.

Jenny Hval’s output has been consistently evolving. Her releases on Sacred Bones have grown from the frazzled trip hop of Apocalypse, Girl through the distressed and confrontational vampiric sounds on Blood Bitch to 2018’s The Long Sleep with its oneiric jazz swamp, all the while refusing to tread water. Throw in her persona-blurring novel, Paradise Rot, with its visceral upending of corporeality, sexuality, & apples, and her catalogue of work seems both expansive and vital.

In Joanna Hogg’s recent semi-autobiographical film – The Souvenir – a young aspiring filmmaker details their ambition to tell the story of struggling dock workers in Sunderland. She is gently ushered away from this subject matter and advised that perhaps she should look to film something that she has more experience of. We then see her grow in confidence and prowess as she focuses her attentions on something a little closer to home.

What happens when you team up a London-based improvisational trombone player with an experimental musician best known for their mechanical techno sets? This might sound like the set up to an elaborate joke wherein the punchline only means something to people wearing turtlenecks but, in fact, it is the question posed by Spanish tape label TSSS when they agreed to put out a cassette of the pair’s efforts a short while back.

Following on from her sumptuous 2018 release, Époques, Emilie Levienaise-Farrouch has been tapped up to score the debut film from British director, Harry Wootliff. That film, from which the title of this release is taken, has already been receiving glowing plaudits from the likes of Mark Kermode, Charlotte O’Sullivan, and Peter Bradshaw and it’s highly plausible that her score has played a hefty part in swaying those critics.

Wikipedia defines sonology as “a neologism used to describe the study of sound in a variety of disciplines”. Pretty fitting for the artist also known as Raffaele Pezzella, who has dedicated himself to creating, hunting down, and sharing previously unfamiliar and unheard sounds from around the world. This latest exploration is no different: horns burble and fizz, dogs inhale their barks, an icy puddle drip serves as percussion.

In Charlie Kaufman’s 2008 film – Synecdoche, New York – Samantha Morton’s character attends a viewing at a potential new house. She seems quite keen on the place but does have one slight reservation: the building is on fire. It seems that Burning House main man, Aaron Mills, is also a firm fan of Kaufman’s directorial debut and took this into account when selecting a moniker. Quite rightly too.

Kristin Hayter is mad as hell and she’s not going to take it anymore. Unlike the mouthpiece of that infamous quote, Hayter (Lingua Ignota) isn’t in the business of diluting or commodifying her rage in order to snag a quick buck. Her new album is dicier, more fraught and acerbic than her previous EP, All Bitches Must Die. She takes more sonic chances too.