When a discussion about ‘What was the best game of 2015?" stretches through a whole evening in the pub you know that: (a) you need to stop socialising with games journalists, and (b) 2015 has been a corker of a year in videogames.
Does classical music still matter? Of course it does – sample any one of these ten discs and discover why. All of them are available as CDs as well as downloads – the classical CD shop may be almost extinct, but the physical product refuses to die.
My Album of the Year is The Thompson Fields, a stunningly beautiful collection of eight new pieces by the acclaimed composer, arranger and bandleader, Maria Schneider. It's one of those incredibly rare albums in which every element – breathtaking textural detail, gorgeous melodies, transfixing solos and the sheer expressivity of the playing – comes together in a kind of magical alignment.
They say there are no second acts, but in the world of contemporary dad rock there’s little else. This year Squeeze became the latest band to re-form, not in quite the original line-up, but in an incarnation which patched up previous cracks between its two front men. The result was a cheerful tour and an enlightening album. I caught the live show at the Royal Albert Hall, where the old songs inevitably fared better than the less familiar new ones. In their studio incarnation, the robust new songs have the potential to sink into the marrow.
2015 was a phenomenal year for new music. As such, choosing just one album seems an arduous if not impossible task. But Christmas is, as we know, a time where arduous tasks are very much the order of the day, as we inconvenience ourselves routinely and with at least the appearance of good grace.
The year has seen great albums from the fringes – in English folk, Leveret’s beautiful instrumental debut New Anything, or Stick in the Wheel’s visceral, political, London stew of an album, From Here, and Sam Lee’s assured, exploratory second album, Fade in Time. In Jazz, there was the likes of Partikel’s String Theory on Whirlwind Recordings, and in World music, Songhoy Blues’ debut.
There's a line of argument – and a fairly convincing one – that this is the decade that pop culture lost its imagination. Right now the cinemas are booked out with the latest sequel to a 38-year-old movie franchise, my Twitter feed is collectively losing its shit to a new Twin Peaks trailer and a Stone Roses reunion is headlining half of next year's festivals. We haven't even been bothered to come up with a name for this decade, although when our children's children run nostalgic compilation shows dedicated to the "twen-teens" I will happily take the credit.
Bar-debating recently, I argued that Jamie xx wasn’t a full crossover success, more a fringe thing. The next day I heard his gorgeous tune “Loud Places” playing as incidental music on the Strictly Come Dancing spin-off programme It Takes Two. So I was wrong. I am pleased to be. This album deserves the widest exposure possible. The self-effacing producer has created a rich, wide-ranging smörgåsbord that dips into rave culture’s 27-year electronic journey without ever predictably replicating club styles or falling into pastiche.
You don’t have to take it from me. “How Much a Dollar Cost” is Barack Obama’s favourite song of this year. The album also has 11 Grammy nominations, more than any other. But the unanimous praise for Kendrick Lamar’s third studio album and its sprawling kaleidoscope of voices and styles doesn’t imply a consensus about why it’s a great piece of work.
This has been a truly glorious year for electronica albums. Records by the likes of Arca, Kode9, Jlin, James Place and Rabit showed digital music could still feel like it was writing the future, while others like Altered Natives, The Orb, Syracuse and Levon Vincent made the decades-old templates of house, techno and chillout still feel as fresh as you like, and one-offs like King Midas Sound & Fennesz simply occupied their own unique emotional space. And it's into that final category that the second album by KRTS, AKA Kurtis Hairston, falls.