Andrew’s Top 8 Of 2015


It’s December again, and the world is just as fucked as ever. Possibly slightly more, possibly slightly less. I guess it’s easy to lose track of these things without an ordered list to tell you what to think. Having been precariously perched on the 2015 bar stool for quite some time now, we’ll soon be staring down the menacing barrel of 2016. So how best to celebrate yet another successful orbit around the Sun? 

We thought about publishing an objectively correct ranking of the year’s best records. But sadly we couldn’t get hold of any doof doof scientists to determine what the metrics should be. Instead, we’ve fallen back on our Top 8 Whatevers. You know the score – our trusted team of R$N scribes pitch in with lists of music they’ve enjoyed, petty grievances they want to air, obscure interests they want to highlight. Basically whatever’s on their mind. Let’s do this. Here's Andrew's Top 8 of 2015.


Andrew Weatherall Festival "Convenanza" hit it on all fronts this year. The crew that go along and swamp the beautiful place are the greatest BRITS ABROAD, and VoX LoW were the best live debut act I've seen for decades.


Next year's kale. Uglier than an editor's sweater crossed with a battered Sputnik, but frittered up will be high on the veg-enda in 2016. Expect cafes in Shoreditch next.


Swamping all the year end polls with grace & humility. Gave away all his Cotton Bud Edits to raise money for "charidee", and just that rare thing these days that makes organic chug speak volumes. Genuine human bean, with some rather odd friends.


Not tried it mesel, but what's good for the swine is good for the gander. Getting a lardon now.



Lest we forget. Mighty King reduced to social media babble. For an hour. Expect news of some plastic surgeon taking on a polar bear in 2016. Good luck with that, you crazy small penised, large pistolled Patriot.


Rid of the sweating baggage of Stringfellow wannabe, Gillian ruled the roosters on the best album they did done since Technique. Made my year.


Super Hans going clean and Nutribulleted. For an hour. Not laughed my onesie off for more than this all year. And he is still fit, and I DEFFO WOULD.


HE'S MAGIC, YOU KNOW-OH! Football has never looked so sublime. He's one of ours, COYB!