Christopher Nosnibor
I haven’t done and won’t be doing any best-of or top-whatever lists this year: I tend not to anyway, for a number of reasons, a leading one being that social media is absolutely saturated with end of year lists. I mean, by the first week in December I was absolutely fucking sick of them – and there was still a fair chunk of year left. I have enough submissions in my inbox to review 2023 releases to the middle of 2025. Why would I want to add to this relentless noise? Another factor is that having reviewed maybe three-hundred albums this year, I honestly can’t remember what was this year or what was last, and when it comes to what I’ve been listening to by way of entertainment, when it was released isn’t something I consider: I’m still catching up with or otherwise processing albums from three or four years ago, meaning that they still feel new to me – and I don’t use Spotify or any other streaming service to tell me. I don’t feel the need to revisit the Spotify / streaming debate here. The simple fact of the matter is that I don’t do it. Ultimately, then, I don’t see the point in adding to the infinite lists, and if anyone really is that desperate to know what I recommend from the last twelve months, take a scan back over the reviews from the last year: I rarely cover anything I don’t consider to have any merit, and even where I’m not necessarily recommending a release, if I write about it, it means I feel it’s worthy of discussion and probably hearing at least once.
Alongside all of the countless ‘top albums of 2024’ lists, there are various ‘top gigs’ things in circulation, but due to personal circumstances, I’ve attended a very low number of live events for the second consecutive year. As such, I don’t feel entirely qualified to present such a list. Moreover, the handful of gigs I’ve attended, with perhaps a couple of exceptions, haven’t featured ‘name’ bands, meaning that any list I might compile might meet with the same kind of blank expressions and shrugs I get when my work colleagues and relatives ask who I’m going to see on the comparatively rare occasions I do go out.
As a brief aside, music is perhaps the thing I’m least comfortable discussing in my dayjob, to the extent that I rarely disclose that outside my dayjob I review music, because invariably, they’ll ask what I’m into and even if I try to focus on artists wo are better known within my own sphere of reference, they’ll mist over in an instant. I love The Cure, but the fact that the majority think they’re alternative reminds me of where I sit, and where the music I cover sits, in relation to the rest of the world beyond my microcosmic focus.
But I do feel that a theme, a message, has emerged across the live reviews I have written this year, and it’s one that’s probably worth making the focus of my reflection on the last twelve months.
I used to spend a lot of time in Leeds, attending shows at The Brudenell, Boom, Key Club, as well as the O2, but now travel is not currently an option, at least more than a couple of times a year, I’ve been tied to local gigs – by which I mean the three (and now currently two – more of which shortly) venues in York which are around fifteen minutes from my house. This means I’ve simultaneously been more selective, but at the same time taken punts based on proximity and cost. This limitation has meant that I’ve been dependent on grassroots venues for my live music kicks. I’ve not really seen any ‘big’ bands this year, but I have seen no shortage of amazing bands this year. Most have been free or under a tenner, and the venues have been selling quality regional beers at decent prices. Had I not been able to do this, I can’t conceive the state I’d be in by now. I realise I’m fortunate to have three 100-300 capacity venues within walking distance, but it’s never been more apparent that supporting local music and grassroots venues is vital on so many levels. I don’t want to preach, but I’m going to, simply because. Every additional ticket sold, every pint that puts money over the bar helps. It helps venues, it helps bands, it helps communities, and it helps individuals by providing the spaces that boost mental health.
I learned at relatively short notice that one of the three York venues – The Vaults – would close in December, the freeholder having decided to sell it to a developer for (obviously) considerably more than they paid for it, with a view to it being converted to three homes – presumably shitty flats, like nearly every other properly sold in York, which becomes either luxury flats, student accommodation, or a hotel. I also learned that CAMRA had initiated an application for it to be granted the status of an Asset of Community Value. I submitted a document in support of this – admittedly with no expectations – point out (as others also did), that while the freeholder and purchaser claimed there were around 40 live music venues in the city, that there is a significant distinction between a pub that has live music in the form of acoustic solo artists or duos or covers bands, and a dedicated venue which hosts original bands, local, regional, and even international, and that at a time when such venues are disappearing at an alarming rate, a venue that is not unviable, but being sold due to capitalist greed should be preserved at all costs. Amazingly, the council agreed. Of course, this is only the first step: there’s a lot of shit to unravel, since the venue has closed, the sale had already reached completion, and the purchaser is now saddled with a building they can’t convert, but we have secured the building for its current purpose.
My point here is that while most end-of-year gig lists are solid with academy and arena bands, there is a world beyond these cavernous, impersonal spaces. Most of the bands who play the little venues won’t progress to the major leagues, but so what? There is a unique thrill to being so close to the band you can see the chords they’re playing, the sweat breaking, the spittle flying. Small things also matter, like going to the bar and still being no further than thirty feet from the stage, going for a pee and barely missing a verse and being able to hear every second while you’re out of the room. Being able to find your mates without spending ages looking for them, calling and texting. Being able to get a decent drink – often in a proper glass – for a fiver or even less, and with no queues. Being recognised by other gig-goers, and the bar staff.
There is so much more to gig-going than the bands alone, but even if we just focus on the bands: a band you’ll pay, say, £50 to see in a big venue won’t by default be ten times better than a band you’ll see for a fiver a grass-roots venue, and nor is it likely the experience will be ten times better.
It’s been interesting to note that hits for reviews of relative unknowns are significantly greater, on average, than for established acts. I can only conclude that it’s because, having received little to no press, this early exposure is being circulated and generating the buzz they need. A couple of positive press quotes are often vital for press releases, future gigs, and even radio play. Where do those quotes come from if the press only show up at academy and arena gigs? I’m not competing with The Quietus or The Guardian or whoever. I’m not competing with anyone. I may sometimes wish I received the promos they did, and I may wish I received more physical advance copies than I do, but I get that the further down the ladder your publication is, and the more obscure the bands covered, the less money there is for promotional largesse. I still refuse to touch anything that’s only on Spotify, though.
I’ve seen arguments that people pay to hear bands – and songs – they know, hence the appeal of tribute acts. But there’s a flaw to this logic, in that song has to be heard for the first time. Even the suckers who forked out megabucks for Oasis in 2025 weren’t born knowing every Oasis song (although being so derivative, it maybe feels as if they did). But then, these are likely the same crets who are convinced there’s been no decent new music in the last twenty years. So what are their kids going to do for music? Listen to Oasis as well, because that was the end of the line? Do they really think music somehow stopped when they hit 30?
I’ve been going to ‘little’ gigs since I was about 14, over thirty years ago, and have discovered so many bands, as well as seeing longstanding favourites, in rooms with a capacity of a hundred or so, from Future of the Left to These Animal Men, Rosa Mota, S*M*A*S*H to The March Violets, and Wayne Hussey of The Mission; hell, I’ve seen The Young Gods in a 250-capacity space that was only half-full, The Fall, The Psychedelic Furs… these are just a few which spring to my tired mind.
This is more of a ramble than a review, but for this I make no apology. I suppose, ultimately, what I’ve learned from what has been, on many levels, a crap year, there’s a real need to appreciate, and utilise, these places on your doorstep, and to spend time listening to acts with which you’re unfamiliar. They may not have immediate appeal, but may offer something different, but also have the potential to offer something lifechanging, or, at the very least, life-enhancing. I have certainly never been more grateful for the new, off-the-beaten track acts I’ve encountered, and the grassroots venues near me. And my reflection on 2024 is that we need more of this in 2025.
As a final point, having spent more time at home and studiously working on reviews, Aural Aggravation’s readership has grown significantly in the last 12 months.
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Sites are often cagey about their readership, and while I appreciate that Aural Aggravation is nowhere near world domination status, it has developed a readership. 2024 has seen that readership reach new peaks, and for this, I would like to say ‘thank you’ to everyone who has read even a single article on here in the last year. As unconcerned as I am about readership, and all the rest, this does feel like an achievement. And again, you can expect more of the same in 2025.
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