Many thanks to the writers at the Bandcamp Daily, Heavy Blog is Heavy, and Can This Even Be Called Music? for their recommendations. This list would not be possible without them.

Don’t worry, there’s a TL;DR at the bottom.

10. Sadness – Rain chamber

(Blackgaze, Tumblr girl bait)
Bandcamp | Deezer | iTunes | Spotify

He slammed the door shut behind him. Down fell a drop of water right onto his eyelid, dislodged by the disruption. Just his luck. It drizzled, still, but that was the least of his concerns at the moment. Away he strolled, heading for the woods, angry stomps crunching into puddles of muddied water the carcasses of fallen leaves. No leaf nor branch was spared the brunt of his emotions. He trudged on in, and while the dense canopy overhead provided some protection from the downpour, some streams seeped through as the rain picked up its pace. He let the drops bounce off his coat, cover his being, wash away the tears. He considered them a deserved punishment, of sorts, for his current state, because of course someone like him didn’t deserve to be happy.

Presently he came to the edge of a clearing, his thinking space. Sunbeams beckoned him through the rain, illuminating the garden magically. It consisted of a stone bench, facing the typically more tranquil little pond he liked to sit by. Out into the open he stepped, onto the previously proud blades of grass now flattened by the storm’s furor. He had decided to embrace the pelting. A puddle of water had pooled on the bench’s seat, and even he wasn’t masochistic enough to put himself through that. So, there he stood at the edge of the pond, shivering in the cold, hands in his pockets, rain-diluted tears on his lips, staring at his unendingly fragmented reflection in the water.

And there, he began to laugh. It was a hearty one. He laughed a laugh of acceptance, a laugh of defiance. The rain spattered and the wind battered, but still he laughed. Around the clearing he danced, hopping around like a child carefree, arms outstretched, reaching for the sky as it continued its relentless onslaught, reaching for the pillars of light that fell around him. Still the rain poured, and still he laughed. He had found happiness.

9. Plebeian Grandstand – Rien ne suffit

(Avant-garde black metal, nice chill tunes to wake up to on a Sunday morning)
Bandcamp | Deezer | iTunes | Spotify

The mere mention of Batman in a music review reads like the beginning of a meme, but seriously, imagine. Imagine yourself in his shoes, amidst the backdrop of a corrupt Gotham, a haven for the evil, threatened by the fallout of its impending implosion. Imagine being driven to murder, out of necessity, out of frustration, for what choice do you have when faced with the hordes of vermin nibbling at your feet? Imagine The Dark Knight, but raw, with rage and with gore, with spatters of liquified skulls dripping from the walls, every punch punctuated with agitation, every kick with desperation. Yet the horde never ends: Around every corner lurks psychopaths in Payday masks; with every step rings the screams of the pained and helpless. You burst down the door, and rush up the stairs, but then come the loud blasts that precede the haunting silence, and the realisation that you’re too late. You can tear the perpetrators apart like ragdolls, paint the walls red with their scalps, but what purpose does it serve but violent catharsis? More will emerge from the gutters to take their places. There is no hope for Gotham, no end to the waves of depravity. There is no victory.

But you need not imagine when Rien ne suffit tells that story. This is utter, unfiltered insanity, the Heath Ledger’s Joker of extreme metal, a soundtrack for the blackened depths of a mind out of reach. You will not find anything else quite like it.

8. Israel & New Breed – Project LA: Alive in Los Angeles

(Gospel)
iTunes | Spotify

The much-anticipated, long-overdue return of one of gospel’s foremost groups delivers everything you’d expect an Israel & New Breed record to: lush harmonies, layers of instrumentation, and inventive interpretations of popular worship songs. The lyrics are well-written, the vocals delivered phenomenally, every track dense with little details to pick up on.

For me, Project LA lacks a little bit of the palpable joy that was in its predecessors, and that’s fine. For others, perhaps it’s even a virtue, considering the times we’re in. Some moments feel more like the obligatory praise and worship for after the praise and worship, for when you’re clapping along awkwardly, suddenly very aware of the fact you’ve just cried and that you rather badly need a tissue. On the other hand, the vast majority of it feels like adding to a choir of desperation, like participating in the cathartic release of pandemic-induced spiritual frustration, and that elevates Project LA to its own realm of special.

7. WVC Jazz – Purnama

(Contemporary jazz, lagu jiwang 😭)
Bandcamp | official website (mail-order)

From a spinning dust-specked record in a quaint Chinatown antique store rises the sound of decades past, as you gaze longingly out the open lattice window—surrounded by precariously-stacked rows of intricately-carved furniture, bittersweet wafts of sawdust and rosewood permeating the air—at the Moon in all its brilliant glory. It’s a magical scene, a romantic soundscape deftly-woven from the threads of musical influences strung all across Malaysia, unified by silky-smooth musicianship, resulting in the cohesive fabric of Purnama.

Perhaps it’s that generous sonic blend of cultures, in addition to the album’s subtly retro vibe, but listening to Purnama makes me nostalgic for a time I never experienced, for a time of true equality, harmony, and unity (hang on to your “May 13”s and just let me fantasise). On the local political front, it’s been a year of disappointment after disappointment, capped by catastrophic failure, another year of desperate prayer for change that hasn’t come. Will it ever? I’m tired of being shunned by the land I love, tired of being stolen from by those with the onus to serve. To me, Purnama is a symbol of what could be and what should be: a perfect melody of threads intertwined, equal in recognition, harmonic in combination, and united in the face of all repeated attempts at abrasion. It’s a symbol of the nation we’ve been preached to uphold, only to be let down by those in the pulpit. Purnama is the pretty pictures in our Pendidikan Moral textbooks, and I’m not quite ready to let that go, however naive it may be, however depressing things have become. I am tired, and maybe you are too. But hold on to that hope, be it this record or a symbol of your own. Don’t let the threads fray.

Uhhh, anyway, this album’s not bad.

6. BRUIT ≤ – The machine is burning and now everyone knows it could happen again

(Post-rock)
Bandcamp

Pandemics, climate change, and the cries of pain from a world torn asunder. You toss the newspaper back on its stack, and resume your commute down the crowded sidewalk. To be reminded of how small one is, in the grand scheme of things, and how little one’s actions truly matter, is never a pleasant experience. But such is the nature of the world we’ve inherited, the world you now walk through, amid hollering newsboys in newsie caps vying for attention with their ominous headlines, under colossal columns of industrial smog holding up the sky like pillars by Atlas’ side, past the open gates of greyscale industrial complexes which your fellow pedestrians filter through systematically, just serial numbers down the branches of a conveyor belt. You worry for the future you’ll be passing down, for the children stomping in puddles, for the cats overlooking their domains, for what will become of those newsboys, and then you arrive at your branch of the conveyor belt.

Pandemics, climate change, and the cries of pain from a world torn asunder. You put your phone back into your pocket, and resume your commute down the crowded sidewalk, past jam-packed junctions and flashing traffic lights, under towering skyscrapers wrapped in corporate-sponsored billboards. You think about the past, and what life must’ve been like, and about the monuments to society’s successes and failures around you. You worry for the future you’ll be passing down—to your children, now in school—just as you arrive at the foot of another skyscraper, and it ignites the little flame inside you again, just as it was beginning to falter. You walk into your branch of the conveyor belt.

5. Atvm – Famine, Putrid and Fucking Endless

(Progressive death metal, incoherent growling)
Bandcamp | Deezer | iTunes | Spotify

This might just end up becoming my gateway to death metal, the same way Asunojokei’s Awakening—my current favourite of all time—was my gateway to black metal, and subsequently, metal as a whole. They share multiple parallels: Both are debut LPs unafraid to incorporate the influences of other musical styles into their respective genres, with well-written melodies that avoid the pitfall of metal monotony by introducing sufficient variety. Both tread the line between accessible and inaccessible with great balance. Should a non-metalhead ask me to recommend an extreme album, these two would be the first I turn to.

“Danceable” is not typically a word used to describe metal, but Atvm somehow achieve that. All 56 minutes are jam-packed with riffs to tap your feet and nod your head to, while remaining true to the spirit of the record—thrashy, dirty, and raw. The drumming is a pleasure to analyse, the (occasionally funky!) basslines consistently delightful. It’s power music, the kind you put on just for that extra strut in your step, except you’re stepping about the barren wasteland of a civilisation collapsed, shattered glass crunching under your boots, scattered ashes of dilapidated structures around you. You take a seat on the hood of what once was a car, cigarette between your fingers, and watch as the city slowly burns. The end of the world may be imminent, but at least you’ll have Atvm for company.

4. Syrek – Story

(Progressive metal)
Bandcamp | Deezer | iTunes | Spotify

There’s a something this story evokes the very second it opens with its Bastion-esque narration. It’s the same something I feel first flipping open the cover of a new book, promises of excitement, adventure, or a new world within. It’s, among other things, the desire to be lost, entranced, thoroughly immersed. It’s nostalgic, but more bitter than sweet, like looking back at a childhood long lost, one reflected in the unnamed protagonist of this journey.

And then our story begins, sheer instrumental wizardry wasting no time in sweeping you off your feet. Let Syrek and his star-studded storytelling cast (featuring Bryan Beller, Lalle Larsson, Marco Minnemann, Mohini Dey, etc.) carry you through this expansive journey. Engage in battle a most frightful monster, escape via hot air balloon to soaring heights, evade narrowly the clutches of dangerous castle guards. That something is never lost: Syrek and co. intricately detail our protagonist’s journey through every step, every shred. That sense of adventure remains, however numerous the obstacles, driven by the unrelenting energy only a child can possess.

Every story must come to an end, and this one does fittingly, if rather safely: It’s perfect peaceful-walk-home-during-the-resolution music, perfect let-the-end-credits-roll music, though I would’ve preferred an ending with more grandiloquence, a loquacious conclusion unafraid to embrace this masterpiece’s moments of bombastic yet mostly balanced self-indulgence.

But presently the final page turns, and then the back cover, and you’re left staring blankly at the blurb on this closed book. Perhaps it’ll take up some space on your desk, or go back in the shelf while you gradually recuperate, but in the words of our main character, chances are you’ll soon be going, “Let’s do it again!”

3. Cory Wong & Dirty Loops – Turbo

(Jazz fusion)
Bandcamp | Deezer | iTunes | Spotify

Tastier than the oozing moist interior of a steaming chocolate brownie, flowing with the smoothness of molten vanilla ice cream on crisp, crusted brown. Jonah Nilsson’s vocals are the glistening red cherries on top, and it’s a shame we don’t get more than two now the Dirty Loops are capable of writing a song without the overly poppy lyrics of yore. Follow the Light, the song in question, is a perfect encapsulation of everything this album gets right: The songwriting is slick, funky, and dangerously addictive, the instrumentation lush, detailed, and turbocharged with enthusiasm.

This record doesn’t need to be groundbreaking to be great: It doesn’t evoke as viscerally as some of my other favourites, or drive you to question the meaning of our existence (though it might just achieve that if you’re a musician). But it is the spectacularly-balanced culmination of these incredible talents’ creative capabilities. Turbo captures the essence of dancing alone in your room at 2AM, feet in motion, buds in your ears, lost to the world in music. Turbo is the swagger in your stride, the rhythmic thump of heels on sidewalk, an instant confidence boost of infectious energy. Simply put, it just feels good. This is the epitome of feel-good music, an immersive if relatively brief escape from what’s been another 12 months of endless turbulence.

2. Oliver Leith; Explore Ensemble – Me Hollywood

(Contemporary classical)
Bandcamp

You swirl the drink in your hand, the clink of ice upon ice a solitary conversation partner amidst the chatter. Fingertips absent-mindedly hover over your notifications, more out of a desire to appear at least slightly less pathetic than anything. No calls, no texts, not that you were really anticipating any, anyway, though a handful more women have your number, today.

You slam the glass down, making a little louder of a noise than you expected. Better get home before the parties start. You stumble out the door, past the groups of chatting friends, past the couples holding hands. Everybody has places to be, people to be with—you struggle through the swarming sidewalk—but it’s you against the flow of the crowd, you against the world. Up the small flight of stairs, down the narrow corridor, through the elevator doors.

In despair you turn the faucet. Cold water pelts your face, cold marble on your back, cold tiles under your bottom. Now, finally, begins the sobbing, heavy, breathless, desperate; gulps for respite punctuated by gulps of shower mist. What a figure I am, what a picture this would make. The tears run, warm, and the rain dilutes, washes away, pools below you, gently winds down the indiscernible incline, sticks to its lanes—as you lie there static—to never be seen again, like rinsing a slate clean. A clean slate. There is some beauty in that image, after all. Showers were never truly for physical dirt anyway. You smile.

In bathrobe and bedroom slippers you look out over the city, at the neighbouring towers tall by your shoulders, at the soft orange streams escaping through curtain gaps and open windows, at the speeding streaks of vehicles parallel to snaking queues of headlights. Deciding to somewhat embrace the moment, having already endured its most brutal impact, you resignedly stare at your watch until all three hands tiptoe past 12. Immediately, the city erupts. From even your lofty perch you hear the cheers of revelling neighbours. Fireworks explode in the distance, coating the city in myriad colours, a dazzling sight backed by boundless midnight. You sigh.

1. So Hideous – None but a Pure Heart Can Sing

(Post-black metal, somewhat incoherent screaming)
Bandcamp | Deezer | iTunes | Spotify

Do you feel better after a scream?

Writing about what a terrible year 2021 was is probably the most tired trope in music journalism by this point, but I’m going to do it anyway.

I tried to tell a story. I tried to capture, in narrative and imagery, just what exactly this album means to me, desperately wanting to do it justice. “What a year for music it’s been!” is probably the second-most tired trope in music journalism by this point, but despite the abundance of outstanding artistry that was released over the past 12 months, none captivated me quite as deeply as None but a Pure Heart Can Sing. It is, cheesy as this will sound, art that encapsulates life: devastatingly beautiful, beautifully chaotic.

Occasionally I think of things. My bed. The door. My chair. The fan. The wall. The list changes from time to time, place to place. Five things you can see, four things you can touch: It’s always much harder than it really should be. But when I arrive at the three, it’s this album that brings me solace, this album I need not look around for. It is the heavy exhale, the slight shudder of a dam cracking at the seams. It fills the space, occupies the silence, embraces the angst, anxiety, the arbitrary inside me, then fights fire with fire.

It is like fire. Beautifully it flickers and dances, appealing to the eye, perilous to the hand. It is the tongues of flame in a fireplace, emanating warmth and comfort to all in its presence. It is the flame of a final deathbed, that sways slow but consumes fast. It is the wave goodbye as Charon undocks his boat, a rite of passage for both passenger and those left on the harbour. And then it is the trail of ripples in their wake, as the boat wanders off into the horizon. It is the ashes of the fireplace, to be swept away and forgotten, or of remembrance, to be treasured, sealed away, and gazed upon with rose-tinted glasses.

It is the tears gone splat on the harbour concrete. Or the terminal floor. Or the hospital bed. Or your pillow. It’s hard to tell, turmoil of the heart is rarely specific. It’s hardest to see where you’re going from deep within the eye of the storm. It is the memory of things, things lost and found. Things attached to memories, memories attached to five things you can touch, four things you can see… And then it is grounding, like suddenly being aware of the tears you’ve shed—and the stares, or the glares, or the soft, sympathetic glances—unless they were on your pillow, in which case you’re probably asleep.

I tried to tell a story, but the greatest art transcends description. It was never truly about the five, the four, or the three, to the one. It’s never about the physical, or what is tangible, or what is objective. It is anything you want it to be, and None but a Pure Heart Can Sing was everything I needed it to be.

It is the shocked, still silence that comes after a scream. And then it is the birds that resume chirping after.

Top 20

Updated 27th July 2022

Like my taste? View my entire collection in a Spotify playlist here.