In a year of unlikely musical suprises, one of the most contemplative listens came from a band that had previously been famed for their angsty post-punk tendencies. It would appear that These New Puritans are following a rather bizarre career trajectory, from the brief, explosive riffs on Beat Pyramid to a nuanced, compositional affair here on Field of Reeds. Although they flirted with orchestral instruments on 2010's Hidden, nobody ever really expected them to fully embrace them as the core of their sound, and as a result the album is a sea change that has earned comparisons to the likes of Talk Talk and Robert Wyatt. In a sense, there's something distinctly pastoral about Field of Reeds: one could certainly imagine the album as the soundtrack for a walk through rolling hill ranges, taking in the blissful panoramic scenery of England's pasture. And yet, for all the subtleties and tranquil elements, there's still something a little unsettling about the haunting piano melodies and swathes of electronic effervescence, which prevents the record from ever slipping entirely away into the background. Of course, many would dismiss Field of Reeds as being rather pretentious and uninteresting, but that would be missing the point of the album entirely. For a band that sounded not too dissimilar to The Fall only a few years ago, Field of Reeds is a stunningly mature, understated set that demonstrates an intricate understanding of complex, pleasingly angular songwriting. Be wary of the aforementioned comparisons to past eccentrics, because Field of Reeds marks the sound of These New Puritans truly coming into their really rather beautiful own. Words by Joe Sherwood
19. The Weeknd - Kiss Land
The Weeknd (Abel Tesfaye to his mum) cites Ridley Scott and John Carpenter as influences on Kiss Land, his first album proper, and certainly the mechanised percussion and electronics that suffuse its ten tracks are redolent of a Blade Runner or an Escape from New York. The songs bear titles like 'Professional', 'Adaptation' and (most on the nose), 'Tears In The Rain', convey a familiar kind of noirish dystopia where the sun is obscured by tower blocks and smog. If that was all the album had to offer, it would be (begrudging, ironic) high fives all round for Tesfaye and his tight-knit cabal of producers- they have done a very good job on that side of things. But the actual nuts and bolts of the songs (mundane things like melody, lyrics and, yes, the singing) ground it in a reality more gruelling than any film. These songs are complex, slow and offer few straightforward hooks. There's the occasional well-chosen sample (Portishead's 'Machine Gun' would've been cited as a forebear anyway, but the Dutch Eurodisco track pilfered for Wanderlust demonstrates a crafty pop sensibility) but it's Tesfaye's voice that carries the album. Rising to a falsetto at moments of unbearable emotional squalor, he suggests the angelic amidst a world ruined by constant one-night stands and drug-initiated bouts of soul searching (these are the other voices on the album, the sludgy distorted ones. Oh, and Drake). There isn't much levity, but there is a lot of misogyny, which can be wearing. Ultimately, though, Tesfaye's unflinching approach makes it worth enduring. A dispatch from a creative mind bombarded by both the unreal and the all-too-real, there are inevitably flaws but they're as important and revealing as the triumphs. Sick, confused, and compelling- in all, an assured debut. Words by Allan Johnstone