It’s December 29th, a Monday in the middle of the interregnum between Christmas and the new year, between work and… work. Breaks don’t come often enough these days, and when they do, I struggle to honour them properly in ways that actually restore me. This year’s break may just be long enough to make a difference though, between the festivities falling mid-week and a generous employer who comped the balance of the entire two weeks.

It has been a year of incredible, enormous change for me. I remember “announcing” this in last year’s reflection but could not have imagined the half of it.

For the first time in over a decade, I am working “full time” again. This has taken some getting used to — it’s like a muscle I hadn’t exercised in a long time, and the transition often left me quite “sore.” That said, if you know me at all you already know that it would take a very special job for me to give up my freelance consulting work and its freedoms. I’m happy to report that I seem to have found something so unusual and challenging that I felt happy to take it on, fully and completely. I’m working at the Ignatius Jesuit Centre, a 600-acre (240-hectare) farm just North of Guelph, no more than 6 minutes from my house by car. The land has been owned by the Jesuits, a 485-year-old Catholic religious order, for over a hundred years. Originally bought to host the novitiate for “Upper” (English) Canada, it later transitioned to being an Ignatian retreat centre, a L’Arche-style intentional farming community, an organic/regenerative community farm, and a nature conservation area with over 15km of publicly accessible trails.

Why me and why here, you may ask. Well, as religious orders undergo generational and financial changes, their properties often have to be re-imagined, both for reasons of financial sustainability and purpose. I had joined the community board of directors on a volunteer basis in 2024 and — following a series of challenging discoveries and necessary decisions in early 2025 — suddenly found myself not only employed but also leading the organization through a monumental change program. It has been an extraordinary experience so far. I’ve always known that I have many talents but have rarely been in a position to bring so many of them fruitfully into my work at the same time. Every day I work on complicated and fascinating things that are new to me — from planning & development to regenerative farming to nonprofit fundraising to theology. The overall goal is to find financially sustainable ways forward for the property and its associated operations, to keep it from being sold and becoming another subdivision.

It may be too early to claim that I somehow “stumbled” into my purpose here (and I’m keenly aware of how middle-aged white men like to conceal their privilege by claiming that things just happened to them), but it feels like important work, locally and for the world. The intention is to build an “eco campus” of sorts that leans into the centre’s existing strengths in alternative farming and farmer training; conservation and restoration work; and spirituality, in order to provide as many opportunities as possible for (re)learning how to have a respectful, reciprocal and hopeful relationship with the natural world. I call this my “Latourian project” in memory of the French anthropologist and philosopher so important to my thinking in the past decade, who spent the last decades of his life working on the central challenge of our time, the environmental/climate polycrisis. The gift we are stewarding here is the land, a strikingly beautiful and large peri-urban “park” full of opportunities for quiet contemplation, purposeful work and transformational learning. Land, as both Indigenous and Catholic teachings now agree, is creation as gift — not a gift to just (this) one generation, but to all generations to come. As such, it should not be a commodity to exploit but rather treated lightly, and with respect. In fact, an entire new ontology will be required of us humans — a way of seeing the world not as separate from us, but to see ourselves as part of it, and it as an essential part of us. Against the odds and the prevailing economic/social system, my team and I are trying to find our way by following this lofty, contrarian aspiration. My work, in many ways, is to act as a translator, someone who speaks fluent “Capitalism” and also sees how things really ought to be, someone to shoulder some of the burden of connecting the one to the other and keeping them connected.

If at the end of last year I had questions about what exactly I was doing in Guelph, now I know. Naturally, my “Guelph community” has also expanded as a result of my work. I’ve met many really wonderful people and am almost starting to feel like I’m part of something bigger, not just a Toronto expat who somehow landed in Guelph. I say “almost” because it’s clearly a process, and because wherever I go, there I still am.

If you’re curious to come and visit, let me know. We can go for a walk together, have a meal. If you’re coming from further afield, I have a guest room or two in my house. Come and stay!

With that, on to the music!

Wishing you all good things in 2026,

Each year, there are many “late arrivals” to the long list of candidate “best new albums.” I discover them sometime in December, usually courtesy of the good work of journalists (and random Redditors) publishing “best of the year” lists. As you might imagine, everything musical piques my interest, even if only fleetingly. What have I overlooked? What did I not know about? What should I have heard earlier in the year when it first came out? Each of my holiday blog posts has a smattering of such late discoveries. Sometimes, they don’t entirely stand the test of time. And while I stand by previous years’ posts and what I say in them, I notice that some of the older recommendations have not remained in rotation. This year I’ve decided to write substantial notes only about those albums that have not only emotionally resonated but also stayed with me, calling to me for repeat listening during the year. I will list other things I think you should hear separately at the end, without any commentary.

As musical years go, I couldn’t quite find a “theme” for 2025. An entire industry can never be said to be treading water, of course, but it’s clear that in the post-Covid and Big Streaming era, there are multiple concurrent dynamics at play that virtually guarantee an ever-greater degree of fragmentation. Simultaneously, there’s never been more good music available, so much of which you’ll never get to hear. (Catching up is a fantasy.) “Niche” isn’t the exception anymore, it’s everything now. The mix of algorithmic curation, impossibly expensive concert tickets, disappearing smaller venues, lack of third spaces and the associated disappearance of public sociality involving music, cultural polarization — all of these factors contribute to situations where it’s entirely feasible to meet a culturally literate, educated person who’s never actually heard of Sabrina Carpenter but passionately hypes up their local free jazz ensemble or has algorithmically “discovered” an artist on social media who by most standards never really deserved to be discovered in the first place. There really is no mainstream anymore. Despite the “traditional” media’s best efforts, there are very few of us who still have both curation and “stretching ourselves” on our radar.

I’ve long thought that music ought to be taken seriously as an endeavour — not just making it but also listening to it. To grow, we need to stretch ourselves, and algorithmic curation aims for the opposite of that. A typical algorithmically generated playlist strives towards the mid-point of sameness, and so everything it presents ultimately becomes a stream of pap. Music found like this doesn’t want to be listened to, it’s seeking to be background entertainment, a mood-setting prop, “vibes.” Best to resist the urge to float atop a stream of sameness and expose yourself to things that actually demand your attention. Oddly, you do this for you, not the music.

Here are the year’s new albums that have stayed with me from first listen and been playing over and over again. Notably, it’s nearly an all-women line-up this year…

Alison Krauss & Union Station — Arcadia: This was a very welcome return and came delightfully early in a “slow” musical year (at least as far as my preferences and interests are concerned). Krauss and Union Station always had a certain dynamic together that she never quite managed to find in any other musical context (her solo work ran the risk of cheerfully veering into a kind of soft “country lite” while her two records with Robert Plant were critically acclaimed, yet I always felt that her clean, light voice seemed like a curious fit with Plant’s). Union Station manages to frame her flawless bluegrass soprano perfectly, giving it a context that embeds her fragility in something earthy, connected to the countryside, to American myth and folklore. It may also be a matter of songwriting: this context is where Krauss receives the best songs, material presumably custom-written for her voice and this band. My favourite track is “The Wrong Way,” a sad-but-hopeful bluegrass ballad of profound beauty, beautifully sung, played and recorded. I quite like Russell Moore’s voice — he’s the newly added “other” lead singer in Union Station, replacing Dan Tyminski who has mostly moved on to pursue a solo career. Arcadia is proof positive that there’s much life left yet in American acoustic roots music, and not just from the margins (although this can be great if you know where to look).

Big Thief — Double Infinity: I think this is absolutely in the “top three” of my favourite albums of the year, if I were to rank them (which I won’t). This band had always seemed interesting to me in some sense, but the on-the-ground reality of actually listening to their music was sometimes ruined by their insistence on sticking to a somewhat limited sonic palette defined by “folk-based alternative Americana.” It was always clear that Adrienne Lenker is a gifted lyricist and vocalist, but I’d felt that their sound wasn’t the ideal vehicle for it. I know several people who love this band fiercely, but I couldn’t quite get there until now. Double Infinity’s expansive, slightly more experimental sound departs from the mould (the narrative is that their long-time bass player left the band so they invited various studio musicians to collaborate on this album) and immediately makes for engaging listening. Suddenly, for me, the songs are properly served by the music, qualitatively aligning and providing suitable context for each other. My favourite track is “Words,” a swirling, dancing wonder of a song that sounds like it should have been on Emmylou Harris’ seminal, Daniel Lanois produced Wrecking Ball (Lenker’s voice occasionally seems to channel Harris too, in its determined, slightly raspy, steely, bell-like clarity). Every track is distinct, a lovely self-contained piece of music, yet the songs bleed into each other, making for a beautiful album listen. Truly an outstanding record — proof, perhaps, that unexpected constraints (the departing bassist) can bring about beautiful results. I don’t really know very much about the people in Big Thief, but I hope they’re very proud of what they accomplished here.

Bon Iver — Sable, Fable: This one’s a bit tricky and almost didn’t make the cut here. It’s undoubtedly very good, but I don’t love all of it. For context, I’ve been thoroughly on board with the evolution of Bon Iver’s sound over the last few years. I think the cutting-edge production work that starts with 22, A Million genuinely introduced something new into “folk rock” (even if it came from Kanye West in some ways). I think the smashing-together of folk/country songwriting with these very contemporary electronic production techniques really paved the way for something new to happen, and we’ve since heard the results in various unexpected places, like Taylor Swift’s Folklore and Low’s final two albums. Sable, Fable is very good, and while I don’t think it’s the best record Justin Vernon has made, it’s carried by three truly special, uniquely wonderful tracks — “Awards Season,” “Speyside” and “Day One.” Each of these belongs in the songbook of timeless country(ish) classics. They are wonderful, strange, complex, moving works, and all the best parts of Vernon’s work are there: lyrics both profound and resistant, leaving more to the imagination than they spell out; the element of time judiciously applied (a good song needs time to unfold); Vernon’s sonorous baritone; the dry, spacious, infinitely multi-layered production that’s deservedly so certain of itself. A musical moment like the unexpected arrival of a steel guitar that frames the lyric “Oh, how everything can change / In such a small time frame / You can be remade / You can live again” in “Awards Season” is so startlingly beautiful that it gives me goosebumps every time I hear it. “Day One” is a mind-bending showcase of how to use dense hip hop production techniques to make one of the most remarkable folk pop ballads I know. Its sheer musicality feels like I’d like to go and live in this song every time I hear it. In a world where songs like these are possible, the others on the same album will almost by default be judged for being mere great songs (which I actually think they are). — I think the album would have benefited from more judicious editing as a sequence. First, there was the Sable EP very late last year. In April, Sable, Fable appeared, preserving the 4-track sequence of the EP and tacking on 9 more songs. My sense is that a “deluxe redux” version with different sequencing would easily make this Bon Iver’s second-greatest album. So maybe it’s a question of making a playlist…

Flora Hibberd — Swirl: Flora Hibberd, a British singer-songwriter who lives in France and recorded this album in Wisconsin, has listened to all the cool music, clearly. And instead of producing an encyclopaedic pastiche, she’s somehow integrated everything she learned and made an album whose songs sound familiar but are in fact completely new — and brilliant. Her voice, a clear, comfortable, powerful, cool alto, reminds me of Chrissie Hynde or Stereolab’s Laetitia Sadier. Her enunciation is crisp and exacting, making her finely crafted lyrics easy to pick out. Lines like “There is a form I haven’t discovered / it doesn’t appear to those who go searching / So I sit back and try to imagine nothing” and “I will sit in the gathering gloom next to you until it all comes true” from “Every Incident has Left Its Mark” are poetically flawless, and once you’ve heard the fierce guitar workout in the last minute of the same piece, you know you’ve just heard a perfect song. There is something Beatles-like in this music: it’s incredibly self-assured, certain that these are great songs, and delivering them with the exact sonic containers they deserve. I think Hibberd is a truly unique new voice. You should make a point of hearing this album.

Ganavya — Nilam: I don’t feel particularly well equipped to offer technical listening notes about this. Ganavya is a New York born Tamil singer-songwriter, thoroughly trained in Indian classical music. Her music gracefully straddles various genres — “world music,” Indian classical, folk, “new age” (not so much as genre but as use case), maybe jazz. Its base temperament is calm yet it often builds to beautiful intensities. There is a kindship here with an album I wrote about last year — Arooj Aftab’s Night Reign. Apart from sharing at least one studio musician, the connection is more in what it’s trying to accomplish: a successful, respectful, non-appropriative fusion of Indian classical music with Western folk sensibilities. It does this exceedingly well. There is another type of musical genealogy here that may have gotten lost in the generational switch — this type of fusion has been attempted before, sometimes with strikingly similar results: both Sheila Chandra and Susheela Raman, British singer-songwriters with origins in the Indian subcontinent, have mined the same seam. Nilam has been a go-to “reset” album for me this year. At the risk of offering a truly hackneyed analogy, giving it a thorough listen is a bit like doing for a walk or doing twenty minutes of breathing exercises. You may not think you need Ganavya, and then you discover that you actually did.

Lorde — Virgin: Lorde, whom I’ve written about here many times before, remains an especially wonderful songwriter and, particularly, lyricist. On Virgin, she reconnects with the musical style she is most typically associated with, a kind of electronic alt-pop. These songs aren’t the big, happy, disco numbers of a Dua Lipa or Sabrina Carpenter. They are more serious than that, darker, cleverer in many ways. This album reads like the diary of a pop star who is actually an ambitious rocker/poet in disguise. There’s always something alternative about Lorde, something slightly dangerous and unstable, something anxious and ambitious and desirous that strives to transcend the here and now. In the way Lorde represents herself on social media or videos, there’s always a slight sheen of… I was going to say a “lawlessness,” but that’s not quite right. It’s an unpredictability, a deliberate tension between the opacity of someone immensely famous we can never really know, and the persistent sense that she is trying to connect with us by sharing her fears, anxieties, brokenness, darkness. A song like “Clearblue” (“I’m scared to let you see into the whole machine, leave it all on the field / Your metal detector hits my precious treasure/ I’m nobody’s daughter / Yeah, baby, I’m free, I’m free”) can leave you stunned, moved by someone else’s strange, intimate confession that you don’t remember asking for — but something has shifted and now you’ve connected to a vulnerability deep within yourself while dancing in your kitchen.

Oklou — Choke Enough: “Music, but just the good bits,” as one commentator puts it. Oklou, actual name Marylou Mayniel, is a French alt-pop singer, songwriter and producer. She operates in a realm of beautiful, abstract, sensuous music that is, in many ways, quite singular. Maybe not completely so — it has a kinship with the music of Enya, Kate Bush, FKA twigs and the most ethereal, fleeting moments of vocal trance. I was (am) completely in love with Oklou’s first album (Galore, supposedly a “mixtape,” whatever that means — I’ve never understood why we need that particular category of disavowal). Oklou’s work always projects a sense of never-quite-there-ness, that it’s always about to break out, to explode. And I mean that both in a musical sense, and in the way one thinks of artists about to “hit it big.” I’m not sure Oklou will ever get there, nor can I quite imagine that she wants to. But the pervasive sense of “nearly there” is pivotal for her music, somehow. That said, I think “Harvest Sky” (with Underscores) and “Viscus” (with FKA twigs) are precious gems of musicality. “Harvest Sky” is oddly pagan and muscular, bursting at its own gentle constraints, sounding like a massive drop is always about to arrive, and without a doubt one of the most effective pieces of music I’ve heard this year.

Rosalía — LUX: Many critics called this the year’s best album, and it absolutely is. Nothing else really comes close. Rosalía, the Spanish avant garde pop star who has already made flamenco and reggaeton into higher art, here takes on exploring our relationship with “the vertical.” The proud lineage is Björk’s maximalist art pop, music entirely on its own experimental track, and Björk herself appears in “Berghain,” the track that appeared first, in a short but strangely symbolic and pivotal feature. LUX is in essence a pop album, but with atypical subject matter: Rosalía spent a year or two reading hagiographies (biographies of saints) and let herself be inspired by historical holy women who themselves combined verticality and creativity, such as Hildegard von Bingen or Clare of Assisi. (It seems deeply spiritual; however, be warned: don’t expect piety here.) There’s been much talk about the thirteen languages Rosalía sings in here, and the fact that she recorded parts of it with the London Symphony Orchestra. And yet, my immediate response was that this is a pop album first and foremost, not symphony or opera, although clearly she was aiming for an expansive, transcendent sound palette. As she says in an interview, “There has to be another way of making pop,” and this record is proof that there is. (In general, she is an incredibly intelligent, charming, articulate and fearless interviewee; one can learn a lot about creative process by watching longer conversations with her, like this one.) The other essential thing to understand is that she comes from a flamenco vocal tradition, so a lot of the vocal lines here feel indebted to that, whether the ultimate intent is “aria” or “banger.” —  Am I likely to try and decipher each nuance of lyrics in the languages she sings in? No. The music is so strong and satisfying that I don’t think it’s required. It’s also strange that this only came out at the beginning of November; it feels like I’ve been listening to it the whole year. And on every listen, there’s something new: another hook, another classically voiced “banger,” another heart-stoppingly beautiful flamenco or fado turn of phrase. As I’m writing “around” my reception of this I’m realizing my words may not be able to do it justice. Be warned that it rewards a total suspension of disbelief. You cannot allow yourself to judge while you’re listening — because you don’t understand the lyrics, because it’s not “pop” in the comforting sense, because it’s weird. I guarantee that it’ll transform you in some way if you give it half a chance. (I say “half a chance” deliberately because I think it has so many hook-y surfaces, like Velcro, that’ll stick to you anyway — in this sense alone, it is undoubtedly “pop.”) (It’s not really possible to pick out a “favourite” track on a five-star album, but the one I keep going back to is “Mio Christo piangi diamante,” apparently about Saints Francis and Clare of Assisi’s friendship. Rosalía herself calls it an “aria,” one she laboured over for the better part of a year. My favourite bit — which makes me laugh every time — is its irreverent ending, a snippet from a voice note that has her describing the lead-up to the final chord… a split second before we hear the actual chord. It feels like the ultimate moment of “horizontality” after we’ve experienced something that works so hard to be transcendent — hearing the humble voice note reminds us that we can all start somewhere small and connect to something higher.)

Sarah McLachlan — Better Broken: This is the “comeback” album of the year that more or less nobody will hear. And that’s a shame because it’s genuinely brilliant. McLachlan is a sublime songwriter whose craft seems to only have become better with the wisdom of the additional years. She’s in excellent voice here, nuanced, expressive, her trademark flips into her head voice strong as ever. The songs concern themselves with decidedly middle-aged themes (parenting, traumatic breakups, the climate crisis, finding new love…) — and who can blame her? Pretensions of eternal youth are for rockers and people who haven’t been to therapy, and happily, McLachlan falls into neither category. The songs are finely crafted, often elegant, and studiously manage to steer away from “cringe” (as the kids might say, whoever they are…). Among all this beauty, it may be the production that’s the true hero here: as beautifully recorded music goes, this album should get every prize for its sound in 2025. The musicianship and production put me in mind of Peter Gabriel’s work over the years; the work of someone who can afford to take all the time in the world to write, record, think, refine… and to keep going until it’s actually perfect. It’s the kind of music that you, as a critical listener, as someone who thinks of herself as a bit of a hipster, might have to gear yourself up for. I mean, it’s Sarah McLachlan, the woman who founded Lilith Fair, who was incredibly famous in the 90s and who’s obviously no longer de rigueur now. But if you can get over yourself for 45 minutes (and you really should!) you’ll be richly rewarded.

Saya Gray — SAYA: Saya Gray is a multi-talented, Toronto-based musician, songwriter and producer, the kind who — despite being quite young still — very clearly has an enormous wealth of musical experience. From a family of multiple professional musicians, she was exposed to all sorts of musical styles early on, and it shows in her own music. That said, it’s all of a piece. It’s extraordinarily inventive, the writing and production inseparable from each other. Many of the more unusual musical phrases — for example, the halting riff in “SHELL ( OF A MAN )” — become instrumental to the track, in a way that George Martin’s faux harpsichord on the Beatles’ “In My Life” does. Gray’s music, for me, aesthetically fits into a “rock” idiom, mostly, in a dynamic field whose suspending pillars are prog, folk, chamber, and art pop. I find my mind drifting to Bowie’s late work, or Pink Floyd’s pretty, hypnotic, floating 10-minute workouts. I can’t entirely say why — they’re not necessarily operating in the same musical idiom but share an aesthetic intent and many points of reference. More than occasionally, her songs suddenly, unexpectedly, erupt in unashamedly, unspeakably, goosebump-inducing musical moments, like the chorus in “PUDDLE ( OF ME ),” putting me in mind of Brian Wilson’s best work. SAYA is the kind of record you have to give yourself over to. Expect nothing, especially from your own instincts about what’s authentic and cool, and try to just experience this. It’s testament to a truly superior musical mind. In many ways, she’s singular right now. I can put this on and 40 minutes later emerge with a firm sense that I’ve just connected to a beautiful soul.

Other albums that are very good & that you should hear:

Aesop Rock — Black Hole Superette & I Heard It’s A Mess There Too

Africa Express — Bahidorá

Annahstasia — Tether

Billy Nomates — Metalhorse

Black Country, New Road — Forever Howlong

Bob Mould — Here We Go Crazy

Brìghde Chaimbeul — Sunwise

Clarice Jensen — In Holiday Clothing, Out Of The Great Darkness

Darkside — Nothing

Hayley Heynderickx & Max García Conover — What Of Our Nature

I’m With Her — Wild And Clear And Blue

Karol G — Tropicoqueta

Kassi Valazza — From Newman Street

Lamomali — Lamomali Je t’aime

Laufey — A Matter Of Time

Ledley — Ledley

Linda May Han Oh — Strange Heavens

Lisa Knapp & Gerry Driver — Hinterland

Madison Cunningham — Ace

Makaya McCraven — Off The Record

Mukasamuka — Desert Mood (EP)

Mark Ernestus’ Ndagga Rhythm Force — Khadim

Patrick Watson — Uh Oh

Pitney Meyer — Cherokee Pioneer

Poor Creature — All Smiles Tonight

Pygmalion, Raphaël Pychon — Bach Mass in B Minor

Robert Plant/Saving Grace — Saving Grace

Saint Etienne — International

Shelby Means — Shelby Means

Silvana Estrada — Vendrán Suaves Lluvias

Sofi Tukker — Butter

Spafford Campbell — Tomorrow Held

Stereolab — Instant Holograms On Metal Film

Valerie June — Owls, Omens, And Oracles

VARO — The World That I Knew

Wet Leg — Moisturizer Zoé Basha — Gamble

The post Best new music 2025 first appeared on carsten knoch - essays + ideas.

I’ve been wanting to write this for a while: a critique of the widespread use of “personas” in design work, especially where it’s informed by qualitative research or what we generously call “ethnography” in business contexts.

The persona, as a design artifact, is supposed to condense research findings into a set of fictional-but-representative character sketches. The idea is that these characters help product teams, designers and business stakeholders remember and empathize with real users. In practice, though, personas are less about empathy and more about expediency. They serve a particular purpose: they make complexity legible. They are simplification tools, narrative prosthetics for those who weren’t there when the research was conducted.

Real fieldwork data, however, doesn’t easily yield tidy typologies. It produces insights that are varied, sometimes contradictory and often destabilizing to whatever mental models product owners walked in with. Good qualitative research expands the frame; it challenges the problem definition. It makes us confront uncomfortable questions. The business reaction is often some version of: “This is confusing.” Not because the findings are incoherent, but because they resist reduction to a single dominant narrative — they often undermine or complicate existing assumptions rather than affirm them.

The persona steps in at this point as a compromise artifact. It funnels complexity into a format that feels actionable. However, this actionability comes at the expense of intellectual rigour. Personas flatten difference. They displace contradiction. They foreclose possibility in the name of process.

It’s worth reflecting on the etymology of the term “persona.” From the Latin, it referred to the masks worn by actors in the theatre — an outward-facing performance designed to convey a character. But these theatrical masks themselves trace their origins back to religious rituals in ancient Greece and Rome. Initially, they were not mere devices for character portrayal but ritual instruments used by priests to channel divine presence. The mask enabled a kind of sanctioned transformation — an entry into another identity for the benefit of the collective. The mask, then, was both technology and ritual: a threshold object.

In a sense, the persona in design work functions analogously. It is part of the ritual performance of modern product development. Personas are created unthinkingly, routinely, without deep interrogation of their epistemic role or their adequacy as artifacts. They are performed more than constructed — less the product of reflective synthesis, more a necessary rite in the sequence of design stages. Like the ancient ritual mask, they are enabling fictions. But unlike the sacred, design personas rarely aspire to deeper truths. They are instead used to usher a project forward, to validate pre-existing notions under the guise of empathic insight.

In Goffman’s dramaturgical sociology, the persona is the self as presented in everyday social interaction, a construct carefully managed for particular audiences. In both classical theatre and social theory, the persona is not the person; it is a mediated representation. It conceals as much as it reveals.

When design practitioners create personas, they are doing something structurally similar. These artifacts function as masks: they present a clean, coherent front while hiding the complexity, messiness and contradiction that lie behind. They are designed for an audience — the business stakeholders who crave a kind of utilitarian clarity, a bridge to urgent “next steps” — and they deliver that clarity, but only by staging a performance that, by necessity, misrepresents the richness of the underlying data.

In practice, the situation is often even more compromised. Designers and researchers frequently import their own “tried-and-true” starting points, drawing on previous persona templates or implicit assumptions about what’s worked in the past. “We must have at least one older person.” “We need an equal number of women and men.” “Let’s make sure we have a nonbinary person, it’s 2025!” These patterns are often less about representation and more about box-ticking. They feed into the overall flattening effect. Too often, the templated personas are then adorned with stock photography — smiling, generically diverse images of beautiful people, the everymen and -women of our day. It starts to feel like buying a Halloween mask at the dollar store: something everyone uses one night a year before it ends up in landfill with the rest of the seasonal detritus.

That said, personas can occasionally serve a purpose. In the narrow domain of software requirements development, they can function as useful heuristic devices. When evaluating or refining a specific feature, it can be helpful to imagine how different positional stand-ins might interact with it. Can the older person with limited tech experience navigate the drop-down? Can someone who only accesses the internet via smartphone complete this form? Does the process take too long for a busy mom balancing multiple responsibilities? In this limited context, personas can scaffold the imagination — providing lightweight proxies that help teams consider edge cases or usability breakdowns.

Unfortunately, this constrained use is rarely the norm. More often, the interplay between “problem statement” or “market opportunity” and persona development is weakly theorized but energetically pursued. Personas have become something that must be completed, regardless of their relevance to the problem space. Design research practitioners have so thoroughly routinized the production of personas that they function like what Science and Technology Studies scholars of the 1990s called a “black box” — a once-contested instrument whose internal logic is no longer interrogated. It is assumed to work. It is accepted as canon. And that, perhaps more than anything, is the peril.

Personas have become part of the standard design lexicon. They’re expected, they travel well and they give the impression that something solid has been produced. Yet what is actually being delivered is a premature narrowing of insight. Research’s destabilizing potential is neutralized in favour of forward momentum or rote pattern-following.

This dynamic bears a strong resemblance to what Bruno Latour identifies in We Have Never Been Modern as the “purification” impulse in scientific modernity — the shearing-off of process, uncertainty and messy social entanglement to present something clean, stable and fact-like. Just as science masks its contingent, constructed nature in order to appear authoritative, so too do personas mask the contingent, plural and unresolved nature of qualitative research. The artifact becomes a rhetorical device that says: “Here is what we know,” when the more honest claim would be: “Here is what we’re still trying to understand.”

Part of what makes this so difficult to undo is the quiet pressure to productize design research itself. For internal design teams and external consulting firms alike, personas have become a pivotal deliverable — a recognizable milestone in a process that increasingly needs to be legible, repeatable and salable. They help make the process itself into a product. And this, too, discourages critical interrogation. The persona, in this context, is a sacred cow. It is not examined but celebrated. Invoked with ritual joy rather than subjected to methodological scrutiny.

What we need instead are practices and artifacts that can hold complexity without becoming paralyzing. We need representations that reflect the richness and ambiguity of real fieldwork. We need ways to resist the temptation to tidy up before the mess has taught us what it needs to teach.

That might involve composite narratives. It might mean more speculative synthesis. Or perhaps it requires live, participatory workshops in which contradictions are explored rather than resolved. I don’t have the definitive answer. But I do know this: personas, as currently deployed in most product design contexts, aren’t it.

While I may not have a formula to replace personas outright, I’ve observed in my management consulting work that something else often emerges organically. The kind of fieldwork I do — long-term discovery through numerous interviews, and simply by “being around” my client’s teams, working alongside them — ends up producing a richer, more dynamic understanding. It’s classic participant observation, and it slowly develops into something more potent than any static artifact.

Given enough time and proximity, I begin to develop a feel for the organization — its voices, its internal logics, its tensions. In design sessions, this allows me to bring those perspectives to bear in ways that are responsive and contextually informed. Not as fixed roles or scripted personas, but as impressions grounded in real interactions. I wouldn’t claim to know exactly how this works, but it seems to operate with a certain reliability.

Perhaps this too is a form of foreclosure. But if it is, it’s of a different kind — less an endpoint than a state of readiness. A cognitive, dialogical mode in which I can query an invisible knowledge base, one built from immersion, proximity and practice. It’s dynamic. It adapts.

In an odd sense, this knowledge is stored in my mind in a way that I imagine as not too dissimilar from the way LLMs use vectors to store information about the vast corpus of information they learned from. I hope that I’m less prone to hallucination and getting it wrong, though.

The post On the ritual use of personas in design first appeared on carsten knoch - essays + ideas.

… and just like that, another year is almost over.

I’m presently in Germany to visit my mother, who — two weeks shy of 90 — continues to soldier on with poise, determination and the simple awareness that going for a daily walk is essential for good health. The picture above is of the “Old Customs” building (Alter Zoll) in Bonn, a part of the old city fortification, built in 1644. Every time I travel to Germany, I discover extraordinary new-to-me historical and cultural riches, seemingly randomly scattered throughout these old cities, many of which have pre-Roman roots. The most remarkable thing about these historical buildings, I catch myself thinking, is how unremarkable they are here — how little attention they are paid. In Canada, this would have been a national monument and a tourist destination; here, it’s “owned by the university” and hosts “occasional concerts” in the summer, according to its Wikipedia page.

Germany itself is definitely in a persistent long-term state of uncertainty and discomfort about what it wants to become. Similar to Canada, I think there are at least two Germanies now. One is a gradually aging, somewhat sclerotic society, born here, that holds on to most of the power, money, makes the rules and thinks everything has gone to the dogs. The other consists of a growing percentage of mostly younger immigrants from Syria, Ukraine, eastern Europe or Africa who, one way or the other, are clearly the future of this country. Unlike Canada, which has tried to uphold its rickety self-image of being a welcoming, multi-cultural and upwardly mobile immigration paradise, Germany makes no such attempt. Even those Germans who aren’t directly hostile to immigrants would rarely go so far as to suggest it’s a comfortable or desirable coexistence. The German state expresses this uncertain standoff by being as procedurally unwelcoming to immigrants as possible while saying that immigration is both necessary and welcome, apparently following the principle that you can hold up large-scale processes by slowing down each constituent part. The world knows German bureaucracy to eclipse all others in the performance of unnecessary complexity; the gumming-up of immigration may well be its crowning accomplishment. (And just in case anyone is uncertain about where I stand on this: this was sarcasm. Also: Not my circus nor my monkey.)

On the personal front, it’s been a year of significant change for me as those of you who follow on social media may already know. I’m entering a period of rediscovering myself and expect 2025 to be somewhat of a watershed year in terms of figuring out what’s next.

But first, a few more weeks of rest (both history and nature suggest this is the season for taking a break), and then we’ll see.

Until then, here’s what caught my ear during 2024.

Happy New Year.

Aoife O’Donovan – All My Friends: I’ve written about Aoife O’Donovan before. Her work is consistently excellent, and this new album is no exception. O’Donovan does increasingly feel like the standout “new folk” singer-songwriter, the Joni Mitchell of our time (although by necessity she shares that honour with Bonny Light Horseman’s Anaïs Mitchell; see below). Her songcraft stands out, even in an increasingly crowded field of great new folk singers. Complex, intelligent, touching music.

Arooj Aftab – Night Reign: I don’t usually struggle with words, but when it comes to Arooj Aftab’s music I feel somewhat tongue-tied. I’ve come to accept that this is at least in part the result of its sheer overwhelming musicality. There’s a primal beauty here, both in her wonderful singing and the band she’s surrounded herself with. As so often, the Guardian has a decent review. The only point I disagree with is its assessment of the cover of “Autumn Leaves” here as unsuccessful. I think it’s a perfectly good entry in the ever-evolving category of jazz covers of standards.

Ben Lukas Boysen – Alta Ripa: Like late 90s/early 2000s electronica. Touching on various types of electronic music then prevalent (ambient, trance, and tech house). But obviously a contemporary take. Yes, it’s nostalgic but it’s also very good and has real emotional depth. Whether you’re interested depends, to an extent, on whether you have a connection to the kinds of music it references.

Bonny Light Horseman – Keep Me On Your Mind/See You Free: Bonny Light Horseman, the alt-folk-pop supergroup I’ve written about before, are now on their third album — and it’s lovely. If I reflect on my own “in use” reception of this, I’d say the space they’ve come to occupy is quite similar to Fleetwood Mac’s big 1970s albums (occasionally, their voices blend similarly, too). This is wide-screen, committed, intelligent music that begs to be heard live in stadiums in the summer; in cars speeding through the countryside with the windows open; or at cottage campfires everywhere. It has the kind of sound that’s instantly familiar, yet — when you decide to pay attention — you realize you’ve never heard it before. Yet it’s not a simulacrum (unlike so many other bands working today). Like Fleetwood Mac’s, these songs work at all levels of attention and engagement — they’re chameleonic: pleasant, entertaining, deep and anthemic, depending on how you come to them and what you need. I think this is a band I’ll love for many years. You might too.

Dua Lipa – Radical Optimism: Hear me out. I know you think this is me being unnecessarily pleased about trivial pop music again. But there’s real joy in this — not least because of its surgical precision. Just like her previous release, it’s an artful blend of disco bangers coupled with big pop anthems. The writing team, as before, is genuinely outstanding. Similar to how one might feel about any randomly chosen album by, say, ABBA, even the weaker tracks here are above-average pop songs that could conceivably have been hits for someone else. Is it as strong as Future Nostalgia? No. But I do love her voice and energy. She’s a classic, old-fashioned pop star in the vein of Madonna or Kylie Minogue, and as such has somehow figured out how to appeal across generations and cultures (more so than, say, Sabrina Carpenter or Chappell Roan).

Fontaines D.C. – Romance: Strong echoes of The Smiths here, but with more crunch and a bottom end befitting 2024. A modern post-punk record. I’m not up on all the ins and outs about this band, but the Guardian is.

Gracie Abrams – The Secret Of Us (Deluxe): I wrote about Gracie Abrams’ first album, Good Riddance, last year. She’s already back with her sophomore effort, and it’s a massive improvement on the debut. I suppose it could have gone either way: pop music’s history and present are littered with second albums that didn’t work out. Here, we can hear someone very, very talented finding their voice and coming into their own. Abrams, who was featured repeatedly on Taylor Swift’s Eras tour, is definitely of the “Taylor Swift school” of young singer-songwriters. (It was inevitable that a force of nature as big as Swift would ultimately incubate a whole movement of people who sound similar.) Abrams, as noted previously, has the good fortune of sharing Swift’s producer Aaron Dessner (The National), so it’s somewhat inevitable that she’d sound similar. Abrams, like her mentor, is also a truly wonderful songwriter. While not as sharp-tongued as Swift, nor perhaps as funny, she’s sincere and seems to hit the zeitgeist of Gen Z. Young, yes, but capable of writing and delivering smart and emotionally resonant songs about love, loss, disappointment and asserting yourself. Where many other “newer” women singer-songwriters (e.g. Clairo, Maggie Rogers) have settled into a somewhat comfortable psuedo-grown-up faux alternative mainstream sound that frankly bores me to tears, Gracie Abrams seems to have more energy (and perhaps better luck) than that. A very good record.

Griff – Vertigo: This is the album whose arrival I was most eagerly awaiting this year. Griff’s previous EP and singles contained some of the most outstanding and beautifully-crafted pop songs of the last few years, so it stood to reason that a debut album would follow. Griff has the kind of natural pop writer’s sensibility that Robyn or Alison Moyet have. And those two might also be good “descriptive” touchpoints. This is soulful, smart electropop — danceable, emotional, often sad yet always beautiful. With many contemporary younger pop singer-songwriters, determining whether they actually write and/or produce their own work can feel like a bit of a sleuthing exercise. And while Griff now definitely has a team of professional co-authors, if you look at her Youtube channel where she occasionally films herself recording a fully-produced cover of a well-known song in a single hour, her innate musicianship and production chops are abundantly obvious. Hers is an uncommon sound in today’s pop landscape. Her unusual but powerful voice, coupled with her resolute commitment to a kind of dark but often euphoric electropop, make her a natural antidote to the Sabina Carpenters of this world. (I should add that I don’t specifically have anything against Sabrina Carpenter. And I’m aware that Griff was invited to open for Carpenter on her recent tour. But I think their sounds are very different, and Griff’s music feels far superior in my estimation.)

Jean-Guihen Queyras – Bach Complete Cello Suites (The 2023 Sessions): Queyras is one of the world’s best cellists, and this is his second full recording of Bach’s famous suites. The first, about 20 years ago, was revelatory: historically informed and wonderfully well-judged, it emphasized the dance-rooted nature of many of Bach’s movements and so propelled the music forward, making it not only profound but also very listenable. This version, with another 20 years of practice and reflection under his belt, reveals further depths and elegance. It’s no less engaging but entirely different. It could be a fun project for you to compare certain pieces between the two versions. If nothing else, it’ll reveal why there can never be enough great recordings of major classical works (and, if you’re not typically a classical music listener — maybe you’re the sort of person who thinks that any recording of a work is fine — the exercise may prove a useful point).

Joan As Police Woman – Lemons, Limes And Orchids: In 2021, Joan Wasser (Joan As Police Woman) released a collaborative album together with the late Tony Allen and multi-instrumentalist Dave Okumu that equipped her above-average indie songwriting with an unusual, experimental, Afrobeat-electronica sound signature that elevated it to a new realm. Although it got little attention, I thought it was a career best — although perhaps slightly abstract, a musician’s album. Her latest effort is less of an outlier but retains some of the funky musical ideas and connects them with her core indie singer-songwriter sound. The result is something truly special and highly listenable. I’m occasionally reminded of late career efforts by Talking Heads, not because that’s what this sounds like but because it has the same kind of combinatory intelligence and courage. Unusual, smart grown-up music.

Kaia Kater – Strange Medicine: Quiet, literate, poetic folk from a young Canadian. Her voice is lovely — an expressive alto that can, depending on the subject matter, be sharp, soothing or mournful. This is her fourth album, and even though she remains a bit of a musician’s musician, she now gets big collabs (Aoife O’Donovan, Allison Russell & Taj Mahal all make appearances).

Kasey Chambers – Backbone: Australia’s greatest country singer-songwriter by some distance is back with a beautiful new album after a lengthy absence. Every track is a reminder that Kasey Chambers should be one of international country music’s very biggest stars instead of an “outsider” who was mostly rejected by Nashville despite her best efforts. Unlike Australia’s other big country star, Keith Urban, I suppose Chambers was never interested in kissing any rings or drinking any Kool Aid. Good on her. For those in the know, she’s one of the reigning queens of alt-country, a peerless songwriter who’s never really written a wrong note. This album starts with a ballad that hooks you entirely — who does that? Too many great tracks to describe in any detail. But wow, what songs. At the end, the weirdest, most delightful outlier: a live country rock cover of Eminem’s “Lose Yourself” that’s made the rounds on Youtube and social media. It’s nearly unrecognizable and yet somehow manages to elevate what’s already a timeless classic a notch or two. Kasey Chambers is amazing, plain and simple.

Lankum – Live In Dublin: While their previous studio album (very well reviewed everywhere) left me interested but vaguely underwhelmed, this live album blew me away. What a band, what an odd project, what great songs — and what an excellent live show, captured well on record. In November, they came to NYC and I went to see them there. I found the evening somewhat arduous (the venue, the Warsaw in Brooklyn, has no seating, I’m old and was fairly tired from flying in earlier that same day…), but they were quite brilliant. The show has evolved slightly since the album was recorded, but not much. They know what works, and work it does.

L’Arpeggiata, Christina Pluhar – Wonder Women: For about a decade now, there’s been a trend in certain quarters in so-called classical music to produce programs and records that seek to be both appropriately “classical” (i.e. technically serious and challenging performances) and entertaining. Particularly long-term and ongoing developments in our understanding of historically informed Baroque performance practice have revealed that music performed in the 18th century was far more ornamented and improvised than the written versions we received would suggest. Today, classical musicians spend considerable time training how to ornament and improvise in ways that are appropriate to the music. The result is that the possibilities of how to play this kind of music have really opened up. Christina Pluhar is a mandolin/theorbo player and ensemble leader whose group L’Arppegiata offers programs that combine Baroque “classical” music with “folk” music played in styles that are appropriate to the Baroque, thus illuminating the connections between art and vernacular musics that we’ve always suspected were there. This lovely new album is an excellent example of one such program.

Mali Obomsawin & Magdalena Abrego (Deerlady) – Greatest Hits: I think this is my favourite album of the year. Obomsawin is a young Indigenous musician and composer who performs at an equally spectacular level when playing jazz (she’s a bassist with her own ensemble; I saw them play a largely improvised set last year and they were incredible) or rock (this band). The album came out under “Mali Obomsawin & Magdalena Abrego” but they soon after re-christened the project “Deerlady.” Obviously, “Greatest Hits” is tongue-in-cheek as it’s a first studio album. Nomenclature confusion aside, this is just quietly brilliant. It’s a classic indie record with echoes of — and nods to — everyone from Smashing Pumpkins to Phoebe Bridgers. But it’s also an album that thinks and talks about colonialism, and there definitely aren’t enough of those. It’s compositionally and musically tremenduously accomplished: warm and powerful and tight and approachable. I fell in love with it on first listen and have not been able to stop putting it on since. And it came out in January! (“Masterpieces,” the song, is a bona fide masterpiece. It’s also the emotional and musical centre of this album. Abrego’s tightly controlled, understated rager of a guitar solo is a thing of rare beauty.)

Mari Kvien Brunvoll & Stein Urheim with Moskus – Barefoot In Bryophyte: This is delightfully weird. It amuses and pleases endlessly. The territory is surf rock shoegaze psychedelia with a jazz base. Oh, and some of it is in Norwegian. I don’t really know much about it, but these people do. You should definitely check it out.

Nadine Shah – Filthy Underneath: Nadine Shah is always impressive — a literate, tough, funny, political, feminist singer-songwriter from the UK. The band is outstanding: they play a muscular, precise, math-y post-rock that’s incredibly well judged throughout. A bit like a cross between Tori Amos and late Bowie with a smattering of Talking Heads? This is really strong and cool music. I’d also encourage you to go backwards through her back catalogue — it’s all excellent.

Ndidi Onukwulu – Simple Songs For Complicated Times: I’ve had a soft spot for Ndidi Onukwulu’s modern roots music for years. Cut from a similar cloth as Frazey Ford, she has a powerful voice and writes consistently excellent songs. It’s unfortunately the sort of music that has a hard time getting any sort of traction with a wider audience today. (If nothing else, this shows exactly the combination of skill and good fortune it takes for someone like Allison Russell to break through to something more like “mainstream” visibility.) Ndidi O has been fighting the good fight for — what should we call it? Modern alternative blues? for years. Her new album continues to do so at a very high level. Make an effort to hear this Canadian artist if you like roots music. She won’t disappoint you.

Nick Cave – Wild God: The long-term, profound spiritual transformation of Nick Cave, always a highly skilled songwriter and peerless performer, has been widely discussed in the media and written about, including by Nick Cave himself in his excellent book of interviews with Irish journalist Séan O’Hagan. His music has become much more emotionally direct over the years while losing none of its gothic theatrical appeal. After a family tragedy, his music took an almost unbearably direct and raw turn for a couple of albums, but this new record strikes a terrific balance, giving us a Nick Cave fronting a big, powerful full-band version of the Bad Seeds but playing songs that achieve a breakthrough level of poetry and resonance. Might well be the best record he’s ever made, but who knows what’s still to come?

Orchestre Tout Puissant Marcel Duchamp – Ventre Unique: Open the Stereolab cookbook. Pick one of the songs sung in French. Add in the horn section from a really good 90s ska revival band. Now, turn the “energy signature” dial-o-meter from Stereolab’s default “Cool Indie” setting about halfway towards “Joyous and Overcooked.” The result is Orchestre Tout Puissant Marcel Duchamp. They’re weird and great. A total riot.

Post Malone – F-1 Trillion: Long Bed: When I first read about this, I was fairly certain that I wouldn’t like it. I mean, another entry in this year’s string of releases by all sorts of people suddenly going country — and particularly one by this guy who struck me as a musical non-entity at the best of times — didn’t sound terribly appealing. And so, yes, it’s kind of bloated, and unnecessarily mainstream, and big, and has all sorts of “legitmizing” cameos from “real” country singers on it. But it’s also surprisingly fun, in the way that a Bryan Adams or John Mellencamp record from the 80s is fun. It can prove hard not to get swept up by it. I’m not necessarily saying you’ll love it. But you might, and I’m suggesting you could do worse than to see what happens.

Sierra Ferrell – Trail Of Flowers: Ferrell plays music that technically qualifies as “alt country” but mostly by virtue of not being considered “mainstream” Nashville radio country (I suspect these distinctions are already past their peak and on their way out, the way things have been going — although the uniquely American cleaving-down-the-middle of country music along political lines remains troublingly common). Genre subtleties aside, this is a perfect country record. Every song is a standout. I hear echoes of Emmylou Harris and Michelle Shocked in equal measure. I know that may not make any obvious kind of sense, but if (“alt”) country music appeals to you at all, you should definitely give this a shot. It’s rollicking. It’s like the antidote to all the 2024 country poser-dom.

Sturgill Simpson (as Johnny Blue Skies) – Passage du Desir: Sturgill Simpson is one of country music’s very finest songwriters, plain and simple. His songs carry emotional depth charges like few others’. Their effortless, familiar elegance belies how carefully detailed they are, how finely crafted. Simpson’s music has, over the years, taken various turns: sometimes in a rock direction, more recently into bluegrass, but his most prevalent sound signature is an elevated, literate, slightly retro alt-country with occasional Muscle Shoals R&B tinges (keep in mind that Aretha’s famous backing band essentially consisted of country music studio musicians). For this outing, he calls his project “Johnny Blue Skies,” but it’s the same Sturgill Simpson. A beautiful record. Several of the finest songs of his career.

Underworld – Strawberry Hotel: Well, who’d have thought it? This is like “old” Underworld but not in a nostalgia act type of way. Obviously Underworld have remained a going electronica concern ever since they first came to co-define mid 90s radio-ready techno in the UK, not least through their ubiquitous hit, “Born Slippy,” from the Trainspotting soundtrack. I devotedly loved their first two albums (well, actually their second and third records but only nerds like me remember the first), dubnobasswithmyheadman and Second Toughest in the Infants. These were groundbreaking efforts that worked equally brilliantly for dancing, listening, working to, and so on. Era-defining and taste-shaping music for me. Now, this new record is neither of those, but it’s not not close. There’s much good music here. “Denver Luna,” for me, is the standout piece. It has a truly beautiful multi-tracked vocal break in the middle that’s the sort of thing that reminds you why you love music in the first place.

Vera Sola – Peacemaker: I really like this. I think it’s clever, atmospheric and interesting. Everything else you need to know is in this short review by the Guardian.

Zeitgeber – Fellow Prisoners Of The Splendour And Travail Of The Earth Part 1: An Australian instrumental duo (really, it’s mostly written and played by one guy, Evan McGregor) that plays music that lives, comfortably, somewhere along the continuum between jazz and prog rock. I initially came for the math-y, prog-y polyrhythms. I stayed for the finely written and played instrumental music. This is definitely a keeper. Additional tip ‘o the hat to an Australian outfit calling itself Zeitgeber.

Zsela – Big For You: Zsela is a young R&B singer whose previous EP I mentioned a few years ago. Here she is now with a tightly produced, really well written, highly musical debut album. The base profile is contemporary “alternative” R&B, but there are plenty of guitars and other nontypical moments here to give it broader appeal. She has a dark, lovely alto voice that carries these songs with real emotional authority. Unlike Charlotte Day Wilson (voice in the same register) whose recent work has become a little… boring?, Zsela brings a crisp energy to this kind of sound and manages to bypass the “jazz fusion” pothole it could easily disappear into. And it has enough odd, leftfield musical moments that you just know this is one to watch.

The following albums are also worth hearing:

Arab Strap – I’m Totally Fine With It Don’t Give A Fuck Anymore

Ballaké Sissoko & Lorenzo Bianchi Hoesch Feat. Emile Parisien – Radicants

Bridget Kearney – Comeback Kid

Danish String Quartet – Keel Road

Diane Birch – Flying On Abraham

Dream House Quartet – Sonic Wires (Deluxe)

Dawn Richard & Spencer Zahn – Quiet In A World Full Of Noise

Kacey Musgraves – Deeper Well

Kali Malone – All Life Long

Kelly Lee Owens – Dreamstate

Leana Song – Orisha Love Songs Vol. 2 – Oru Cantando Électrique

Leyla McCalla – Sun Without The Heat

Maggie Rogers – Don’t Forget Me

Mishka Rushdie Momen – Reformation: Keyboard Works by William Byrd, Orlando Gibbons, John Bull & Jan Pieterszoon Sweelinck

Nils Økland Band – Gjenskinn

Nilüfer Yanya – My Method Actor

Peggy Gou – I Hear You (Limited)

Shabaka – Perceive Its Beauty, Acknowledge Its Grace

Vampire Weekend – Only God Was Above Us

Vijay Iyer – Compassion

Waaju Feat. Majid Bekkas – Alouane

Waxahatchee – Tigers Blood

The post Best new music 2024 first appeared on carsten knoch - essays + ideas.

Better late than never, here is my annual blog post listing my favourite new releases from 2023. It’s been a rather trying festive season this year because the rich soup of respiratory viruses making the rounds has ensured that my various holiday writing projects, including this one, got pushed and pushed. The only thing I know for sure is that it wasn’t Covid (at least that’s what the remaining rapid tests we have in the house said), but the fatigue and persistent head cold symptoms have been quite a hindrance. Here’s hoping that 2024 will be the year when we finally emerge from these prolonged pandemic/post-pandemic conditions.

In a vaguely related update: Two years ago, I reported in my 2021 annual music blog post that we had received — at the time I thought: in error — a Christmas card from a child named Cora. 24 months on, and the mystery is now solved. On a December afternoon, the doorbell rang and there was knocking. As before, I was on a Zoom call so couldn’t respond. I did, however, hear a gaggle of schoolchildren moving through our street at the same time. Later, I found this lovely hand-drawn Christmas card in our letterbox:

Clearly, this is a neighbourhood tradition whereby the pupils at the local Catholic primary school draw Christmas greetings and distribute them in the local area to spread some holiday spirit. (Cora, from two years ago, failed to include the right kind of metadata, thus leaving us clueless.) I for one rather enjoyed our “frind” Abraham’s artistic vision and good cheer.

May the same apply to you and yours. Happy 2024, everyone!

This year, I won’t be linking each of these to their corresponding Spotify, Tidal, Apple Music or Bandcamp entry… I figure that you probably have a music streaming service and know how to use it.

Ali Sethi & Nicolas Jaar – Intiha: Unexpected collaboration between a Pakistani-American singer/songwriter and producer Nicolas Jaar. The album re-uses/re-interprets tracks from Jaar’s album Telas from 2020 by adding evocative, atmospheric vocals.

Alison Goldfrapp – The Love Invention & The Love Reinvention: Alison Goldfrapp’s first “solo” release (Goldfrapp, her previous vehicle, was a duo). A terrific collection of disco/electronica, finely produced and thought through. It sometimes puts me in mind of electronic music I was very fond of in the 90s or early 2000s, such as Underworld. I may not have been entirely convinced of the original album, but when she released “Reinvention” later in the year — essentially a “dub” adaptation with longer versions of the original songs — I was sold.

Arooj Aftab, Vijay Iyer & Shahzad Ismaily – Love in Exile: This is such a special record. An experimental, part-improvised, deeply thoughtful album that resists short descriptions. Having seen Vijay Iyer play live this year (here in Guelph, of all places!) I’ve come to an even greater appreciation of the musicianship that’s involved here. I urge you to hear it.

Ava Vegas – Desert Songs: Ava Vegas is the (very Lana Del Rey derived) stage name of a young German singer/songwriter. Her debut album didn’t speak to me, but on this record she branched out into a kind of psychedelic, electronic art pop that’s both entirely contemporary and also backward-looking in an interesting way. Whatever shortcomings one could pin on this — the songs are good and there is promise of even greater things to come. Her voice sometimes reminds me of Tanita Tikaram, for those who remember who that is.

Billy Nomates – Cacti: Really cool, energetic “post-punk” (?) album by a young English singer/songwriter. Memorable, finely detailed songs that operate in a sound landscape that often conjures up the early dance/rock hybrid of New Order. It’s an album that has stayed with me since it appeared early in 2023, and I can’t quite say why. But it’s good.

Black Country, New Road – Live at Bush Hall: Most astonishing live album from a most astonishingly great band. Their lead singer and main songwriter left after their first two critically acclaimed albums due to mental health concerns. Most bands would have folded. These people have so much talent to go round that they decided to double down. This “comeback” record is a wonder. Musically stranger than its predecessors, but somehow more open to the world — and to experimentation.

Bongeziwe Mabandla – AmaXesha: A singer/songwriter from South Africa who sings in isiXhosa. He was a new discovery for me this year, but I’ve since gone back and heard his previous three albums which are also brilliant. Dare I compare him to Frank Ocean in some way? It’s an incomplete reference but, I think, captures the ambitions aimed for and realized here.

Brìghde Chaimbeul – Carry Them With Us: I wrote about this young Scottish folk piper last year. Here she is with her next solo record which is really lovely. Supported and co-produced by Colin Stetson (experimental saxophonist and soundtrack producer), she makes a beautiful racket that elevates the spirit as only folk music from the British isles can.

Foyer Red – Yarn the Hours Away: Other reviewers have referred to this as “art punk,” which seems like a good description. Foyer Red are like a way marker at the mid point between The B52’s and, say, Stars. So strange and complex and all over the place, yet also so easy to listen to and enjoy. I’m excited to hear what they come up with next.

Gracie Abrams – Good Riddance: Abrams is a very talented, very young singer/songwriter who writes thoughtful lyrics and had the good fortune of being produced by Aaron Dessner, member of The National and producer of a peerless string of incredible records in the last few years. I’ve listened to this more times than I care to admit. Standout track “Full Machine” is the most heart-breaking depiction of codependence I’ve ever heard.

Gregory Alan Isakov – Appaloosa Bones: You know that “modern” folk-pop sound that was all the rage about a decade ago, with groups like Mumford & Sons and The Lumineers? It seemed like a good idea for a brief moment but soon revealed itself as a kind of fad, mostly because perhaps the songs — and the overall artifice of it — didn’t really hold water. Isakov is like the “good,” timeless version of this sound. A brilliant songwriter who has quietly mined this seam for many albums now and deserves to be heard as widely as possible.

Hochzeitskapelle – The Orchestra in the Sky (Kobe Recordings): The band name translates as “Wedding Band.” Originally formed by professional indie musicians from Bavaria (including some from The Notwist) to play at a bandmate’s wedding, they were so well-received that they just kept at it. This year, two records came out that were recoded in Japan, with “Japanese friends.” The music is… odd but pleasant, an amalgam of folk, jazz, with echoes of Klezmer (maybe?), and now — vocals sung in Japanese. Ticks every box on the “odd music” checklist for me.

Janelle Monae – The Age of Pleasure: Brilliant, beautiful album. A party from beginning to end. And, since all tracks blend into each other, it doesn’t really end until it ends. This has many of my favourite genres on it (reggae, ska, R&B, afrobeat), expertly blended by one of music’s most brilliant and committed songwriters. Where her previous records could be a bit icy (like some of Prince’s), Monae here decides to have fun. And it really is fun!

Jessie Ware – That! Feels Good!: Ware is still on a roll. What’s Your Pleasure? from 2020 was a brilliant, classic disco/R&B/dance record, and this album delivers more of the same. This doesn’t have a weak track. And since I have a terrible, deep and abiding love for disco, this is always welcome. It’s also very finely produced and sounds incredible.

Matthew Halsall – An Ever Changing View: A British jazz trumpeter and band leader who has a “spiritual jazz” bent. I like most of Halsall’s work (that I’ve heard), and this new record is no exception. It’s post-bebop jazz for those of us who sometimes enjoy complex, well-played instrumental music that’s maybe not super-challenging — but also never dull or uninteresting. Check out his earlier albums, too.

Michael Blake & Chroma Nova – Dance of the Mystic Bliss: Blake is a Canadian jazz saxophonist who now lives and works in Brooklyn. This record really speaks to me. A careful balance of improvised and through-composed music, the Guardian perceptively called it “joyously audacious.” Fine ensemble work. I would go and see Mr. Blake live if the chance ever presented itself.

The National – First Two Pages of Frankenstein & Laugh Track: Much ink has been spilled about these guys, notably about how they make music for “sad dads.” I’m not a dad, but otherwise certainly of that age and disposition. I can confirm that their (new) sound speaks to me. There’s a richness, a comforting embrace to their (now post-“rock”) music that reminds me of Roxy Music’s Avalon from 1982. And sure, the lyrics occasionally feel like the internal monologue in my head. For further discussion, see the excellent profile in the New Yorker which explains everything.

Raye – My 21^st Century Blues: Raye is a major new R&B talent from the UK. A smart, witty songwriter, some seem to think of her as Amy Winehouse’s true heir apparent. The album is very satisfying and promises so much more to come. I’m excited about her.

Róisín Murphy – Hit Parade: I’ve long been a pretty devoted Murphy fan. I think the kind of “abstract art-disco” she makes is pretty peerless (although there are other contenders, like the above mentioned Alison Goldfrapp and Jessie Ware). Murphy’s high-concept yet totally enjoyable/danceable music sometimes reminds me of Grace Jones.

Romy – Mid Air: Romy is a member of The xx, and this is her first solo album. It’s a subtle but highly sensuous affair. It’s a dance album whose audio landscape is “big room” club trance circa 2002, but brought up to date. These are sad bangers (to use that construct again), in the best way. Just a truly lovely record that makes introversion, anxiety and insecurity sound like a party.

Salomé Gasselin – Récit: Gasselin is a young viola da gamba player from France. This is her debut album as an ensemble leader. Filled with French music from the early to middle Baroque, it has a captivating sound: as a fretted string instrument, the viola da gamba is generally an earthy-sounding instrument. These recordings, for a small French label, sound spontaneous, rumbly, and have a rawness to the audio quality that I really enjoy. Like Brìghde Chaimbeul’s folk music mentioned earlier, Gasselin’s album makes no attempt to hide the woodsy, string-y ambient noise imperfections these historically accurate instruments give off — nor the church bells that ambiently chime in the background once in a while.

Sanam – Aykathani Malakon صنم – أيقظني ملاكٌ: A post-rock, post-folk, sometimes post-jazz band from Beirut, Lebanon. This is an outstanding, atmospheric album, both experimental and recognizably “rock,” sometimes overwhelming in its force. I’m also appreciating the regional nature of the song sources, particularly the nods to Palestinian music.

Stephan Meidell & Bergen Barokk – Temporal Gardening: Meidell is a Norwegian musician and composer. This work, a commission, is a collaboration with Bergen Barokk — a Baroque chamber ensemble. The music is strange but captivating. It reminds me of certain mid-90s attempts at making “organic” sounding ambient electronic music (for those old enough to remember: echoes of The Future Sound of London’s Lifeforms).

Tomorrow Comes the Harvest – Evolution: Grown out of a project that was founded by Detroit techno producer Jeff Mills and Tony Allen (afrobeat pioneer and Fela Kuti’s long-time drummer), the group now consists of Mills, Indian tabla player Prabhu Edouard and Guyanese keyboardist Jean-Phi Dary. Best described as an electronic world music experiment, it’s a brilliant record that I have loved listening to while working this year. I’m always pleased when the spirit of “world music” (in the sense of creating hybrids that are more than the sum of their parts) turns out not to be quite dead yet!

Ward Knútur Townes – Unanswered: And speaking of “world music,” here is a three-country collaboration between folk musicians from Iceland, Canada and the UK. I’m always keen to hear good new folk music (like last year’s mention of Bonny Light Horseman whom I still enjoy), and this falls into that category. I could imagine this group lasting a long time — and hopefully come to be appreciated like other such folk “super groups,” e.g. Bonny Light Horseman or Spell Songs.

The following albums are also interesting to hear. They’re all excellent (or at least really interesting) and recommended — I just don’t have any particular listening notes.

Aesop Rock – Integrated Tech Solutions

Andreas Ulvo – Lost in Space

Bex Burch – There is Only Love and Fear

Bridget Kearney – Snakes of Paradise

Corinne Bailey Rae – Black Rainbows

Elina Duni – A Time to Remember

Hilary Hahn – Ysaÿe 6 Sonatas for Violin Solo Op. 27

Lana Del Rey – Did You Know That There’s a Tunnel Under Ocean Blvd

Lankum – False Lankum

Natalie Merchant – Keep Your Courage

Nneka – Back and Forth (EP)

Noname – Sundial

Peter Gabriel – i/o

Shani Diluka – Pulse

Spell Songs – Gifts of Light

Teke::Teke – Hagata

This Is The Kit – Careful of Your Keepers

Tinariwen – Amatssou

U.S. Girls – Bless This Mess

10,000 Gecs – 100 Gecs

The post Best new music 2023 first appeared on carsten knoch - essays + ideas.

Welcome to this year’s best of new music post — and customary cold season sign of life.

Every year, I somehow commit myself to spending a few days writing up the best new recorded music I heard in the previous 12 months. I say “somehow” because each year, I wonder anew how valuable this activity is (in contrast, say, to actually taking time off). But by now it’s tradition, and not one I’m inclined to break with (yet). Blogging in the “classic” sense has long gone the way of the dodo, so this annual post is as anachronostic and “old person” an activity now as listening to albums instead of algorithmically curated AI playlists.

Also every year, I continue to be astonished by how much good new music there is. While the economics of recording and releasing music are becoming less and less favourable to most musicians, musicians themselves seem remarkably undeterred. Prior to the pandemic, the trend seemed to be that earnings from live performances could make up at least some of the shortfall. That changed in 2020, and live music still hasn’t quite returned to 2019 levels (much like, say, air travel hasn’t either). But despite all of this, recorded music continues to be alive and well, and to serve up welcome surprises nearly every week.

Each week, I make a point of sampling as many new releases as I can muster. In 2022, my imagination was particularly captivated by various types of “new jazz,” post-rock, (pop) singer-songwriters, indie folk, and various global music hybrids. Rock and hip hop continue to feel a bit ossified (and thus low yield despite all the media about them), as if they are in the process of becoming “minor” musics for now — similar to what jazz became in the 80s and 90s. Across a bigger expanse of time, I think I can see now how this happens to genres. They become “dormant” and then they awaken and return, renewed.

All of this year’s albums in a big playlist:

• On Tidal
• On Spotify

Here we go:

Aldous Harding / Warm Chris: Another excellent record from this delightfully odd New Zealand folk/rock singer-songwriter. I’ve written about her before. Each new record satisfyingly mines the same seam: a kind of nerdy folk-rock with sharp songwriting and crisp production. Music that challenges and pleases. It somehow manages to sound very “British,” calling to mind what happened there in the 70s when prog rock and folk met, or some of the stranger Syd Barrett era Pink Floyd material.

Anaïs Mitchell / Anaïs Mitchell: One of the very best American folk/pop singer-songwriters working today. Sometimes I think she embodies something like the “gold standard” for good songcraft (one of her previous accomplishments was to develop a Broadway musical based on one of her albums, Hadestown, a contemporary re-telling of the Orpheus and Eurydice story). For a brief moment, I thought there was a smidge too much “musical theatre” in her writing but then I got over myself, realizing that this is simply the hallmark of the kind of songcraft that exceeds any particular genre. I also really love her voice.

Angeline Morrison / The Sorrow Songs (Folk Songs of Black British Experience): A lovely and important entry into the slow-but-growing stream of genres being re-claimed by Black people through correctives like this one. Morrison shows us that there’s a long-suppressed Black tradition in British folk. Densely and competently produced by Eliza Carthy, this is both beautiful and politically radical — and 100% worth hearing.

Aoife O’Donovan / Age of Apathy: O’Donovan originally came from folk/bluegrass but now writes immensely sophisticated and beautiful folk/pop songs that remind me of Joni Mitchell’s in the second half of the 1970s. There’s a fearless harmonic and rhythmic complexity here, coupled with thoughtful lyrics that always resonate. Statistically, this is one of my most-listened albums of 2022. (Also worth hearing is a live album that came later in the year, Live from the Hi-Fi. Unfortuantely, it sounds as if the event was somewhat sparsely attended, but the band is truly great.)

Binker Golding / Dream Like a Dogwood Wild Boy: Golding is one half of one of Britain’s leading “new jazz” outfits, Binker & Moses (whose music I admit I find nearly unlistenable most times). This solo album is a much calmer affair. It’s a curious “jazz rock” amalgam, offering echoes of late 1970s “fusion” but perhaps moving further from jazz’s bebop commitments and towards a grand, “wide-open skies” sort of West coast prog rock idiom. Not sure I can do it justice in the description. Try to stay with it for two tracks or so and see if you don’t get hooked (possibly despite your instincts).

Bonny Light Horseman / Rolling Golden Holy: Anaïs Mitchell’s other entry in this year’s list. Here she is partnered with two collaborators in a folk/rock/Americana supergroup of sorts. Their first album two years ago felt wonderfully organic and satisfying, and this one continues seamlessly where the last one left off. I don’t entirely know why, but Bonny Light Horseman’s sound often makes me think of The Band. Music for road trips.

Brìghde Chaimbeul, Ross Ainslie & Steven Byrnes / Las: Incredible Scottish folk music. This drones, grooves, creaks and rattles. How music once sounded and perhaps how it will sound again. Clears the mind.

Calexico / El Mirador: A band that only gets better with time. I always appreciate a good cross-cultural/cross-border musical collaboration, and Calexico here presents one of the finest. Sample “The Burro Song” and tell me this isn’t incredible.

Carly Rae Jepsen / The Loneliest Time: Currently Canada’s best pop songwriter, she just gets better with each album. This is wildly competent electropop of the finest kind. It was slightly unfortunate that it was released on the same day as Taylor Swift’s new album and so was eclipsed by that in the critical reception. But those who know, know — these are fine songs, beautifully produced. I’m particularly fond of “Western Wind,” one of the early singles, which I find deeply affecting in its electronic melancholy.

Carter McLean / Travelers: This is the album that nobody heard (and neither had I). True story: I purchased another album from Carter McLean’s website; the e-commerce feature didn’t quite work so I emailed him; he accidentally sent me this album as a direct download instead of the one I had actually bought. It was all sorted out in the end but I found myself in unplanned possession of this “extra” record. And it’s lovely! Carter McLean is a drummer and producer who works (worked?) as the principal drummer of the Lion King musical in New York. Travelers is a beautifully through-composed and exquisitely produced instrumental album. Sometimes in a jazz/jazz fusion idiom, sometimes more along the lines of modern Scandinavian (non-modal; ECM) “jazz,” and occasionally evocative of instrumental Americana, the overall impression is of a very well-rehearsed small group — although I understand that a lot of it was progressively assembled in the studio with contributions from various instrumentalists. I don’t know why it’s not on any streaming service or on Bandcamp — but I suppose I could understand that a musician with an actual income stream (from the Lion King and teaching) might opt out of streaming altogether given the poor economics of it. (Get your own copy here.)

Charlotte Adigéry & Bolis Pupul / Topical Dancer: Fun, clever and political electropop, half French and half English, with a dinstinctly international perspective and killer production.

The Comet is Coming / Hyper-Dimensional Expansion Beam: Madcap, energetic new British “jazz” at the precise intersection between Sun Ra and Fatboy Slim (or maybe even the Prodigy). Some of these new hybrids are so implausible that you have to hear them to believe them.

Dawn Richard & Spencer Zahn / Pigments: Dawn Richard typically makes electronically inflected indie R&B and Spencer Zahn is a bassist and producer who started out in electronic music but persistently moves further in a through-composed jazz direction. I like this as a kind of advanced ambient music — unobtrusive background if required but capable of fully engaging the ear all the same. The critical consensus seemed to be that they bring out the best in each other which may well be true.

Esmerine / Everything Was Forever Until It Was No More: Montreal post-rock band/orchestra releases another terrific, lovely and engaging album. If you like GY!BE or Bell Orchestre, you’ll probably like this.

Fatoumata Diawara / Maliba: Google Arts & Culture released a “documentary” of sorts about Mali and the international effort to preserve its ancient manuscripts and artifacts in light of the Mali War (Northern Mali conflict) which has now been ongoing for ten years. As part of its effort, it seems that Google commissioned a mini album from Fatoumata Diawara, one of Mali’s premier singer-songwriters whose music is always incredible. Terrific African pop with a melancholy “desert blues” lilt.

FKA twigs / Caprisongs: New album from the ever-amazing FKA twigs. The critical consensus was that this is her “party album.” It certainly downplays the Kate Bush influences and the deeply sad future R&B from before and embraces various dance tropes but always puts her own unique spin on them.

Heilung / Drif: This “dark folk” band is a Scandinavian/German collaboration. Their work claims to explore, perhaps “ethno-historically” (or ethno-musicologically?), various ancient musics. Initially, their work seemed mostly interested in Northern European culture but here it expands in other geographic directions. The unique thing is that this is anything but academic: working on the (presumably correct) assumption that in the absence of any written or oral record of ancient musical performance traditions “anything goes,” Heilung perform ritualistic stage shows that focus on guttural singing and various ancient intruments, thus creating their own performance tradition. They’ve been very well-received in metal circles but really deserve a much wider audience.

Laufey / Everything I Know About Love: Laufey Jónsdóttir is an Icelandic singer-songwriter who writes delightfully old-fashioned jazz/pop songs and performs them with perfect pitch and a self-assurance well beyond her young years. Part of the appeal here is that these songs sound like they’re from another era but the perceptive lyrics are definitely of the moment. It’s shockingly pleasant but never even skirts close to “cheesy” territory. The fun challenge is to figure out how it manages to do that.

Luna Li / Duality: Hannah Bussiere Kim is a fine new singer-songwriter and multi-instrumentalist (harp! guitar! violin!) from Toronto who makes psychedelic bedroom pop that references the 90s and the 60s in equal measure. It’s woozy and laid back and delightful but the lightness belies a great deal of thoughtfulness, complexity and depth of musical imagination. Equally perfect on a really hot summer afternoon and during a cold-season dinner party when the fireplace is going (but by no means background music). On very high rotation in my house this year.

Makaya McCraven / In These Times: More “new jazz,” this time from the US. McCraven is a jazz drummer and producer, the kind whose work flows seamlessly between instrumental prowess and electronic production, erasing any audible boundaries between the two. I have liked some of his previous work, but this album is spectacular. It sounds like a fully-developed vision of “the future of jazz,” every aspect finely tuned and plausible though of course not inevitable at all. What’s most exciting about all these nontraditional experiments in “new jazz” is that they each propose different answers to the question about where jazz is going, and in so-doing have once again made it into a vital and diverse genre in only a few short years. — I can’t really describe this, but you absolutely ought to hear it.

Michaela Anne / Oh To Be That Free: Michaela Anne is a country singer-songwriter on the lighter side of “alt country.” Previous album Desert Dove had a stately, widescreen sound, equal parts Roy Orbison and old Mavericks, with perceptive songs sung in a clear, bell-like soprano. Oh To Be That Free, her new record, is a departure of sorts that might make some listeners uncomfortable. I know it did me. The sound, though still directionally similar, is smaller and more compact. But the great departure here is the lyrics. This is one of the most disarmingly honest, sincere albums I’ve heard in a while. Exploring significant life changes (human relationships, family, the pandemic, bringing a child into the world…), these songs sometimes sound as if you’ve inadvertently stumbled into someone else’s therapy session. Ordinarily, I don’t imagine I would have connected with this, but somehow it hooked me. There is a great deal of bravery in these songs: Michaela Anne lays bare her struggles, anxieties, dreams and triumphs for all of us to see. In an age of routine cynicism, this isn’t what songwriters are supposed to do, and when they do our typical reaction might be to be vaguely embarassed. What if we resisted that urge?

Modern Nature / Island of Noise: A perfect album for all ten of us who loved the last three Talk Talk albums. Modern Nature is a British folk/rock/jazz band that patiently mines the same quiet seam Mark Hollis did. If you need further reference points, imagine taking a bit of Radiohead, a bit of jazz, a bit of Nick Drake, and a British pastoral landscape and mixing them all together.

Nilüfer Yanya / Painless: Such a great album, this! Every so often, someone comes along who manages to forge a unique sound that’s also entirely of the moment. Nilüfer Yanya is a British singer-songwriter whose music used to be a kind of guitar rock oriented indie pop. On this new record, the sound signature starts to lean more towards math rock (angular, layered but not necessarily distorted guitars) and folk-tronica, and the songs have become entirely more memorable. Her voice is both unusual and entirely engrossing: deep, soft and authoritative, her register alone calms the soul. This album has racked up one of the highest play counts in my rotation this year.

Nneka / Love Supreme: Nneka is a Nigerian-German reggae and R&B singer. On this new record, her voice is framed by increasingly powerful production that expertly flits around contemporary dub, drum & bass, R&B and afrobeats. This has a kind of funky minimalism that suggests “dancefloor” more than “radio,” but it’s calm and elegant and very cool.

Oren Ambarchi / Ghosted and Shebang: Two albums in one year from Oren Ambarchi, an Australian multi-instrumentalist/electronic producer whose main MO is collaborative, often live experimental music-making. While quite different in sound signature, these two albums clearly share a common DNA: they are explorations of slow-building polyrhythms over relatively long expanses of time. Ghosted focuses more on acoustic instruments while Shebang‘s sound signature is more electronic, although I’d have to say that the underlying compositional infrastructure remains delightfully opaque (both records may well be electronically assembled in similar ways). It’s incredibly engaging and interesting music, the kind that can be intensely listened to and explored. At the same time, you can turn it down a bit and it frames a room tastefully, like an intriguing painting or a really plush rug.

Rachika Nayar / Heaven Come Crashing: I like this very much. There are more and more of these solo electronic auteurs making really interesting, arresting music using a blend of acoustic and electronic instruments. Rachika Nayar, based in Brooklyn, is a guitarist whose highly processed playing often becomes functionally indistinguishable from ambient electronic music. This sometimes takes a turn into a kind of blissful maximalism, intense in its fullness but not unpleasantly so.

Sarathy Korwar / Kalak: By now, the UK has a 30+ year history of acting as a “melting pot” of sorts for various musics from its former colonies in Asia with “Western” pop. While this album by Sarathy Korwar (produced by Photay) features a number of key players from London’s “new jazz” scene and has therefore primarily been discussed in that light, I think of it more in continuity with the original “Asian underground” (e.g. Talvin Singh’s work in the late 90s). I hadn’t necessarily found much to enjoy on Korwar’s previous releases, but this album offers both more electronic sounds and a welcome tenderness, dialing back the anti-colonial onslaught and guest rappers, and introducing a dynamic range that seemed to be lacking from e.g. the previous album.

Shabaka / Afrikan Culture: Appearing solo (“as leader”) for the first time, Shabaka Hutchings, usually associated with acts like Sons of Kemet, the Comet is Coming and Shabaka and the Ancestors, explores a much slower and lovelier spiritual jazz than usual. I’m very charmed by the flutes and bells whose sonorities are amply explored in addition to his usual saxophone. It’s short at 28 minutes but thoroughly thrilling.

Silvana Estrada / Marchita: A young, jazz-trained Mexican singer-songwriter of incredible power and expressiveness. This album is a singular accomplishment of minimalism: the instrumental backings are perfectly restrained (without disappearing into nothingness), framing her emotional reflections about lost love. The songs are based in various folk traditions from across Latin America. I don’t speak Spanish so have to look up translations, but it really doesn’t matter — you can feel this music to comprehend it, and I imagine you don’t lose all that much.

Spoon / Lucifer on the Sofa and Lucifer on the Moon: You’ll have noticed there isn’t much “rock” on this list, at least in the classic sense. My general sense, supported again and again by each year’s yield, is that the genre remains largely dormant for the time being. I mean, things are being released, sure — but they’re mostly derivative and, as such, feel increasingly niche. I’m not sure I had imagined a time in my life where “rock” as a genre would be seeking to “cross over” into the mainstream, but here we are. —— Spoon remains one of the genre’s most vital bands, spectacular in its sonics, musicianship and songwriting. There hasn’t been a Spoon album I haven’t enjoyed over the years, and this year’s is no exception. In fact, it comes in two versions: Sofa is the “original” and Moon is a dub version created by Adrian Sherwood. I can’t quite decide which one I like better. The rock version is both thunderous and closely controlled, the perfect framing for Britt Daniel’s terse, nervous, sometimes anxious lyrics (the texture in his voice sometimes makes him sound like John Lennon). The dub version re-contextualizes the songs completely, evoking sonic memories of the Clash (or, with some imagination, U2 circa Achtung Baby which — in this thought experiment — becomes re-cast as a kind of dub album in its own right). Both versions are satisfying listens and give each other added context and dimension.

Stick in the Wheel / Endurance Soundly Caged (EP): God, how I love this band. The punkest and most experimental of English “folk” acts, it almost doesn’t matter what weird and wonderful sonic permutations they are exploring (drone folk, folk punk, prog rock folk, ambient folktronica…), they are always worth hearing. This short effort here is once again a full band record (other recent excursions were more on the electronic side, possibly due to the pandemic), and the rollicking circular math-rock rhythms are back, framing Nicola Kearey’s fantastic voice. Deserving of far more attention than they are getting.

Szun Waves / Earth Patterns: I hadn’t previously heard of this “experimental jazz trio” from London. What I’ve discovered is that I really like this — it’s a dense, spiritual musical journey that both makes sense in the context of all the other “new jazz” I’ve discussed on this list and stands somewhat apart from it. It’ll come up as part of a playlist and I’ll immediately be drawn to it. I’ve come to think of it as a gentler but no less committed version of the Comet is Coming’s album (see above). If the Comet is Coming celebrates the 90s big beat “rave culture” moment, Szun Waves conjures up the more ecstatic forms of morning-after sunrise electronica.

Taj Mahal & Ry Cooder / Get On Board — The Songs of Sonny Terry & Brownie McGhee: Having worked together at the beginnings of their respective careers (before fame), Taj Mahal and Ry Cooder reunite as seasoned veterans with their own take on the songs of these classic blues composer/performers. The result is loose and raw and reminds us that there really are no genre distinctions between blues, folk and country. This feels vital and political.

Telenova / Stained Glass Love (EP): On one hand, this is pure nostalgia for a time in the mid-to-late 90s when pop and electronica merged in a kind of languid, laid back, radio-friendly hybrid (Saint Etienne, Moloko, Everything But the Girl’s foray into house music, and so on). On the other, this Melbourne based outfit writes and performs songs that are head and shoulders above and more satisfying than most of the others currently stoking 90s nostalgia. Interested to see what comes next.

Tom Skinner / Voices of Bishara: British jazz drummer, formerly of Sons of Kemet, currently in The Smile, a “supergroup” with Thom Yorke and Jonny Greenwood. This is his first solo outing. I couldn’t warm to The Smile’s debut effort (I have an allergy of sorts to Thom Yorke’s depressive subject matter and whiny voice) but I do like this album quite a bit. I particularly enjoy the interplay between through-composed “spiritual” jazz and afrobeat. Skinner might be a worthy sonic heir to Tony Allen.

Also worth hearing:

• Beabadoobee / Beatopia
• Big Thief / Dragon New Warm Mountain I Believe In You
• Dubokaj Feat. Lee “Scratch” Perry / Daydreamflix
• Fern Maddie / Ghost Story
• In the Forest / These Four Walls
• JD Allen / Americana Vol. 2
• Kendrick Lamar / Mr. Morale & The Big Steppers
• North Mississippi Allstars / Set Sail
• Nyamekye Junction / Dasein (EP)
• Orville Peck / Bronco
• Pierre Kwenders / José Louis and the Paradox of Love
• Rosalía / Motomami
• Smino / Luv 4 Rent
• Suki Waterhouse / I Can’t Let Go
• Théotime Langlois de Swarte & Les Ombres / Vivaldi, Leclair & Locatelli Violin Concertos
• Weyes Blood / And in the Darkness, Hearts Aglow

The post Best new music 2022 first appeared on carsten knoch - essays + ideas.

“Gamestorming” is a set of collaborative techniques — loosely structured like games — popular in private sector and nonprofit organizations. Gamestorming is used in group contexts to capture and process information, generate insights, solve problems and establish (or manufacture?) consensus. Usually, gamestorming activities take place during in-person meetings using white boards and sticky notes. During the pandemic, practitioners have increasingly adopted virtual whiteboards and other online tools to facilitate gamestorming. Gamestorming has come to be seen as a core tool in the “UX research” (user experience research) toolbox.

Carsten Knoch has used adapted gamestorming techniques to conduct group analysis sessions about ethnographic and interview data. While this may, at first glance, be an “off-label” use, sessions have generally been interesting, productive and made participants feel included in research work. In this Methods Café, Knoch will provide background, give examples (including “gamestorming game design”) and discuss how one might use the approach for a kind of “rapid, provisional” data analysis with friends or willing strangers. A short reading list will be included. This is a recorded Zoom event.

The Ethnography Lab promotes ethnographic research methods and practice in the university and outside academia. Arranged in interest groups, the Lab explores the craft and impact of ethnography in the contemporary world. The Lab offers a regular speaker series, acts as a resource centre to the university community, and as a link to the outside world via consulting, community activism, and so on. It also has a strong focus on teaching the practical aspects of ethnographic fieldwork at the undergraduate level.

The Ethnography Lab is a University of Toronto Anthropology initiative.

The post Gamestorming for ethnographic data analysis first appeared on carsten knoch - essays + ideas.

A couple of weeks ago, in the middle of the afternoon, someone enthusiastically rang our doorbell and then knocked several times. Unfortunately, we were both on Zoom calls so couldn’t rush to the door to see who was there. Usually it’s just a delivery of course, and no-one really expects doors to be opened during these pandemic days. Ringing and knocking typically just means it’s an exuberant new gigwork driver whose employment on the front line hasn’t ground him or her down yet.

This time turned out to be different. Later that day in our mailbox, we found a lovely hand-drawn greeting card showing a reindeer emerging from a gift box labeled “Merry Christmas” and signed by somebody named Cora. We know barely any children in our new neighbourhood let alone anyone named Cora, so we think that Cora perhaps misremembered a friend or family member’s address and inadvertently delivered to us what was meant for someone else. Still, a terrific if accidental gesture, and we very much appreciate the spirit in which people in our small town try to maintain social bonds during nearly twenty months of varying degrees of social distancing.

A confluence of fortuitous factors such as being double vaccinated and the pandemic retreating ever so slightly during the warm months allowed me to visit my mom in Germany this past summer. In her family archives, she has copies of every single annual Christmas newsletter my family sent out to friends and relatives all over the world, from 1978 — the year we left Germany and moved to Namibia — until 2009. They were typed — initially on a typewriter, later on a PC — and contained sections penned by my dad (politics, economics, the family business) and my mom (family, kids, household, community). A crucial part that I had forgotten (perhaps “repressed” would be more accurate) is that as of our early teenage years, my sister and I were encouraged to write our own contributions. It’s a strange experience to read the precocious ramblings of my former self, confidently informing readers about school trips or how I was planning to become a journalist. I’m not quite ready to perform a deeper exegesis on these letters, but perhaps one day I might attempt to translate and publish a few of the more interesting bits. As a compendium of one immigrant/settler family’s experience in southern Africa, it is a treasure trove of how subjectivities are constructed and how what one sees is at once completely clear and entirely clouded by who one is or would like to be.

These small introductory missives I prepend each year to my annual “best new music” blog post have taken on a similar function to those annual newsletters. Yet because “we’re all in this together,” I feel disinclined to recap any broader highlights or lowlights here.

What interests me at the moment is that our world is clearly in the process of changing fundamentally and permanently in a number of different ways. There is no going back to a pre-pandemic “normal.” Work, social life, housing, travel, shopping, the arts — everything is experiencing seismic and irrevocable change. It is breathtaking to observe, to the extent that one can take it all in. My ongoing sense is that whatever amount of permanent change we may intuit will result from the pandemic, we should “double” it and that might not even come close to how it will eventually shake out.

On the personal front and outside of my ongoing consulting work, I have been putting time towards a number of personal projects. In the course of 2021, I mentored several anthropology graduates (PhDs and MAs) through the process of finding work in the private sector, an enjoyable and (I think) useful activity. I’m also working with an as of now very small core team of people on developing an idea for a museum in Brooklyn, New York that would showcase noncapitalist futures in ways that foreground life and play rather than technology or economics (i.e. stealing back from “startups” and “founders” what we have learned about “innovation” because we can do better than that). And in daily defiance of algorithmic curation, I’m in an ongoing Discord correspondence with two friends on the West Coast — taking turns selecting favourite tracks old and new and widening each other’s musical horizons, and in the process creating an incredibly eclectic playlist that’s now nearly 20 hours long.

Life may be highly unusual and constrained right now, but as long as we keep threads of care, solidarity and (dare I say) optimism alive, we will be okay.

Stay safe & healthy.

Happy holidays,

As before, if you’d like to listen to this year’s best albums in series (21 hours in total), I have added them all to a Spotify playlist. Each individual album title below links to the album on Spotify. I chose Spotify not because I particularly agree with their business model but because the “free,” ad-supported version makes the music available to anyone.

Bell Orchestre — House Music: Deeply interesting instrumental post-rock from a Montreal collective consisting of people who variously also play in other bands such as Arcade Fire. Playing like a connected suite of rock, electronica and jazz, this is not background music but rather challenging in all the best ways, expecting focused listening and rewarding it mightily. Despite the sustained assault of fullness, there is also dynamic variation here, ushering in flow states.

Big Red Machine — How Long Do You Think It’s Gonna Last?: A project whose sound I really enjoy. In comparison to their previous outing, this time Aaron Dessner (The National) and Justin Vernon (Bon Iver) enlisted several guest vocalists to sing in addition to (previously mostly) Vernon’s vocals. The music increasingly sounds like a super current version of The Band’s late 60s anthems. “Phoenix (Feat. Fleet Foxes & Anaïs Mitchell)” strikes me as basically a perfect song.

Charlotte Day Wilson — Alpha: Charlotte Day Wilson’s voice is amazing. Deep, resonant, powerful and seemingly incapable of leaving me unmoved. Her debut album has been long in the making. Also a gifted producer and bass player, these carefully crafted compositions live on an axis that spans contemporary Toronto R&B, gospel (sonically only), and the kind of amber “folk” Justin Vernon (Bon Iver) makes sometimes. The overall sense of this record is at once autumnal yet celebratory — it’s very warm and strong. I find myself drifting back to this often. It speaks to a facet of my temperament.

Darkside — Spiral: One of the very best albums of the year. Darkside is a psychedelic vocal electronic music project by Nicolás Jaar and Dave Harrington, and this is their second record. Apart from memorable songs and incredible sounds of all kinds, perhaps its most amazing accomplishment is to make it all sound so organic — in the sense of hearing a “real band” playing instead of something carefully constructed or assembled. It’s both strange and melodic at the same time, like a 21st century version of early Pink Floyd, or a mellower Underworld ca. 1996.

Eliza Shaddad — The Woman You Want: New record from a Scottish-Sudanese singer/songwriter who writes and performs fine songs in an indie idiom — sometimes gentle as folk, other times with the coiled intensity of PJ Harvey. Whenever I return to this (as I have done a lot), I think this is some of the best indie rock I’ve heard all year. You should hear it too.

Emmylou Harris — Ramble in Music City: The Lost Concert: In the early 1990s, Emmylou Harris took a break from touring. Her comeback after this hiatus was with a new band, The Nash Ramblers — essentially, an acoustic country ensemble comprised of legendary veterans. The material they toured for the ensuing two or so years was bluegrass-adjacent classic country and folk (or versions of more contemporary material played as bluegrass). One live record appeared at the time (Live at the Ryman), and it has been a favourite of mine since that time (it’s also widely credited with prefiguring the late 90s “newgrass” revival by a few years). Now, a second full live show has been unearthed from the archives, and the material is quite different but no less amazing. Truly a terrific band of fine musicians, and Harris is at her vocal peak (voice still entirely intact but also mature and savvy, schooled by years on the road).

Erlend Apneseth Trio — Lokk: Erlend Apneseth is a Norwegian musician who specializes in the hardanger fiddle, a fretted version of the violin (similar to a pre-Baroque viol). The trio makes a version of that specifically Scandinavian brand of “jazz” (a non-blues based kind of atmospheric instrumental music that spans classical, experimental, folk and — indeed — jazz). It’s always a delight when old instruments can be both idiomatic and cutting-edge without being a gimmick. One thing I particularly enjoy is how acoustic and electronic instruments are each other’s sonic equal here, an artifact of thoughtful audio engineering (but also clear vision). Favourite track: “Impedans.”

Gabriel Akhmad Marin — Ruminate: Improvisations for Fretless Guitar and Dutar: Terrific instrumental record from a virtuoso guitarist. Alternates between tracks improvised on electric guitar hooked up to a full midi synth rig (sounds like beautiful synthetic drones with appealing overtones) and others played on a dutar, a traditional two-stringed Persian lute. (As an aside, I’m very fond of the branded yellow title emblem on the cover, carefully constructed as it is to closely resemble Deutsche Grammophon’s classic design.)

Griff — One Foot in Front of The Other (EP): Griff is a young British singer, songwriter and producer whose work far eclipses most new pop music I’ve heard in years. Many of her songs have the simple grace and magical, Tetris-like fit of Taylor Swift’s, Robyn’s or Vince Clarke’s best work. Her steady ascent to justified fame in Britain is sure to be followed by equal recognition on the international stage. This too-short EP was followed by a single later in the year (“One Night“) that was just as brilliant. High hopes for an album soon. (Favourite track is “Shade of Yellow,” a stunning morsel of electropop perfection with production so dense and well-judged it has to be heard to be believed.)

Juçara Marçal — Delta Estácio Blues: I have no background on this Brazilian singer other than what I’ve gleaned from write-ups of this album. But I love everything about this. It’s radically inventive, thriving on sharp contrasts between distorted electronic production and more traditional Brazilian pop and folk melodies. I hear Einstürzende Neubauten, Tom Waits and David Byrne on one hand and Astrud Gilberto on the other. It’s occasionally confrontational and discordant but never unpleasant. Strong political energy on this one, justifiably so given what is going on in her home country.

Lorde — Solar Power: On her third album, Lorde sounds like a witty, sometimes sardonic, sad hippie. Her unique mix of observant irony and heartfelt sincerity are always a treat — she’s one of the sharpest lyricists of her generation. Many of the reviews described this as a retreat of sorts (presumably from club-focused electropop) and panned the music as either boring or, worse, 90s Sheryl Crow. I disagree. I hear a subtle but innovative blend of electronic pop with the more radio-friendly side of hippie-folk from the late 60s, like the Mamas & the Papas, or even the 5th Dimension; also, perhaps, echoes of the long-forgotten first album by Nelly Furtado (basically, an event only in Canada) which attempted something similar — fusing a hippie sensibility with “trip hop” (at the time). Of course, Lorde is much more than just a great lyricist, she also has a sure hand when it comes to turning out specifically Lorde-like melodic phrases. So many good songs, but sample “Mood Ring” and “Stoned at the Nail Salon.” (Hat tip for also releasing five of these songs as a separate EP sung entirely in Māori. Extra hat tip for Solar Power being one of the best-sounding records of the year.)

Low — Hey What: For the first time in a long time, this made me appreciate the transcendence that can come from abrasiveness in music. People report quasi-spiritual experiences when listening to acts like Sunn O))) but I rarely see why. What makes Low different is the juxtaposition of the members’ voices harmonizing perfectly, as if singing pastoral folk or mystical incantations, while the music around them literally sounds like it’s disintegrating and shattering your headphones. Supreme beauty alongside supreme distortion. Celestial harmonies somehow rising from the densest clouds of pulsating white noise. Produced by BJ Burton who was instrumental in designing the strange electronic processors underpinning Bon Iver’s phenomenal transformation circa 22, a Million, a record I love deeply. This is that but taken to a whole other level, possibly its logical conclusion. Bracing but magical. Favourite track: “Days Like These.”

Lump — Animal: Laura Marling and Mike Lindsay’s second album as Lump features brilliant, angular alt-rock with wonderfully weird and highly intelligent lyrics. Harnessing the best of Marling’s literary language and odd turns of musical phrase but powering them with music that’s more “rock” than folk results in something much higher energy and upbeat (contrasting with Marling’s solo work which can be quite withdrawn to the point of occasionally being maudlin). I am occasionally put in mind of krautrock’s “motorik” rhythms in the best way. Standout tracks, for me, are “Animal” and “Paradise.” But there’s nothing weak or filler here.

Nathalie Stutzmann, Orfeo 55 — Contralto: For this year’s instalment of pop music from the Baroque, here’s the final release from Nathalie Stutzmann with her (now disbanded) orchestra Orfeo 55. Stutzmann is a French contra-alto whose burnished amber voice is only half the attraction: she also conducts her period ensemble. This collection of fine Baroque arias for contra-alto and countertenor should make anyone’s heart sing, provided they are somewhat open to beauty in music regardless of era.

The Notwist — Vertigo Days: The Notwist are a German experimental indie band with at least 25 years of history. Their latest, Vertigo Days, is another brilliant record, combining their unique turn of musical phrase with somewhat surreal (but also quite philosophical) lyrics. If I had to give you a “sounds like” reference, I’d maybe say Radiohead but more whimsical. The vocalist’s German accent, after some time, becomes less of a hindrance and instead an essential signifier of an overall sonic intent. I appreciate how contemporary German indie bands reference Germany’s own rock history — in this case, the “motorik” rhythms of Krautrock (though presumably programmed here). The Notwist’s instrumentation can be kaleidoscopic, almost conjuring up a kind of Orff palette.

Parcels — Day/Night: Expansive double album from an (originally) Australian group (now based in Berlin) that makes music somewhere along the spectrum of disco, electropop and a kind of late 70s “yacht rock,” the sort of music that sounds like early Toto. Parcels got their earliest breakthrough from a one-song collaboration with Daft Punk, and the shadow of that still lingers here, pleasantly. It’s clear that these are excellent musicians. While the track “Somethinggreater” is certainly standout, I’ve become particularly fond of the ballads (e.g. “Outside”) which are tender, vulnerable and, at the same time, not cheesy — a difficult thing to get right.

Spell Songs — Spell Songs II: Let the Light In: Second album from a Scottish folk collective that got together to set to music Robert Macfarlane’s poetry about the lost words for nature (background via this). I really liked the first record, but this second is a significant advance in terms of composition and group cohesion. Lovely, thoughtful, grown-up folk — mostly based on Celtic and English traditions but also incorporating a singer and kora player originally from West Africa, thus suggesting (again) how well the two musical traditions can connect. The best part, as The Guardian says, is the singing.

Steve Earle & The Dukes — J.T.: Steve Earle, alt-country troubadour extraordinaire and always worth hearing no matter what, makes an album celebrating the music of his late son Justin Townes Earle who tragically died from a drug overdose in August 2020. I won’t speculate about others’ motivations or sentiments here but will say that this is superbly played by Earle’s veteran band, The Dukes, with a terrific, raw, almost punk-y energy, perhaps a deserving and honourable way of channeling a father’s grief and respecting J.T. Earle’s unruly modern outlaw country.

Teke::Teke — Shirushi: Brilliant debut album by a collective from Montreal that plays its own take on “Japanese psychedelic surf-rock.” I know this doesn’t really make any sense but it’s quite brilliant. It’s very much unlike anything else you can hear right now. Sometimes I think I hear a distant kinship with Khruangbin. Perhaps it’s the strong Asian signifier coupled with the far eastern crate-digging inception story that underpin both acts. But here, unlike there, we encounter no sleepiness whatsoever — it’s all quite combustible. On balance, I much prefer Teke::Teke.

Tune-Yards — Sketchy.: Angular and strange, Tune-Yards’ Merrill Garbus writes songs a little reminiscent of Talking Heads’ best work — somehow whipping funk, art pop, world music and rock into something bigger than the sum of its parts. I appreciate that this is self-aware, often truly weird and also pleasurable.

Also worth hearing:

Ashley Monroe — Rosegold: Departure from country in a “country-tronica” direction. I’m always a sucker for this under-explored combination. Not everything here is mind-blowing, but much is very, very good.

Ashwarya — Nocturnal Hours (EP): What Billie Eilish’s second album should have sounded like? Mashes dry, focused electronic production into Indian influences while never straying from a clear vision of electronic alternative pop. Talent to watch.

Celeste — Not Your Muse: A very, very good R&B vocalist with excellent phrasing and really good ideas. It’s not very cutting edge (i.e. perhaps does not move the genre needle at all), but at the same time it’s very satisfying.

Dry Cleaning — New Long Leg: This is cool — nervous new-wave-y post-rock paired with a deadpan female vocalist basically reciting poetry. Reminded me of the band Life Without Buildings from the early 2000s.

Japanese Breakfast — Jubilee: Punk-reared feminist indie rocker makes joy-seeking pop record. Very literate, quite varied yet all sounding of-a-piece. Often very beautiful songs.

Kynsy — Things That Don’t Exist (EP): Young Irish singer’s first EP. Sounds like indie pop from the 90s — and as such, similar to Beabadoobee in the best way. Kynsy’s worth keeping an eye on.

An honourable mention for “song of the year” should go to ABBA’s “Don’t Shut Me Down,” the “b-side” to the first and only single from new album Voyage. The album itself unfortunately proved to be really thin (that might be the best way to describe it), but it did yield this one spectacular song, a worthy extension of the legacy of brilliant autumnal sad disco tracks they started to make circa Super Trouper. Just like I could listen to “The Day Before You Came” on repeat all day, this one also feels timeless. So, we’ll forget the album that was 40 years in the making and hold on to this one song. In another 40 years, the by-then entirely virtualized, AI version of ABBA will surely make another spectacular song.

The post Best new music 2021 first appeared on carsten knoch - essays + ideas.

I.

The word mixtape used to mean something entirely different to what it means today. Making a tape — either for yourself or somebody else — was essentially a curatorial exercise. A good mixtape was a highly personal yet listenable compilation of music, usually from different artists or sources, that had a flow of sorts, told a story or made an argument, entertained or educated. In rare moments, it could accomplish all of these things.

Using cassettes, you had to take into account the material constraints of the medium. For example, you could realistically only make one copy, so the vast majority of what’s been called “the most widely practiced American art form” basically consisted of one-offs (okay — some of us had double tape decks, even ones with auto-reverse, but dubbing a 90-minute cassette was still usually a tedious, real-time activity). Labeling tapes properly was also important. Music nerds insisted on all sorts of information (year of release, album, etc.) that was hard to fit onto the inlay card, even after they started making double or triple foldouts. Ideally, you had small, neat handwriting. Tape length was another factor to consider. A 60 minute cassette was a bit ungenerous as a gift but also harder to curate than, say, 90 or 120 minutes. To do 60 minutes justice, you had to know what you were doing. And the things had two sides. In later years, most people had auto-reverse cassette players so it became less of an issue, but the click-clack of switching sides still signaled a break in the program. Also, it was good practice not to overshoot the length of a side or have too much blank tape at the end of it. To account for the quirks of the medium, you either had to be good at planning — or trust in serendipity.

When given away, mixtapes were social gestures, between friends, boyfriends/girlfriends, love interests. They were made for parties, special occasions (the Valentine’s Day mixtape being a perennial favourite of course), to be sent through the mail (long distance relationships) or slipped into someone’s backpack. Mixtapes constituted a lovely mix between the material and the semiotic. They were a thing that cost (a little) money and (a lot of) time to make. At the same time, they were all about what was on them, what you were able to express through your unique curatorial approach. Your mixtape might be the only place where you could hear Tom Waits, Linton Kwesi Johnson and Jimi Hendrix in the same place. Tapes were a way to express something — about the giver, and towards the recipient.

Once digital music became the dominant paradigm, we rapidly cycled through various descendant formats, but nothing was ever quite the same as the analogue cassette mixtape. There were mixed CDs — these were most similar to mixtapes but their era didn’t last very long, and the technology and skills required weren’t universally accessible. Then there were MP3 playlists in which the actual music files were accompanied by a playlist file that contained the sequencing information, and the whole assemblage might be shared using a USB flash drive. Something was lost in the translation, though. Most obviously, the new digital formats felt like the scale had been tipped heavily in favour of the semiotic side: everything was so easy to copy and move around that making someone a compilation lost the special, unique aspect related to the material aspects of the medium. (Or one might say that the previously democratic, accessible material aspects were collapsed into the digital mechanics of “how to burn a compilation CD” or “how to shared MP3s and M3Us,” thereby somehow making them the domain of nerds who became more like suppliers than sharers.)

Recorded music has gone through various historical stages from the perspective of the media used and the kinds of personal and public practices they enabled. Let’s say the first stage was the radio and records, the second tape and cassettes, the third CDs and digital music files. Recorded music has now reached a kind of “fourth age,” the streaming era. Like any technological development, this era comes with its own problems, notably that — in a near-perfect mirror to late capitalism itself — it has grossly accelerated inequality of income distribution to artists, who are struggling to make ends meet, in part because services like Spotify and Apple Music pay them so little per stream. The Covid epidemic has only further accentuated their misery as it is currently nearly impossible for musicians to generate income from live performances.

At the algorithmic back-end of the royalty distribution problem is the streaming era’s discovery problem. Finding out about new music used to be a social activity, at least in part. But as the radio became less relevant in listeners’ daily lives, and music listening increasingly turned into a private activity (headphones on the subway, headphones to protect yourself against intrusions in open concept offices) music developed a discovery problem. Despite the ubiquitous and instantaneous availability of nearly all music ever recorded, how are you supposed to hear new music? How do you find music that you like? How is musical taste shaped? Streaming services try to address the discovery problem with algorithmic recommendation engines which present machine-curated playlists to users based on activity tracking and increasingly sophisticated metadata. (Ever wonder how Spotify’s “Autoplay similar songs when your music ends” feature works? This is it.)

The sad reality is that neither the metadata nor the algorithmic recommendation engines are particularly good. Spotify and Apple Music know this and compensate with editorial selectors as well as listener volunteers who create hand-picked, usually “genre” or “mood” centered playlists. For my taste, it’s all a bit hit and miss — usually more miss.

II.

In the last few months, as a lockdown diversion of sorts, I’ve been exploring collaborative online music listening a little more. Nothing real-time (even though that’s apparently a Spotify feature, it sounds terribly awkward), but rather to see how one might connect with musical friends now.

One initiative has been to make a vast collaborative “perfect pop” Spotify playlist with my friend H. The “rules,” such as they are, say that we each add one track at a time. The next track should either respond to the previous one in some way, or at least not be musically jarring (so for example, we pick things that are in a compatible key, etc.). We don’t actually have an agreed definition of what constitutes “perfect pop” — but much of it is upbeat, electronic, dance-y… the way that contemporary pop music is. Like one of those seemingly never-ending ping pong sessions on a sunny afternoon when we were kids, our playlist just keeps going, turn after turn. At present, it is nearly 8 hours long. There is no real point to it; we are simply trying to entertain and maybe surprise each other. We have a tentative agreement that we’ll keep it going “until the end of the winter.” I occasionally listen to portions of it while making dinner, and there’s always something enjoyable to discover, a new connection to make. H’s contributions have widened my musical horizons.

Another online listening initiative has been a digital revival of a particular group of three audiophile music-loving friends who, years ago, would occasional gather in one of their basements for a “listening session.” Here, the principle is that, for your turn, you play something you consider an amazing piece, either musically or in terms of audio quality (or both). Genres do no matter, and I think we like to startle each other with selections that might not sit easily with the previous piece. The basement listening sessions also used to involve a lot of talking — both about the piece, and general banter — so we needed something more than Spotify as our online vehicle (plus, at least one in our group insists on high-res digital streaming, so avoids Spotify in favour of Tidal). We picked Discord, a free, Slack-like chat platform, and that has been working well so far. This is also a low-intensity activity: sometimes days pass until the person whose turn it is posts their contribution. The only “rule” we have is that the other two are supposed to say what they thought of the previous contribution. It’s a frequent reminder that the music you love may leave others entirely cold. At the same time, a well-told story about a track can give it context and pique someone’s interest enough to explore further.

III.

I used to make mixtapes all the time in the 80s and early 90s. Perhaps I even took this a bit further than most, being the music nerd that I am. I recently discovered a very large, very heavy storage box in the garage filled with 100s of tapes — my tape collection from years ago. It deserves excavation at some point. I’m sure all the magnetic tape has degraded in the meantime, and I actually no longer own a cassette player of any kind. But I’m mildly curious about the song lists, the cover notes, and who certain mixtapes might have been from.

I started passionately listening to recorded music and making tapes around age 11, so in a sense, I have 40 years of “curatorial experience.” The act of sequencing music has always felt satisfying, in part because trying individual pieces in different contexts sheds new light on them. As an “older” person, one listening habit that I’ve stuck with is the “album,” that now-antiquated form of pre-sequenced, bundled music, usually from a single artist. I audition a lot of new albums as they come out every week, and most don’t necessarily satisfy as a set of tracks. But one or two tracks may be standouts and as such deserve to be heard, perhaps specifically outside of their album context, which weighs them down.

So this year, I’ve decided to occasionally make a streamed playlist “mixtape.” I don’t have a specific listener in mind. I do this for my own amusement primarily. There might be a series of these, or only a few ultimately. My objective is to include good music, of course, but also to sequence something that’s listenable in context. Since streaming services don’t allow “mixing” in any technical sense, there will of course be breaks between the tracks. I also like to include short, “throwaway” audio bits that I go looking for specifically — little bits of speech, field recordings, a skit, poem or commercial here or there. I find these particularly useful to construct transitions between songs of different genres or in different keys. Plus, they’re fun: it makes it sound a little bit like a radio show!

This first edition is about 75 minutes of music. There’s no overarching theme, although to be fair, there is an aesthetic through-line that points to contemporary African pop and dance music. Enjoy.

The post Of mixtapes and playlists (DIVERSIONS//2021.01) first appeared on carsten knoch - essays + ideas.

It’s the morning of Boxing Day, December 26, 2020, and Ontario has been back in full lock-down since midnight. At least we are avoiding the worst possible super-spreader effect of the annual shopping melee. We are ten months into the pandemic, and even though there is a vaccine now, most predict that it’ll be the end of the year before things go back to “normal.” More likely, there is no real going back to normal, but it remains entirely unclear what will happen next. Catastrophe or opportunity, withdrawal into the literal different worlds we have made for ourselves — or wake-up call to take a planet-wide view on climate and poverty, and finally properly care for one another? Of course there is a glut of predictions, but they are formulated within the parameters of today’s disciplines, genres, ways of apprehending the world (the future of “work,” “travel,” “learning,” “commercial real estate,” etc.). As such, and not surprisingly, they seem to entirely miss the mark.

Almost exactly a year ago, my partner and I moved from Toronto to Guelph, about 75 minutes due west. Since we both primarily work from home, getting out of the city’s constant construction, traffic, transit and housing price problems seemed like a good idea. Little did we know just how fortuitous our decision would turn out to be. We have been immeasurably lucky to weather the pandemic with space to sit outside, garden and go for undisturbed walks; surrounded by friendly neighbours; and we’ve both been very fortunate that our business livelihoods have only been marginally impacted. Being stranded from a travel perspective has been difficult for me, particularly because I cannot see my mother, who lives in Germany. But I have also spent the year having a series of intimate and terrific Zoom conversations with friends old and new, near and far, about the state of the world, what moves us, what we want and need to do next. Somehow, our sudden forced embrace of this technology has facilitated a “better,” more dialogical form of connection, and I value it very much. I think new ideas, projects, trajectories and movements will emerge from it, and I look forward to them.

With that, and at the risk of repeating last year’s signoff every year, here’s to a better year next year.

Stay safe & healthy,

These are the new albums that have given me the most pleasure this year. It’s not necessarily meant to be a definitive list of the “best” music of the year (despite the title, which by now is more of an annual tradition). 2020, like all other years, ultimately revealed what kind of a “year in music” it was, even if the pandemic did its best to send the music world scrambling in all sorts of ways. I’d say it was about disco revival specifically, and maybe “retro” (possibly: 80s retro) more generally. A trend that references these very specific “better times” makes sense, of course. Between the increasingly terrifying political developments and the once-in-a-lifetime global epidemic, we were looking for comfort and safety — and perhaps a little distraction —  and musicians were happy to give them to us. What’s more interesting is that, rather than listening to soothing fare suitable for managing our anxious minds while being homebound, we were apparently interested in dancing — imagining ourselves partying at Studio 54 (Jessie Ware, Kylie Minogue, Dua Lipa) or on Ibiza (Róisín Murphy). — Furthermore, I think production technologies and techniques have now given us the capability to produce not just 80s-sounding simulacra, but writing and production teams have caught up and become able to imagine new music in the right idiom. This year’s iteration of Miley Cyrus as well as artists like Meg Myers and All We Are illustrate this idea powerfully. Theirs is true 80s music, just not from the 80s.

(Link to Spotify playlist with everything in sequence, all 23 hours of it.)

Aesop Rock – Spirit World Field Guide: Aesop Rock’s rapping is never not breathtaking. An unstoppable torrent of poetry — elegant, earthy, quick-witted, unconventional, exactly on point and funny as hell. This is a concept album of sorts, a reportage from travels in a psychedelic spirit world, the subjects animals (spirit and otherwise) and Aesop Rock’s own anxious mind.

The Avalanches – We Will Always Love You: If you loved The KLF and The Orb as much as I did in the early 90s, this project — full of samples (Carpenters, Alan Parsons…) and guest voices — will be right up your alley. It sounds like a hopeful embrace of all the heartbreak and joy out there in the world right now.

Beabadoobee – Fake It Flowers: Young Filipino-British singer/songwriter makes a surprisingly good first album that competently reprises a particular indie sound from the mid-90s: Liz Phair, Veruca Salt, etc. Leaning on riffs and patterns that could just as easily have belonged on Smashing Pumpkins’ Siamese Dream and coupling them with a deft sense for melody and the dream pop idiom, this really delivers the goods. (NME called it “anthemic slacker rock.”)

Brandy Clark – Your Life Is A Record: Brandy Clark is one terrific songwriter. Every track on this album sounds like it’s been finely crafted, polished, edited and cared for until it was just perfect. There’s not a wrong note, not a cheesy or overly sentimental word, not a misplaced emotion. Musically, it’s an elegant kind of retro country soundscape with strings and horns, and beautifully sung.

Bridget Kearney & Benjamin Lazar Davis – Still Flying: A rich and rewarding hybrid of contemporary indie rock production and Ghanaian music, often putting its African guests at the centre. A smart album with interesting songs that bring composure, connection and hope in difficult times. This should have received more critical exposure than it did.

Caribou – Suddenly: A perfect pop record with dance floor roots that’s intriguingly experimental, but within manageable bounds. Vocals are more central here than usual, and he really commits to exploring radical de-turning as a technique to destabilize our listening experience. The album is a bit of a chameleon: I can listen to it in my earphones while going for a walk or out loud in the kitchen while cooking dinner. “Pop” enough to be listenable but nerdy enough to keep me coming back.

The Chicks – Gaslighter: One of the best pop albums of the year is a country record. Not just politically, The Chicks’ hearts have always been in the right place. Here, they do their righteous anger justice by wrapping it in perfectly produced modern roots music that works across generational and taste lines. One thing I love in particular (always have — it was there from album #1): the elasticity and funkiness of their rhythms.

Dua Lipa – Future Nostalgia: One of the funnest records of the year, nearly every track a potential radio hit that’s also surgically designed to move a dance floor. She’s been making the media rounds talking about how this record is about “dance-crying,” and even if nobody can really know how much writing she actually did here it doesn’t matter because dance-crying is exactly what this year of disco revival is all about.

Fiona Apple – Fetch the Bolt Cutters: Fiona Apple is the most intimidatingly amazing songwriter — simultaneously completely free of genre constraints or the conventions of popular song structure, and in deep conversation with the blues, folk and jazz idioms her songs are rooted in. The music is surprisingly percussive and funky, and her tumbling and twirling lyrics and biting sense of humour are a treat every time. Echoes of Tom Waits, and also the best rappers.

Frazey Ford – U Kin B The Sun: Rootsy new songs underscored by elastic, slinky, old school Muscle Shoals R&B written and sung by a Canadian with a delightfully unusual voice. Ford has been tending this field for a while now and really hits it out of the park here. I cannot get enough of her fantastic voice — or the Hammond organ.

Haim – Women in Music Pt. III: SoCal band of sisters make a varied, great album full of rich songs with smart lyrics. I am continually reminded of Fleetwood Mac, mostly I think because Danielle Haim drums with the same singular effortless groove as Mick Fleetwood — but also because they write California-themed pop songs with cross-generational appeal.

Jessie Ware – What’s Your Pleasure?: Another installment in 2020’s slate of disco revival records. Jessie Ware presents a slick, R&B inflected take on disco — elegant music that’s good for a party or just listening. The full stylish package conjures up memories Roxy Music’s Manifesto (for me).

Kylie Minogue – Disco: A slice of formidably hedonistic disco revival warmth in a year that had its fare share of disco revival warmth — both totally silly and totally welcome. Kylie Minogue recommits to her core aesthetic and comes up with a set of brilliant songs to make you sing and dance. I don’t ever apologize for liking anything but felt slightly self-conscious about how much I enjoyed this while gardening in the fall…

Lennon Stella – Three. Two. One.: Perfect electro-pop album from a promising young Canadian singer/songwriter. Refreshingly quiet (i.e. not over-emoted and over-sung), these are thoughtfully crafted and produced melancholy songs that fit really well into 2020’s ups and downs (though perhaps not intentionally). Didn’t get a ton of attention, but should have.

Mandy Moore – Silver Landings: Stunningly mature and accomplished country rock album from the former teen star and actor. Songs focused on exploring what happens when you have to rebuild your life fused to production that could have been straight-up late 70s Eagles or Fleetwood Mac. Tender, intelligent and strength-giving.

Meg Myers – Thank U 4 Taking Me 2 The Disco and I’d Like 2 Go Home Now (2 EPs): Meg Myers is wonderfully talented and intimidatingly intense, returning here with two EPs (which probably should have just been an album, maybe bundled together with her separate cover of Kate Bush’s “Running Up That Hill”). Big, serious, fully committed 80s-indexing radio pop, slightly out of time but rarely short of amazing.

Melt Yourself Down – 100% Yes: Having originally emerged from London’s “new jazz” scene, MYD reintroduce themselves with a wild and definitive record that sounds like a political ska and funk dance party in a box, all righteously shouty vocals, gutbucket bass and squawking horns. It’s the kind of album that could only have come out of Britain in 2020. I can listen to this for hours.

Miley Cyrus – Plastic Hearts: Most reviewers were distracted by the “conceit” of apparently trying to faithfully recreate the sound of 80s mainstream radio and got caught up in how Cyrus didn’t/couldn’t meet the high standard this apparently requires. In the process, they completely missed how insanely fun this is, how good the material is, and how well it coheres into an album.

Phoebe Bridgers – Punisher: Such a beautiful indie pop record. Thoughtful songs, intelligently written and performed, this has a richness that occasionally feels like it rivals Brian Wilson’s music. I particularly love the almost imperceptible, tiny little sad synth melodies hidden in many of the tracks.

Róisín Murphy – Róisín Machine: The year’s most serious disco record may also be its best prog rock record. Echoes of Grace Jones and Eartha Kitt underscored with brilliant and hard-grooving retro-futurist production lament the Ibiza party life that once was — and maybe also pre-2020 party life in general.

Sophie Ellis-Bextor – Songs from the Kitchen Disco: Greatest Hits: Strictly speaking, a best-of, so not exactly new music, but a very pleasurable compilation that fit right into the year of home disco. Ellis-Bextor live-streamed a weekly family dance party from her kitchen and thus recontextualized a nearly peerless collection of dance hits for 2020. What songs, what a voice. Sadly not really known in North America.

Sturgill Simpson – Cuttin’ Grass Vol. 1 – The Butcher Shoppe Sessions and Cuttin’ Grass Vol. 2 – The Cowboy Arms Sessions: Sturgill Simpson, alt-country’s most extraordinary songwriting talent at the moment, used 2020’s forced downtime to re-record many of his songs as fully-formed and apparently entirely idiomatic bluegrass tunes. His voice — classic country, able to milk every last drop of intent and impact from this music — sits atop a band of handpicked professionals as good as any as you’ll hear.

Taylor Swift – Folklore and Evermore: Taylor Swift further cemented her emerging identity as a serious singer/songwriter during 2020’s unplanned hiatus from touring. Spread across an unexpected two albums, her music turned away from some of her worst instincts and towards atmospheric indie pop with thoughtful, expressive lyrics and story songs. Her main collaborator Aaron Dessner’s (The National) style is quite unique, and Taylor Swift went all in. It remains to be seen is what comes next. Another reinvention is sure to come soon.

Víkingur Ólafsson – Debussy-Rameau: Mixing Debussy and Rameau (late Romanticism and Baroque French composers who otherwise never end up in the same program) turns out to be a genial move, juxtaposing pieces that reveal themselves as being related (or relateable) after all. Beautiful playing, as always from Ólafsson, who originally became known for ambitious and interesting electronic re-renderings of classical keyboard music (Bach Reworks; also worth hearing).

Westerman – Your Hero Is Not Dead: Young British singer/songwriter with a folk background finds good purchase in songs that sonically oscillate somewhere between thoughtful 80s fare like Talk Talk and late 70s intelligent radio rock. Deft turns of melody and phrase keep the ear interested and make this stand out above much else.

Zsela – Ache of Victory (EP): A major new young R&B voice finding songs and production that suit her astonishing instrument. I could listen to her sing for hours and can’t wait for what she does next (There’s also a completely amazing live EP, but only on Bandcamp.)

Other records you might want to hear:

All We Are – Providence

Bob Mould – Blue Hearts

Get The Blessing – Rarer Teas

John Lennon – Gimme Some Truth (remixed/remastered versions of a broad selection of his songs, sounding better than they ever did before)

Lina_Raül Refree – Lina_Raül Refree

Margo Price – That’s How Rumors Get Started

Perfume Genius – Set My Heart on Fire Immediately

Waxahatchee – Saint Cloud

Various Artists – Velvet Desert Music Vol. 2

The post Best new music 2020 first appeared on carsten knoch - essays + ideas.

Sometimes, an irresistible writing prompt presents itself. Bruno Latour, a French philosopher and anthropologist whose work I’ve learned a great deal from, has started a new research/activist project (as he occasionally does), to collect ideas and experiences related to the Covid-19 pandemic and the climate crisis. As a long-term climate activist, he’s noted that the pandemic has forced us to take collective action, rather on a dime and on an unprecedented scale. What never quite seemed possible in relation to our very urgent climate problems suddenly became entirely possible — despite the evident economic damage — in order to save our hides in this generation. Treating Covid-19 as a kind of design probe or prototype is certainly an ambiguous undertaking in the sense that a highly infectious and thus far untreatable virus is perhaps more tragedy than opportunity. But at the same time, crises typically only amplify and accelerate trends that were already underway, and journalists have certainly let their imaginations run wild with what will (need to) change, speculations on whether capitalism will finally end, and so on.

So Latour has launched a publicity campaign (Reuters has a story with more context) and a website with four relatively simple writing prompts, asking visitors to reflect on “where to land after the pandemic.” I’m always happy to respond to surveys or be interviewed — especially when I don’t suspect that my data is being collected with ulterior motives. As a researcher myself, I think it’s good practice. So I found myself typing responses which ended up being slightly more elaborate than I had originally imagined. The exercise allowed me to articulate some previously disconnected ideas that had been swirling around my head in the last few weeks, and I thought the result was worth capturing separately here.

If you follow me on Twitter, it’ll be no secret that in the last few years I’ve become more actively interested in politics again. We’re finding ourselves in a moment of history where we have perpetuated a fundamentally broken and unjust economic and political system in which it is no longer possible to believe that minor corrections of the sort that electoral democracy used to offer will make the slightest difference to our collective future. Never mind how seductive it may seem as an idea, I don’t think we can “inflect” capitalism and make it change from within (through ideas such as green innovation, social entrepreneurship, corporate social responsibility, charity, finding our company’s purpose, holacracy… or whatever else people are trying). Its inherent dynamics are what fuels it, and their purpose is for one group to accumulate more resources than everybody else. I believe we should be working towards a new system.

But what should the transition look like? Like you, I’ve read enough history to know that revolutions, by and large, seem fundamentally unattractive — both as historical moments to live through (no thanks) and to actually precipitate lasting change. I’m too old to see some kind of romantic promise in a socialist revolution. Wherever revolutions or similar popular uprisings have occurred in recent times — Ukraine, Chile, Venezuela, the “Arab Spring,” Hong Kong, the list is long — the results are either that the prevailing capitalist system is delighted and reinvigorated (after all, it thrives on crises), or some kind of further slide into authoritarianism — or both. I can’t disagree with the anger and disappointment that is being expressed — I feel those too. I just think that while we might win the occasional battle, we’re not really strategically advancing our overall position in the war.

I imagine there are many professionals like myself right now who are wondering what good their skills and experiences might do to move things in a more positive direction. It’s a great existential quandary, an agonizingly complex set of problems which — when coupled with being a certain age — runs the risk of looking very much like a midlife crisis, or — worse — the idle musings of handwringing privilege. It’s not just about what we can do right now (during the pandemic), but more generally: now that I can see where things should be headed, how can I contribute to that?

My own work is in strategy, innovation, product management, design and technology. On one hand, as Mr. Marx already knew in 1857, innovation and technology together constitute the core engine of capitalism, so perhaps these skills really cannot reasonably be repurposed to change the system itself. At the same time, I also know that there is a distinction to be made between skill and purpose — that it is quite possible to apply good design methodology in ways that result in equitably designed products and services that don’t necessarily perpetuate wealth or power asymmetries. Increasingly, I think we need to work on what until 8 weeks ago I might have called “design viruses,” products or services that have the properties and desirability of their commercial equivalents but which are specifically designed to resist profit, intellectual property, disposability, negative environmental impact, surveillance/invasion of privacy, etc.

What follows are my responses to Mr. Latour’s writing prompts, edited for clarity and expanded where necessary.

* * *

Where to land after the pandemic?

1/4 What are the suspended activities and behaviors that you would like to see not coming back?

Commuting to a far-away office.

Traffic jams on highways and in the city.

Flying to business meetings or conferences.

Going shopping all the time for things we only need a few times per year.

High rents and housing prices in cities because everyone needs to live in the city in order to be close to work.

2/4 Starting from an activity or behavior that touches you personally, describe why this activity seems to you to be noxious/superfluous/ dangerous/incoherent in the framework of your own life or in the life of others. (It is also possible that what you want to stop may put you in trouble as well).

I need to commute from where I live to a client’s office approximately twice per week, 100km each way. There isn’t sufficient public transit to get me there within a “reasonable” time frame due to lack of train routes and time required. So I have to drive. I have to get up very early, it takes a long time to get there, and Covid-19 has proven without a doubt that everyone can actually work from home using video conferencing and other ways of collaborating remotely (it’s white collar work). I have lingering ideas that being in the same physical space as others offers a “richer” way of interacting, but I’m actually not sure that’s the case. I also wonder whether my client’s previously unenthusiastic embrace of video conferencing is more about force of habit, availability of suitable technology, or perhaps a kind of nostalgia and not really something “real.”

I have been trying to work “less” (fewer hours per week) for a few years now (I’m a freelance consultant). It would save me money and stress if I could do most or all of my work from home. It would also leave more free time to do other things.

Working remotely as standard practice would maybe put some aspects of my work at “risk” because not everyone thinks it’s 100% possible to collaborate entirely remotely. But it’s possible that this is a risk I’m more willing to explore now, since clearly we can’t go back to what was going on before.

I feel less certain about international travel. We have known for a long time that air travel is massively wasteful and a huge contributor to the climate crisis. However, unfortunately, I live in Canada and my closest relatives in Germany and Australia, respectively. We are part of a modern diaspora. There is a difference in quality between the relationships I seek with my business clients and my family…

However, I also think we could increase the price of air travel (maybe through regulation/law?) back to what it used to be in the 1980s. This would deter people from traveling on a whim, or too frequently. We used to have to “think harder” about how frequently we traveled, and planned for it differently. International trips were “events,” you went for a longer time and might visit a place only once in your lifetime.

3/4 What kinds of measures do you advocate so that workers/employees/ agents/entrepreneurs, who can no longer continue in the activities that you have eliminated, are able to facilitate the transition to other activities?

I suspect that making broadband internet a regulated “utility” service will be important. Capitalism, as in all things, hasn’t delivered an even distribution of internet access for all populations (even though universal access would actually create the conditions for increased overall commercial activity, but the system is too fragmented to play a long game). If we think of the internet as infrastructure similar to roads, electricity, water, waste removal, snow clearing etc., we realize that it should be available to everyone to facilitate equal, or at least sort-of equal, opportunities for everyone to work, communicate and experience leisure.

At the same time, online shopping and fast, more environmentally friendly deliveries, would have to become a universal pursuit. With very few exceptions, most “things” could theoretically be bought online and delivered to the home, provided the risk of returning things was relatively low. This would reduce wasteful commuting further.

This sort of change would unfortunately eliminate many retail type jobs, especially in North America, where so much of the economy is based on retail. Measures would need to be explored to deal with that. Universal basic income makes sense in theory, of course, but always fails in practice — it’s similar to how consumers think about insurance: you never think you need it until something catastrophic happens. UBI is like that: we don’t consider it seriously while the economy is in “good” shape (and we could therefore afford to start it), and when things go badly, we say we can’t afford to think about it.

4/4 What could you concretely do (alone or with others) to ensure that the activity you wish to remove (or slow down) does not resume?

We could develop better ways of thinking about, and practicing, online work collaboration. It’s both a conceptual and practical problem. We need to explore ways of eliminating our deeply ingrained cultural assumption that being remote is worse than “being there.” There is some interesting theoretical work on this that was done in the early 1990s in the human-computer interaction field, discussing telecommunications product design. Those of us working in the space between technology and society would need to work on re-setting the horizon of our collective imaginations around this.

Generally, the objective of “activism” and/or “innovation” in this space should probably be to develop “new normals” and field-test them to see if, in time, they begin to no longer feel like “less than” what we used to have.

This seems to me to be the biggest issue today when it comes to what one might call a “leftist” or “environmentalist” imagination: the proposed solutions, of which there really aren’t very many in the first place, seem austere and not very attractive. Capitalism, as we know, is very good at connecting and playing to our desires. It has (re)structured them over our entire lifespans to be oriented towards products and services which have certain properties that respond to and amplify these desires. And these products and services have now structured our assumptions of what satisfying experiences should be like. The challenge, then, is to develop experiences that are as good as — or even better than — those capitalism provides so effectively.

I think we have many, many people now whose entire schooling and work experience has been about optimizing capitalist experiences for profit. And I think the Covid-19 crisis may have woken up some of them to the possibility that they need to re-deploy their knowledge and skills. So why not build new experiences that facilitate great remote work (for example), or a different kind of travel, or different kinds of energy generation/distribution, or new kinds of agriculture, etc. — and initially do so in ways that focus on “high quality” experiences in the sense that we’re used to? Cultural, economic, business “viruses,” so to speak. Designs that deliberately aim for product/service adoption first, but that then deeply resist profit-taking and appropriation by those seeking to accumulate wealth or power. I’m thinking along the “open source” spectrum of work, but maybe a little further. The reason everyone admires but practically nobody uses Linux or LibreOffice is because they are not as desirable as their for-profit equivalents.

To be clear, this would be done as a transitional model, not to “rescue” the capitalist system into an ever more insane future, but as a way to gradually enter into some kind of controlled interregnum between the present-day system and an unknown future which we cannot yet clearly imagine — and whose properties we’ve not been able to articulate (and this fact is always held against us, as if our inability to fully imagine an unknown future invalidates its possible coming-into-existence a priori). Imagining and making the future are likely one and the same — and it has to start right now.

* * *

You can fill in your own responses here: https://ouatterrir.medialab.sciences-po.fr/#/

The post Covid-19 and climate crisis: Writing prompts from Bruno Latour first appeared on carsten knoch - essays + ideas.

About two years ago, I wrote a post here describing a simple and cheap method of coding text documents such as interviews. (I’d encourage you to go and read it first before you continue. I won’t repeat the original argument here.) To my surprise, it has been one of the most-read posts, resonating with researchers who have small budgets and simple needs. In addition, the approach has also found some resonance with method instructors who want to encourage their social science students to dabble in a bit of code.

However, there were some problems with the technical approach. I could never get it to work on the Mac despite my (and my nerdy friends’) best efforts. It seems that Microsoft’s implementation of VBA for Microsoft Office doesn’t quite work on the Mac, and there appears to be no movement towards fixing it. The other ongoing challenge was that on Windows — where it does work — VBA for Microsoft Office is occasionally updated, often without any documentation about what exactly has changed. While this doesn’t seem unreasonable from Microsoft’s perspective (after all, this is a small part of a much bigger thing), it makes maintaining the original comment extraction script quite difficult. And it makes it nearly completely impossible to “support” anyone asking for help.

Late last year, I decided to ask my talented friend Geva for some assistance. First, we tried to solve the ongoing Mac incompatibility issue in VBA itself, but it soon became apparent that a much better approach could be found by using Python, a commonly available, free programming language that works on most major computing platforms and that is often used for “data science” projects.

Here, then, are the instructions for the new, improved and updated version of the comment extractor script. This time, you’ll need to install something on your computer — but at least the script now works the exact same way whether you’re using Windows, a Mac, or even Linux (we’ll leave it up to your imagination as to why you’re using Linux to extract comments from Microsoft Word documents, but hey… it could happen).

Overview

Ingredients:

• Microsoft Word for Windows
• Microsoft Excel for Windows
• Spyder, which comes as part of Anaconda, a free Python interpreter (see installation instructions below)
• One or more Word documents, “coded” using Word comments (see below)

The basic procedure is as follows:

1. Prepare one or more “coded” Word documents using Word comments.
2. In Spyder, add the Python script (see detailed instructions below) and run it.
3. In the file open dialogue, pick one or more Word documents containing tags.
4. After a moment, look for a new file called “output.csv” which will be in the same folder where the Word document is. This file will contain your codes and corresponding data extracts.

Detailed instructions

Installing Python (Anaconda)

First, we need to install the Python environment that we’ll use for this project. Once installed and configured, you can leave it on your computer for future use, so you’ll only need to do this once.

Go to the Anaconda website (https://anaconda.com) and click on “Download.” When given a choice, you’ll want to pick the “Python 3.7 version” (or later, if available):

Once you have downloaded the installer, run it. I will document the Windows version of this process here, but it works very similarly on the Mac (I’ll trust that as a Mac user, you know how to download and install software on your computer).

Keep it simple and go with all the “recommended” options in the installation wizard. Depending on your computer’s speed, the installation could take a few minutes.

Once you’ve installed Anaconda, you’re ready for the next step.

Now we need to start a program called “Anaconda Navigator.” This is a menu of sorts from where you can start various programs that work with the Anaconda Python environment that you just installed. The program you’re looking for is called “Spyder.” Launch it from the menu:

Spyder will now possibly warn you that a newer version is available:

I think it’s probably okay to just use whatever version comes with Anaconda, but you’re welcome to figure out how to upgrade it (I personally found this a bit complicated, although I did eventually manage to work it out). You could also decide to turn off “Check for updates on startup” to make this a bit easier in future — your call.

Once Spyder has launched, it should look like this:

The main window (labeled 1. in the screenshot above) is the code editor; this is where we’ll paste and save our script.

The second window (labeled 2. in the screenshot) is the console which we need to execute some additional commands next.

Loading two required Python libraries

For context, before we can actually run our comment extractor script we need to tell Python which libraries to load in order for it to be able to do so. Libraries are generic collections of pre-made code that are used by Python developers as “short cuts” of sorts, bringing with them various sophisticated capabilities that can then simply be invoked in a script (instead of writing the whole program from scratch). Specifically, we want to load two such libraries, “Beautiful Soup” and “lxml.” Beautiful Soup is used to extract data from web pages or XML files and lxml provides additional HTML and XML processing capabilities. (You don’t really need to know the details of these libraries unless of course you’re interested in learning more. It may also be helpful to know that Word documents are actually small collections of XML files “underneath,” hence our need for various libraries to handle XML content. If you want to get really “tech” about this, create a new, throw-away Word document, save it and then rename it from “Name.docx” to “Name.zip”. If you open the resulting ZIP file, it contains various XML files inside.)

To load the two required libraries, we’ll use the console window in Spyder (marked 2. in the screenshot above). Place the cursor into the console window (next to the little prompt that says “In [1]:”) and type:

conda install beautifulsoup4

and press Enter. 

After a moment, the system should respond as follows:

Next, type the following into the console window:

conda install lxml

and press Enter. You’ll get a similar response to what I showed you above.

Spyder will remember which libraries you have previously loaded for this project, so there is no need to load them again. (In other words, you can close and re-open Spyder and don’t have to perform the steps in this section again.)

Adding the script

Now we’re all set to paste our comment extractor script into the main editor window in Spyder. Place the cursor into the main editor window, highlight everything that’s currently there and delete it:

Now grab the following code in its entirety and copy it (highlight and Ctrl-C if you’re on Windows; highlight and Command-C on a Mac):

Once you’ve copied it, paste it into the editor window in Spyder (Ctrl-V or Command-V).

Make sure you’re careful in your highlighting — grab every last bracket!

#!/usr/bin/env python
# Given a .docx file, extract a CSV list of all tagged (commented) text
# This is version 6.0 of the script
# Date: 12 February 2020

import zipfile
import csv
from bs4 import BeautifulSoup as Soup
import tkinter as tk
from tkinter import filedialog
import re

# Show file selection dialog box
root = tk.Tk()
root.withdraw()
paths = filedialog.askopenfilenames()
root.update()

with open('/'.join(paths[0].split('/')[0:-1])+'/output.csv', 'w', newline='', encoding='utf-8-sig') as f:
	csvw = csv.writer(f)
	# loop through each selected file
	for path in paths:
		# Write a header line with the filename
		csvw.writerow([path.split('/')[-1], ''])
		# .docx files are really ZIP files with a separate 'file' within them for the document
		# itself and the text of the comments. This unzips the file and parses the comments.xml
		# file within it, which contains the comment (label) text
		unzip = zipfile.ZipFile(path)
		comments = Soup(unzip.read('word/comments.xml'), 'lxml')
		# The structure of the document itself is more complex and we need to do some
		# preprocessing to handle multi-paragraph and nested comments, so we unzip
		# it into a string first
		doc = unzip.read('word/document.xml').decode()
		# Find all the comment start and end locations and store them in dictionaries
		# keyed on the unique ID for each comment
		start_loc = {x.group(1): x.start() for x in re.finditer(r'<w:commentRangeStart.*?w:id="(.*?)"', doc)}
		end_loc = {x.group(1): x.end() for x in re.finditer(r'<w:commentRangeEnd.*?w:id="(.*?)".*?>', doc)}
		# loop through all the comments in the comments.xml file
		for c in comments.find_all('w:comment'):
			c_id = c.attrs['w:id']
			# Use the locations we found earlier to extract the xml fragment from the document for
			# each comment ID, adding spaces to separate any paragraphs in multi-paragraph comments
			xml = re.sub(r'(<w:p .*?>)', r'\1 ', doc[start_loc[c_id]:end_loc[c_id] + 1])
			# Parse the XML fragment, extract any text and write to file along with the label text
			csvw.writerow([''.join(c.findAll(text=True)), ''.join(Soup(xml, 'lxml').findAll(text=True))])
		unzip.close()

The script is a mix of actual code and lines of explanatory notes. The latter begin with the hash sign (#), and if you read through them, you’ll get a sense of how the program works.

At the beginning, we import certain features from the two libraries we loaded earlier. Then, we show a file open dialogue where the user can select one or more Word files to be processed. For each selected file, we then process the comment text and associated tags and write them to a section of the output.csv file, performing a bit of text processing/trimming to make it look neat.

Now that you’ve inserted the script in the main editor window, save it using the Save icon at the top left of the Spyder window:

You can call it whatever you like — I used “comment_extractor.py” for my script (.py is the typical extension for Python scripts).

Now we’re ready to give it a try.

Using the script

In Word, use comments to code your document. Make sure your comment “labels” are consistent. You can use single or multi-word tags. (However, this solution only works for single layer tags—if you need additional taxonomic layers in your codebook, you’ll have to retrofit them after the extraction process.) Save your coded document.

Once you have one or more coded Word documents saved and ready to go, click on the “Play” button at the top of the screen to run your script:

You’ll be presented with a “File open” dialogue to select your file or files for comment extraction:

Navigate to where you saved your Word documents containing commented/tagged text and select one or several of them, then click on “Open.” After a short moment, it’ll appear as if nothing actually happened. However, if you pay close attention, the Spyder console tells us that the script has run and also where it put the output.csv file containing our extracted data (bottom right):

If you navigate to the folder location (it’s the same one where your source Word documents are stored), you’ll see a new file called output.csv:

When you open it in Excel, it now contains the extracted codes and corresponding text snippets. It should look like this:

From here, you can add columns manually to add additional metadata that you’ll need for your analysis. For example, if I’m coding interviews, I like to add a column containing the participant’s name. When I later combine all participants’ extracts into a single Excel sheet, I can more easily sort or filter data rows. Generally, the Filter function, in Excel’s Data tab, is very useful for conducting further analysis. First, ensure that your columns have appropriate headers (1), then switch to the Data tab and click on Filter (2), and finally use one or more of the drop-down menus that Excel now shows in your column headers (3) to select tags to show:

Below is the dialogue shown after selecting the drop-down menu (3). Use it to select one or more tags to query your consolidated database for, and Excel will filter it down to display only the matching rows. Note that you can also use more than one column filter at the same time. This allows you to display certain codes for a subset of interview participants, for example.

Final words & limitations

This version of the script has far fewer limitations that the earlier, VBA version. First, it works the same on Windows, OSX and Linux, giving every computer user the same capabilities. The fact that it uses Python, a widely-used open source programming platform, should make it easier to maintain and troubleshoot if something goes wrong. Given that Python has seen significant growth in recent years due to the increase in interest in “data science,” “machine learning” and so on, this version of the script should also fall into the sweet spot of learning rudimentary coding skills in the so-called “digital humanities.”

As for limitations: it’s worth reiterating that it still isn’t a terribly sophisticated tool, providing few of the advanced features of commercial text analysis programs. As for how robust it is — time will tell, but I think that most people who work at universities wouldn’t have a particularly difficult time locating someone who knows Python well and who could help troubleshoot or extend this code, as required.

As always, I would love to hear about your experiences using the comment extractor script in the comments below.

Thanks to

Thanks to Geva Patz who wrote the script, and to Steph Grimbly for field-testing it in a real project.

The post Qualitative data analysis with Microsoft Word comments & Python (updated) first appeared on carsten knoch - essays + ideas.

I understand that most people are probably not as passionate about new recorded music as I am. So I publish this post into the ether once a year to summarize what I’ve particularly liked during the last twelve months, in the hope that you might discover something new.

2019 felt like a “slow” year in terms of music: many weeks seemed to yield nothing of interest at all. But perhaps that helped me listen more closely to some standout things that did emerge. There were few overarching themes to my listening that I can point to. One change that did seem significant — but probably only for me personally — was that I found myself listening to more “rock” again this year, a genre I had all but given up on previously. The reason, I think, is the ongoing radical transformation in recording technologies and the concurrent embrace by rock acts of techniques from “electronic” music. More imaginative things come out if you have fewer technical constraints.

This year’s list, if you were to play it all back-to-back, runs a staggering 22 hours and 31 minutes. I have added everything to this Spotify playlist:

All my best for the 2020s. May they be better than the 2010s.

* * *

Adia Victoria – Silences: Adia Victoria says she makes modern blues music. I think of her as a southern mirror of Lana del Rey. Powerful, theatrical music full of Gothic imagery about (particularly Southern?) demons, often (I think) performed in character. Musically brilliant, often deliberately fuzzy or murky or plodding, but always with clear intent and purpose. There are enough memorable melodies and hooks here to keep me coming back, and enough grit to make it worthwhile. (YouTube)

Aldous Harding – Designer: Aldous Harding from New Zealand makes a kind of spacious, proggy folk rock with unusual compositional turns. Despite the folk rock label, this is music with insightful, sharply poetic lyrics and has a new wave energy, sometimes ever so slightly reminiscent of early Patti Smith. Decidedly weird but really smart music that eludes easy description. I have found myself going back to this often. It’s both calming and engaging. (YouTube)

Bedouine – Bird Songs of a Killjoy: Orchestral folk reminiscent of Carole King or the Carpenters (but more serious), this finely crafted music has been in frequent rotation for me in 2019. I love her voice, lyrics, the string and horn arrangements — and above all, her complete commitment to this aesthetic. (YouTube)

Billie Eilish – When We All Fall Asleep, Where Do We Go?: An album that sounds like it was made by someone much older than 17. The question of her producer-collaborator brother’s role notwithstanding (focus on the work!), it’s really excellent. Her songs are, at times, sarcastic, sardonic, funny, lyrical, all while maintaining a keen pop sensibility and an eye for staging. This is one of those records that appeals to multiple generations, “despite” Eilish’s dedicated attempts to offend where possible. It’s very pop/punk that way (although it’s not pop/punk in the regular sense). (YouTube)

Bon Iver – i,i: I still think Bon Iver’s 22, a Million from a few years ago is a bona fide masterpiece that stands the test of time. This year’s release is perhaps a little less “strange” while relinquishing none of the unusual techniques honed on 22, a Million. It’s as if Bob Dylan, or perhaps one of the Laurel Canyon crowd, had combined forces with Kanye West circa 808s and Heartbeat. It’s never less than interesting, frequently amazing, often sublime. (YouTube)

Clairo – Immunity: Clairo’s debut is intelligent pop music — excellent song craft with high production values. Apparently, she first appeared as a musical Youtuber of note, but has now stepped up her game by surrounding herself with strong collaborators (the album is produced by Rostam Batmanglij, formerly of Vampire Weekend, and features drums by Danielle Haim). It’s music that makes people of all generations take note. (YouTube)

The Comet Is Coming – Trust in the Lifeforce of the Deep Mystery: The anarchic new jazzers from the UK’s second (and third!?) album came out this year, continuing the cosmic trip. I enjoy the craft, the punk spirit, the saxophone playing and particularly the drumming. It’s not for every day and not for everybody, but there’s a lot to like here if you’re a little adventurous (and don’t particularly care about neat genre boundaries). (YouTube)

Danny Brown – Uknowhatimsayin’?: Unlike previous years, there’s not a lot of hip hop on this list. Danny Brown’s zany, intense, funny flow and dark, punchy production made, for me, one of the standout hip hop releases of the year otherwise marked by too many unsuccessful experiments (Kanye’s gospel, Tyler’s strange R&B) and too much sing-songy mumble rap for my liking. (YouTube)

Elva – Winter Sun: A project by an Australian and a Norwegian. Folky indie rock might describe it, with a sublimely developed sense of melody, each track a polished little gem that pulls off the neat trick of immediately sounding like you’ve heard it before — and then pays back the initial interest through repeated listening. One of these deceptively simple sounding records that you keep going back to because it’s so competent. (YouTube)

FKA twigs – Magdalene: Like an R&B Kate Bush, FKA twigs continues to astound with her sheer talent and discipline in every area that counts for her work: writing, singing, dancing, stagecraft. Less electronically abstract than her previous releases, Magdalene sets a new standard of what arty R&B might aspire to be. (YouTube)

HAIM – Hallelujah (EP): I occasionally discover new artists “late,” and HAIM falls into that category for me. That’s not to say that I can’t then wholeheartedly embrace them. I think HAIM are “the new Fleetwood Mac” in a sense: that sense of rhythm, the impeccable pop craft, music that straight up aims to transcend this (our) age in pop music. Here’s a rather short EP that pulled together three singles that came out this year… here’s hoping a new album will follow in 2020. (YouTube)

Holly Herndon – Proto: A lot has been written about Proto, an album made “collaboratively” with an AI. I would suggest that most of what’s been said is sensationalist rubbish. Herndon’s new record is amazing because it emerges from the encounter of an artist and a set of constraints: employing machine learning techniques puts a box around Herndon’s compositional work that is generative of amazing things, like Bach and Baroque composition’s formal requirements. It’s still Holly Herndon (a “serious” composer who can write complex polyphonic music for choirs but also a producer of electronic music), only different. (Some commentary from the nerd community has wondered about “who did what, exactly” — Herndon or the AI — but keeping us guessing is one of the factors that makes this so interesting.) (YouTube)

iLe – Almadura: iLe was formerly one of the vocalists in Puerto Rican electronica group Calle 13. This is her second solo album. She has emerged as an amazing singer-songwriter, able to both reflect and advance a range of Latin styles in ways that are respectful to the tradition(s) and also resolutely modern. Her voice is a wonder: she is able to cut through any arrangement, reminiscent of Celia Cruz perhaps, yet never sound harsh. This is also a political record, reckoning with Puerto Rico’s all but abandonment by American politics. (YouTube)

Lana del Rey – Norman Fucking Rockwell!: This has emerged as everyone’s favourite record of 2019. There’s not that much more to say about it than has already been said elsewhere. I belong to the camp that thinks Lana del Rey writes “persona” songs, scenes done in character, like Springsteen’s or Dylan’s. I think she’s in the same bracket (which I’m sure will raise some eyebrows). (YouTube)

Leif Vollebekk — New Ways: Vollebekk is a major new singer-songwriter talent from Montreal. For reference, you might want to think “young Van Morrison” and Jeff Buckley. This is tremendously well-written and performed music, fearlessly and justifiably on its own path, out of step with contemporary music yet deserving of a place in the canon. Even though he emerged from the Montreal indie scene, Vollebekk’s music seems devoid of the tiresome mimicry so inherent in acts like the Barr Brothers. Even if his music is deeply idiomatic it’s never a version on a trope. (YouTube)

Malihini – Hopefully, Again: Made by an Italian real-life couple of singer-songwriters, this album might be one of the best melancholy pop records of the last few years. The songwriting and production are beautiful, and I’m always touched by records made by real-life couples (call me a romantic). In the narrow field of acts weaving together male and female voices equally, this could give Stars a run for their money. (YouTube)

Michaela Anne – Desert Dove: The best country record of the year, in my opinion. Perceptive, intelligent songs sung with sensitivity and produced to sound a little like a sad version of the Mavericks, or Emmylou Harris’ run of self-penned albums from the late 90s/early 2000s. Michaela Anne is not afraid of taking hard looks at difficult topics through her lyrics, unlike the bigger names of “new women country singers” whose lyrics tend to look for novel ways to package pat stories of women’s empowerment (not that there’s anything intrinsically “wrong” with that — this is just better). (YouTube)

Molly Sarlé – Karaoke Angel: Molly Sarlé is one of the singers in Mountain Man who has now struck out on her own. She writes interesting, swirling lyrics and embeds them in music that reminds me a little of 10,000 Maniacs and a lot of Cowboy Junkies in their heyday, Sarlé’s voice having some of the same amber qualities as the younger Margo Timmins’. A beautiful, weird record for rainy days. (YouTube)

The National – I Am Easy to Find: Certain artists or bands have a sound which — when you first hear it — feels like you’ve been waiting for it all your listening life. REM and 10,000 Maniacs were like that for me. The National is, too. This album is impossibly “mature” and accomplished, a record made by a band that has now freed itself from the constraints of traditional instrumentation and thus unlocked additional compositional potential (similar to Radiohead, maybe, or the Beatles once they went studio-only). Every track here is distinct, emotionally fine-tuned, elegant, unusual. There are also lots of female voice and instrumental collaborators, balancing an already well-rounded sound even more. It’s “autumnal” for sure — some might say low-energy — but for the right moments, it’s truly brilliant. (YouTube)

North Mississippi Allstars – Up and Rolling: After two or three outstanding, weird, groovy blues albums in their early days, NMAS went all small town hard rock trio (and lost me) for the balance of their career to date. Now they’ve returned with a record that deliberately tries to recapture the sound of those early years, and it’s very successful. Highly recommended. (YouTube)

Our Native Daughters – Songs of Our Native Daughters: A political folk super group of sorts. Important and often joyous songs for dark times — thoughtful commentary or resistance party in a box, take your pick. (YouTube)

Patrick Watson – Wave: My friend DP introduced my to this Montreal singer-songwriter, whose work I hadn’t heard before. This is a wonderful album of beautiful pop music, conjuring up, variously, Radiohead, David Sylvian, James Blake and others. I never don’t enjoy hearing this, and it’s been in heavy rotation since I learned about it. Watson’s earlier work is also worth hearing. (YouTube)

Sault – 5: Apparently, nobody quite knows who is behind Sault. But they make music that sounds very much like music I loved in the mid 1990s: a little “trip hop” (if that’s still a term), a little sampled R&B and African music, danceable rhythms everywhere, female vocals. Part of this record’s strength is that you don’t need to know who made it, only that it is excellent. (YouTube)

Skye Wallace – Skye Wallace: My favourite Canadian album of the year. Everyone should hear Skye Wallace. A superb songwriter, a wonderful singer and performer. She originally came from the indie folk scene but has now embraced a punky rock sound. Her band is extraordinarily tight and musical and always in service of the songs. Wallace’s voice is a powerful instrument, a clear, authoritative alto that seems to have effortless power throughout her entire range. I could listen to her sing for hours (and I have). I’m hard-pressed to describe this accurately from a genre standpoint: it’s too punky to be “indie rock,” too “roots” to be punk, too “rock” to be folk — yet it has all of these elements. And I love the production: it’s dry and non-reverb-y in all the right ways but maintains a good sense of space and soundstage throughout. 33 minutes that speak with great force. (YouTube)

Tourist – Everyday: The most beautiful, emotionally intelligent electronic album you’ll hear this year. Reminiscent of Nils Frahm (the highest compliment I can think of in this genre), this collates field recordings pulsing beats and warm, analogue-sounding textures into a cohesive whole that never sags or loses your attention. Equal parts melancholy, euphoria and everyday contentment, this is an excellent album for (nearly) ever hour of the day. (YouTube)

Vampire Weekend – Father of the Bride: I take back anything I might have previously said about this. (I sometimes wonder about new albums where every song immediately sounds like you’ve heard it hundreds of times before.) This is a wonderful pop record, every song is a gem, and the production is so good it sets the standard of how recorded music should sound in 2019 and beyond. (YouTube)

Weval – The Weight: Weval are two Dutch electronic producers. They made an excellent album that sets out a complete musical journey (not always a given in electronic music). Even if you normally don’t listen to electronic music, this might appeal to you. (YouTube)

Weyes Blood – Titanic Rising: Natalie Mering, who goes by Weyes Blood, is an extraordinarily gifted songwriter. This is her best record so far. Once again, this sounds like music that escaped from the 70s… but that knows and reflects everything that came after. You really must hear this. (YouTube)

75 Dollar Bill – I Was Real: I’m not 100% sure it’s possible to explain why I’m so excited about this. It’s instrumental drone music that sounds partially like Touareg guitar music, partially like prog rock. It’s never not compelling, never not radical in some way. Even if this description sounds hideous to you, you should give it a try. (YouTube)

Various Artists – Velvet Desert Music Vol. 1: A compilation assembled by Jörg Burger, on Germany’s Kompakt label. The music operates along a nexus of acoustic sounds via electronic production meets Krautrock meets morning-after house music. This isn’t music for clubbing but for listening. There are even vocals here on occasion (actual songs!). I’ve found this to be thoroughly listenable, time and again. Perhaps it hits an aesthetic I was unknowingly looking for. (YouTube)* * *

The best song of the year, I thought, was Mark Ronson featuring Miley Cyrus, “Nothing Breaks Like A Heart,” which — amazingly — manages to conjure up memories of Dolly Parton’s “Jolene” without really being like it. The associated album of Mark Ronson collaborations was sadly a disappointment, especially after such a strong advance single. Can’t have it all, I guess. (YouTube)* * *

If somebody made me say which of the above are my top 5 records of the year, I would say:

1. Vampire Weekend — Father of the Bride
2. Skye Wallace — Skye Wallace
3. Patrick Watson — Wave
4. Weyes Blood — Titanic Rising
5. The National — I Am Easy to Find

But that’s only if somebody made me.

The post Best new music 2019 first appeared on carsten knoch - essays + ideas.

While doing coursework — and particularly when writing — my reading became narrowly focused and purpose-driven. For me, that was one of the greatest benefits of being in a graduate program: the nature of the work forced me to stay with particular lines of inquiry, to become an expert in the literature about something very specific. To then write about it (and doing a half-decent job of it) felt very satisfying. I generally enjoyed having to read things that I wouldn’t organically pick for myself. This was a kind of experience that was entirely lost on me the first time I went to university when I had not yet learned to appreciate the value of operating within constraints. In my early to mid 20s, I expended a lot of energy chafing at “having to” read things I didn’t think I needed.

By the end of my MA program, I did feel a certain reading fatigue, or more precisely, a growing desire to start tackling the piles of books that had inevitably accumulated in the meantime but had been set aside in favour of ethnographies and papers about research ethics.

Book piles accumulate in my office and on my night table all the time. While I completely understand that I will never be able to read all of the books that I buy — just like I’ll never listen to all the music on Spotify — the acts of browsing, ordering, acquiring, paging, “reading around in,” sorting, etc. have been essential to my intellectual formation and continue to play an important role for me. Books are visual signposts of where my head is at, what’s next on the thinking agenda, of the big and small topics that make up the project that is Carsten’s head.

I have diverse and eclectic interests but also suffer from various preference and priority constraints of my own invention that can sometimes be a hindrance. As a rule, I tend to think the most “worthwhile” things to read are philosophy, critical theory, history, classic literature, and so on. The effect is that progress through the backlog is slow, and because I tend to put fiction at or near the bottom of the list, often not very enjoyable. Lately, I’ve been trying to change it up a bit in favour of more narrative fare, be it Marco Polo’s Travels or Julietta Singh’s strange but wonderful No Archive will Restore You.

Not surprisingly perhaps, I have very few people to talk to about my reading interests. As a non-academic, I read a lot of academic fare; as a non-specialist, however, I don’t generally read “deeply” enough to really be able to dig in with my academic friends (this I suppose is generally a flaw with how academic careers are now structured and stratified). And most of my “business” friends could care less about Marxism, or historical critiques of design, or Hellenistic philosophy, or any of the other idiosyncratic foibles on my list.

Here, then, by way of a photo gallery of sorts, is a portrait of what’s currently in my “to read” book piles. Yes, there are multiple piles. Quite a few of these books are partially read. Many will quite possibly never be read any more than they already are, but for now, they’ve been judged “still current” and haven’t been filed into the bookshelves yet. Many fill me with equal amounts of excitement and melancholy because I may never fully get to them (and maybe a small amount of dread).

I.

• Quite a lot of Marxism and politics in this one. Despite spending what feels like most of my adult life reading in this area, I still feel like I’ve barely scratched the surface. (This is like those Facebook memes where adults tell other adults the comforting and/or disconcerting truth that everyone’s faking it.)
• I’m excited about the Balibar which I had never encountered before — it’s short and useful (Verso is a wonderful publisher, and it’s very much worth it to sign up for their email list).
• I love CrimethInc. books (there are two in this pile). CrimethInc. is an anarchist/socialist activist publishing collective operating out of the US, and their books are wonderful forays into prefiguring the world that could be.
• Viveiros de Castro kind of blew my mind when I first read him, and so he’s stayed in the pile for the better part of a year now to take a closer look.
• You’ll see in the next images that there’s also a “distributed” theme of sorts, something to do with how I want to think about “design thinking” and “service design,” but from a non-capitalist perspective, so there are several books that come at design from unconventional perspectives.
• Julian Baggini’s book about non-Western philosophy didn’t immediately resonate with me, but I’m willing to give it another go because I feel that I have a real gap in this area.
• And I have only just cracked the spine on Old Gods, new Enigmas, but I am already enjoying Mike Davis’ style and thought (I’m always thrilled to find more philosophy types who are not primarily from an academic background).
• From the first time I encountered his writing (sadly only after he had already died), Mark Fisher instinctively struck me as a “punk theory” role model of sorts, a fine theoretical mind who embraced both politics and popular culture and did so without seeming hopelessly academic, but rather vital, connected and graceful.

II.

• At the bottom of this pile is a related “series” that illustrates my recurrent interest in thinking about the future. In the world of design, “futures” work has been all the rage for a few years now, but just like co-design and other tropes is actually not particularly well theorized. I was interested in anthropology’s take on this and began to dig around in the area.
• More Marxist theory in various guises (Federici is amazing!), including a very daunting Kojève, Introduction to the Reading of Hegel, which — truth be told — may always remain more aspirational than practical. Hegel is one of those key “gaps” for me, but I now question the wisdom of picking this classic text as a way in, nevermind how pivotal Kojève may have been for French theory in the mid 20th century.
• Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations are, of course, utterly amazing and strangely modern for a text that old (and I find these beautiful Penguin Classics hardcover editions hard to resist, although they always put me in mind of interior designers who buy up old libraries because bound books look good on shelves).
• I became interested in Anne Dufourmantelle’s work via Avital Ronell, only to find out that Dufourmantelle, too, had recently died. It’s presumably coincidence, but apparently I like recently deceased philosophers.
• At the top are two German books: Wohlleben’s The Hidden Life of Trees and Lola Randl’s novel Der grosse Garten (the big garden), in which an urban family moves to the country and buys a large yard/small farm. I don’t quite know why “nature” metaphors and narratives fascinate me so much, but I think I’m not the only one… as climate change progresses and science becomes ever more subject to political contestation, fiction and ethnography may have to step up. These, and also Solnit’s A Paradise Built in Hell, are “books of hope,” and one should always have a few of those around.

III.

• I’m very interested in how the left imagines the future — my sense is that the supposed “end of history” in the early 1990s robbed us of all energy for articulating what we actually want (rather than what we don’t; cf. Mark Fisher’s Capitalist Realism, not in these piles). Fully Automated Luxury Communism by Aaron Bastani was an entertaining effort in this direction (sort of like a communist “tech bro”), and there are a few others. It feels like an essential area to read, think and write about.
• This connects again with my explorations in design for world transformation (rather than profit): here, among others, we have a book by Tony Fry that I haven’t read yet; Jonathon Porritt’s The World We Made, which is both a really cool idea and fatally marked by the “happy” neoliberal moment when it was written (it is essentially a narrative development of mid 21st century future scenarios); and Arturo Escobar’s outstanding Designs for the Pluriverse, as good an introduction as you’ll find on how to think about the design ecosystem and how it fits into the world (and not just capitalism).
• Clearly, there’s more Hellenistic/Stoic philosophy here (inspired no doubt by wanting to know more as I read Marcus Aurelius, see above).
• Adam Greenfield deserves a special mention. He is in my opinion one of the most intelligent and articulate commentators on technology (from a social science/philosophy) point of view I’ve ever read. A great achievement by a truly sharp thinker and fine writer, I can’t recommend Radical Technologies enough. Also, Greenfield’s occasional newsletter is always a delight, so you might want to subscribe to it.
• There’s Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451 which I confess I’ve never read, and finally two books by Alberto Manguel whose work on reading, books and libraries I find strangely inspirational and affirming, perhaps as a vicarious excuse for my own excess.

IV.

• The last pile contains Saint Augustine’s Confessions (might have gotten a little carried away there, but I was genuinely inspired by Alberto Manguel’s mention of it!).
• I have not yet cracked the spine on Charles King’s Gods of the Upper Air, an intellectual biography of three key early figures in North American anthropology.
• I waited nearly 6 months for Gramsci’s complete prison notebooks to arrive, having locked in an Amazon order at the somewhat reasonable price of $90. (I believe they were undergoing a reprint, and it was interesting to see how prices began to inflate before it became clear that new copies would be available at the old price. Don’t believe anyone who tells you there’s no market for books. It may just not be the kind of market you’re thinking.) Gramsci is another gap for me, but what little I know motivates me to want to know more. His work consists of a large collection of fragments and letters, and I’m curious how that translates into an oeuvre.
• Kate Ascher is an architect from New York who produced these two lovely and compelling illustrated volumes on how infrastructure works. They are like picture books for grown-ups. In my studies, I often found that anthropologists and their students chose to talk about the modern built environment in a metaphorical way, suggesting that nobody actually knew (or cared to find out) how things were constructed or worked. I think of this as a recurring deficiency of the social sciences (just like social scientists shallowly accuse STEM people of not being curious about social and cultural things).
• Brave New Work is the only business book on these piles. I don’t read a lot of these anymore, but occasionally someone recommends something and I take a look.

The post Book notes (September 2019) first appeared on carsten knoch - essays + ideas.

Where did the time go?
Can you tell me where did the time go?
(December African Rain, 1983)

I met him once, very briefly. In my mid-20s, when I was living in Johannesburg, a colleague and I bumped into him holding court in a café at Rosebank Mall where we had gone during our lunch break. She knew him through her social circle, and I was starstruck as one would be when suddenly introduced to a musical idol. I remember treating him as one of her friends whom we had run into, shying away from small talk and being very conscious not to say anything about being a “big fan” — the sort of thing that one might be tortured by ever after. He seemed like a nice man, articulate, successful, casual. Someone who had accomplished a lot, and done so on the right side of history.

Johnny Clegg was an important musical touchstone for those of us who grew up in southern Africa during the 1980s. Of course we listened to music from all over the world. But when it came to actually being able to see famous acts play live, our options were much more limited, as the Apartheid-era cultural boycott prevented most interesting international musicians from performing there. Clegg the songwriter also addressed our imaginations much more directly than a Bruce Springsteen ever could. His songs were about our concerns, our stories, our problems, our joys. About the ambiguous, frequently insane, unjust yet also often amazing mess of place we lived in.

When he was a teenager in Johannesburg’s northern suburbs in the late 1960s, Clegg met Zulu musicians who were part of the large community of migrant workers labouring in the city. Striking up friendships through his budding musicianship, he learned isiZulu, began to train in traditional Zulu dance, and heard the implicit connections between plaintive Zulu folk songs and English folk rock. From an early friendship with Sipho Mchunu grew his first band, Juluka, which made 7 albums and toured internationally, even if its performances in South Africa itself were frequently disrupted by police harassment. After Juluka disbanded in 1985 (Mchunu had had enough of the entertainment industry for the time being), Clegg formed Johnny Clegg & Savuka, the band he would eventually take to international chart success from 1987 onwards.

From a southern African vantage point, it was always slightly funny to us that Paul Simon (of all people) should become, in the world’s eyes, one of the most visible instigators of “world music’s” breakout success in the mid 1980s, when that sort of thing was suddenly de rigeur. I don’t mean to diminish his accomplishments (I hold Graceland in high regard and still listen to it regularly, despite nebulously resolved copyright theft claims), and it is fair to say that whatever mainstream global success South African crossover music eventually had came mostly in Simon’s wake (Clegg & Savuka, Ladysmith Black Mambazo, even Disney’s Lion King). But at the risk of invoking contemporary debates about cultural appropriation, it’s important to remember that Johnny Clegg effectively pioneered this kind of African crossover music, starting probably 15 years or more before Graceland’s “breakout” success.

The “formula,” if one can be said to have existed, was to stay true to certain recurring elements that were painstakingly perfected during the Juluka days: those towering, syncopated, deep-voiced Zulu chants; finger-picked, open-tuned Zulu guitars alternating with Western chords; a dedication well beyond lip service to singing in both languages (Clegg’s fluency in isiZulu allowed him to connect with South African audiences like no other white performer); a focus on telling South African stories in simple but powerful terms, following a kind of protest folk song ethic. And then there was the dancing. Few things are as spectacular as a fully committed group of men performing traditional Zulu dances — on a festival stage or anywhere. Carrying full regalia, Clegg and his bandmates seemed to have complete disregard for their bodies as they threw themselves into these dances. A practical demonstration, time and again, that respecting someone’s culture means engaging in it — on its terms. This requires a deep sort of learning, of course, but also a willingness to trust our ability to connect with others and abandon that which holds us back. What was inspirational about watching Clegg was to see his commitment in action, song after song, dance after dance. His practical, full body engagement affirmed, time and again, that this was African music, not European or American music looking to decorate itself with exoticism.

If I’d had the presence of mind (and been less intimidated, truth be told), what I would have liked to ask Clegg during our brief meeting was to what extent his musical path was influenced by his training and work as an anthropologist. Even back then, it was sort of a well-known curiosity that the famous Johnny Clegg had once been educated and later taught at my alma mater, the University of the Witwatersrand. I know that his Zulu friendships and musical socialization significantly predate his academic career, but I’d still have been curious. I always felt that Clegg’s version of “world music” seemed more thoughtful somehow than other approaches. The easy interpretation would be to simply acknowledge that as someone raised in South Africa (and, briefly, also in Zambia), he was socialized into his “host” culture, that he was therefore less of a “tourist” than, say, Paul Simon, Peter Gabriel or Lizzie Mercier Descloux. Since he was born in the UK and came to South Africa as a young child, one might further situate him as having an outside-insider’s perspective. Being part of South Africa’s educated secular Jewish community, a milieu that produced many who were instrumental in Apartheid’s ultimate demise, would also have played a role. But I still wonder how his anthropological commitments might have deepened his musical and dance practice, and vice versa, and how he might have thought about that.

Clegg’s lyrics were full of images of wandering, wayfaring, travelling. This was no doubt in the first instance related to the migrant worker culture that was his earliest exposure to Zulu music and dance. Home was always a great distance away for migrant workers, and Africa’s expansive skies and landscapes were a constant reminder, beautiful but bittersweet. Travelling through them was also a handy metaphor for democracy’s hoped-for but slow-to-arrive emergence during the darkness of the Apartheid decades. Although the censors must have known, it would have been hard to prove how exactly big skies and flowing rivers were politically subversive — a game between artists and authorities as old as censorship itself. As he gradually settled into the position of “elder statesman” of South African music, his tone and lyrical preoccupations came to oscillate between a kind of melancholy optimism and a playful romanticism.

One of his most touching pieces, The Crossing (O Siyeza), is a song for his long-time friend, bandmate and Juluka/Savuka dancer, Dudu Ndlovu, who was gunned down in 1992. In another travelling metaphor, Clegg sings about our crossing to another world as a collective act, a march of sorts. His words are meant as comfort for Dudu, but they also remind us that we are all on the same journey. We are coming, he sings, we will arrive soon — we will cross these dark mountains and lay down our troubles. We are coming home.

Rest in peace.

O siyeza, o siyeza, sizofika webaba noma
(we are coming, we are coming, we will arrive soon)
O siyeza, o siyeza, siyagudla lomhlaba
(we are coming, we are coming, we are moving across this earth)
Siyawela lapheshaya lulezontaba ezimnyama
(we are crossing over those dark mountains)
Lapha sobheka phansi konke ukhulupheka
(where we will lay down our troubles)

Take me now, hold me close
Don’t let go, I’m coming home.

(The Crossing (O Siyeza), 1993)

The post In memoriam Johnny Clegg first appeared on carsten knoch - essays + ideas.

In music, 2018 seemed like a year that never really picked up enough steam to become particularly exciting. Each week, I continue to comb through and listen to all the music so you don’t have to, but there were many New Release Fridays when nothing of any note came out. Despite the lacklustre showing, the haul after 52 weeks still required quite a bit of sifting and curating to arrive at the list presented here. I can only offer limited “meta” insights this time around. While 2017 seemed like a very hip-hop influenced year, 2018 featured virtually nothing from that genre that kept my interest at all. I’m still very interested in where “electronic” music is going (in an organic direction, trying to sound more like “real” instruments in various ways), and in the continued evolution of R&B. Jazz, too, in its various guises, continues to be both interesting and engaging as evidenced by a few releases below (not bad for a “dead” genre).

If I had to pick one must-hear thing this year it would be Nils Frahm’s All Melody which with its musicality, optimism and elegance does yeoman’s work in pushing back against the intrusions of the world.

Onward and upward in 2019,

Arabella Steinbacher, WDR Symphony Orchestra, Lawrence Foster – Strauss “Aber der Richtige…” (Violin Concertos/Miniatures): Since early 20^th century opera is such a difficult, often unpleasant listen (for me), I confess to not being closely familiar with Richard Strauss’ work. I love some of his orchestral works (tone poems). Steinbacher here puts together his violin concerto (an astonishingly accomplished early work, sort of like a more optimistic Brahms, or a lighter Dvořák) and various miniatures and transcriptions for violin and orchestra. It made me fall in love with Strauss’ instrumental music for the first time. Steinbacher’s playing is nimble, intelligent and emotive. The miniatures are never trivial even if they are meant to entertain rather than enlighten.

The Beatles – The Beatles (50^th Anniversary Edition): It’s hard to imagine that the Beatles, of all musical acts, should require “fixing.” And yet, they did. At the tail end of the mono era — around 1967/1968 — two versions of their records would be released concurrently: mono and stereo. Mono was where the producers would spend most of their time. The stereo mixes were afterthoughts, a new format whose longevity was still unclear. Those early days of stereo mixing strike us as pretty weird nowadays, the hard separation of instruments (drums on one side, bass and guitars on the other) being particularly disorienting. Giles Martin, George Martin’s son, here releases his second complete re-work of a legendary Beatles record (after last year’s Sgt. Peppers), and it’s spectacular. This is a record I “grew up with,” that’s meant a lot to me over the years, and it’s never sounded better. You’ll have to try it for yourself, but the standout achievement from my perspective is that with better spatial positioning of instruments, the band actually sounds like a band, playing together and off of each other. It’s a vast improvement. Also, these remixes don’t somehow make the Beatles sound like they were recorded yesterday, so fear not: it’s still the White Album.

Big Red Machine – Big Red Machine: A fantastic collaboration between Justin Vernon (Bon Iver) and Aaron Dessner (The National). I can see obvious developmental vectors from Bon Iver’s 22, A Million (2016) but also hear inspirations from acts like TV on the Radio or Elbow. There’s an interesting “world music” element, too (although I deliberately put that in scare quotes). Echoes of Peter Gabriel’s best work. Wonderfully listenable, yet music that doesn’t take itself too lightly. Most contemporary “rock” still leaves me cold (I discussed this in last year’s post), but this rose above the thicket of derivative ideas and too-clever young white men with guitars.

Cat Power – Wanderer: I have long been an admirer of Cat Power’s work, and this is a welcome return after a long absence. It’s a quiet sort of record that eschews her previous thematically oriented efforts (i.e. it’s not a continuation of her updated Muscle Shoals records from a few years ago). I like the halting rhythms (the drums sound like they were contributed by a sleepily stoned Meg White); the ramshackle guitars, treated with nothing more than a vintage amp; the swirly, hinted-more-than-sung vocal harmonies. Cat Power commands you to listen. It is perhaps no surprise that this contains a collaborative track with Lana del Rey, another singer who commands attention with very basic means.

DJ Koze – Knock Knock: Fantastic, evocative, touching music from this German DJ/producer. Pitchfork’s reviewer said it best: “… combines the crunchy propulsion of French touch, the liquid warmth of ’70s soul, the precise structure of Kompakt-style minimal techno, the head-nodding funk of boom-bap, and the nameless desire of dream pop.” Not sure I can add anything. One of the outstanding electronic releases of the year.

Fatoumata Diawara – Fenfo: Until this year’s Fenfo, I had always felt that Malian guitarist and singer Fatoumata Diawara’s work suggested more promise than it delivered. This record changed my perception. I expected nothing but was drawn in and kept listening and listening. Her previous work tried for an amalgam of guitar-based indie rock and West African sounds. Here, we find more electronics, thicker (hybrid electronic?) drum sounds, production that leaves just the right amount of space for her guitar (and koras and other African instruments) to shine. The tempi are not too fast, and everything has enough dynamic range to breathe. The rhythm tracks have the same kaleidoscopic propulsion that Peter Gabriel’s or Afro Celt Sound System’s had in the 1990s.

Franco Fagioli, Il Pomo d’Oro, Zefira Valova – Handel Arias: Every other year or so, another astoundingly capable countertenor seems to emerge. Of course these are never “overnight” success stories (even less so than in pop music). Fagioli has been singing on Europe’s operatic stages for years. Here is a flawless “greatest hits” of Handel’s best known and loved arias for alto/countertenor. The Italian orchestra, led by a fairly new Bulgarian conductor named Zefira Valova, plays with fire and finesse. Fagioli’s voice has elasticity, power and conviction. These pieces really are the Baroque’s equivalent of beloved Beatles or Simon & Garfunkel songs, music to know and sing along with. Even if classical music isn’t at all “your thing,” consider this a strong recommendation for pleasure rather than education.

Geir Sundstøl – Brødløs: Geir Sundstøl is a Norwegian multi-instrumentalist (mostly stringed instruments like pedal steel, dobro, treated electric guitar, etc.). As a collaborator, he’s known via Nils Petter Molvaer and Jimmie Dale Gilmore. In his own right, he’s released a string of interesting, atmospheric records, the latest of which is Brødløs. It’s hard to classify by genre. The closest touchpoint might be someone like David Torn on ECM (treated guitars) or something like Daniel Lanois’ Goodbye to Language. I like the cinematic, calm nature of Sundstøl’s music. It’s good for listening while working. Never gets dull but never entirely takes centre stage (unless you want it to).

Hop Along – Bark Your Head Off, Dog: Still one of the only contemporary straight-up “rock” bands I can unambiguously and unironically listen to from beginning to end, and perhaps the only one whose latest release I get excited for. Frances Quinlan is a gifted songwriter who grows in leaps and bounds with every release, and a virtually peerless singer in the rock idiom. This record explores sounds pointing more in a “new wave” direction but entirely avoids any form of pastiche.

Jóhann Jóhannsson – Englabörn & Variations (2018 Re-release): This record is a re-release of a single-disc version that originally appeared in 2002. It only came to my attention in 2018, after Jóhannsson died in February. My ignorance of his work is mostly because I don’t follow film music, a genre he played a significant role in for many years. A lot of Icelandic music carries the label “modern classical.” Usually, as in the case of Ólafur Arnalds for example, this means tropes of electronic composition carried out with acoustic instruments. Englabörn certainly inherited (or co-created) some of that sound signature. But it is also a serious work that accomplishes a lot with simple means (string quartet, percussion, keyboard, vocoder). This remastered edition also includes a number of re-interpretations of Englabörn tracks, some by Jóhannsson himself, others by admirers and friends such as Ryuichi Sakamoto and Paul Hillier’s Theatre of Voices choir. Deeply touching music.

Jon Hopkins – Singularity: In the middle of the 1990s, this would have been called “trance,” at least in broad terms. The genre has gone by different names since then, but this is an interesting departure: Hopkins programs these synths, arps and drums in an organic way, with rhythmic uncertainties, meter changes mid-track and other techniques that infuse them with a little more “life.” It takes a while for the full effect to sink in, but this is an organic, human kind of music — not mimicry by emulating “nature” sounds as certain types of hippie trance have been attempting for decades, but by making electronic instruments sound as if they were subject to being played, not programmed.

Jorja Smith – Lost & Found: This young British R&B singer has talent in spades, both as a vocalist and a songwriter. The music, unconventionally for British R&B which usually tends more towards funk and/or big radio-friendly melodies (think Beverley Knight), sounds like contemporary trip hop, referencing Massive Attack and Portishead. I particularly love the strategically deployed pitch uncertainties on some tracks. One to watch.

Kaia Kater – Grenades: Canadian Kaia Kater is a truly fine songwriter. Where her previous two records sported a banjo-centric bluesy folk sound, here she emerges with songs that sound more like “folk rock,” her excellent band sounding closer to Neil Young’s Harvest. She writes wonderful songs: harmonically complex wonders with dream-like poetry at their core. Songs written from the lyrics, thoughtfully arranged and passionately performed, but with the kind of restraint that makes you lean in. I like that there are spoken word interludes on the second half, apparently featuring her father’s voice, describing the US invasion of Grenada and its aftermath. A record about family history; in Canada, everyone is from somewhere else.

Kendl Winter – Stumbler’s Blues: I love where certain kinds of “indie folk” are headed at the moment. Kendl Winter is a singer-songwriter from the Pacific Northwest who makes forlorn-sounding but captivating music that sounds fragile yet conveys a core optimism. There’s an old-fashioned storytelling quality to this music that says “country” like few other things right now. I’m also continually charmed by her deliberate temporal uncertainty… the songs centre on but often somewhat “miss” the intended beat, much like you have to imagine a missing harmony in a Bach cello suite. Winter sounds like someone who’s seen a lot, so you should listen to her.

Liran Donin’s 1000 Boats – 8 Songs: “Jazz” is expanding in all sorts of directions at the moment. Importantly, it’s once again becoming a destination for virtuoso instrumentalists. Geographic hotbeds include Scandinavia, the UK and the US (obviously), but also places like Israel and Germany. This is an excellent record by the Tel-Aviv-born bassist Liran Donin, best known for his work with UK-based Led Bib. The energy here is closer to (prog) rock, the musical idiom is often more folk than jazz, the balance between through-composed and improvised just right. Donin’s bass playing is spectacular, emotive, rhythmic and precise, but it’s the compositions that shine brightest.

Lisa Batiashvili, Chamber Orchestra of Europe, Yannick Nézet-Séguin – Visions of Prokofiev: Strong performances of Prokofiev’s two violin concertos by this powerhouse violinist from Georgia. Like much 20^th century music, Prokofiev took a little time to warm to, but I am discovering the beauty and power of this music. I like the tensions between the romantic vocabulary and the atonal/early 20^th century bits, similar to Stravinsky et al. This is serious music (and less accessible than the Strauss I described above) but rewarding and enjoyable. And the Andante assai from the second concerto is terrifically beautiful, a wordless bel canto aria.

Lump – Lump: A project British folk singer Laura Marling and musical collaborator Mike Lindsay. I had no idea what to expect, but I grew to really like this. It’s smart music, a kind of folk-tronica prog rock. Something I hadn’t noticed before was just how much Laura Marling can sound like Natalie Merchant, right down to the weird mid-Atlantic accent (assuming this has something to do with Marling’s time spent in California which informed her previous few records). Lump is definitely “experimental” and may not survive long-term as a project, but it’s very good.

Mélissa Laveaux – Radyo Siwèl: Mélissa Laveaux is a born Montrealer of Haitian origin. A guitar-based singer/songwriter, her third record is the first to enter into a musical dialogue with her heritage. She picks Haitian folk and popular songs (many dating back to the early part of the 20^th century when Haiti was under US occupation) and updates them with a spacious and smart indie rock sound. Her arrangements have a romantic sparseness and a 1960s heart, not dissimilar perhaps to those of Chris Isaak, and it is a joy to hear a competent “rock” band break into a Caribbean groove. There are clearly many influences here that I’m unfamiliar with but it speaks to me as a kind of “world” music reclaimed and re-absorbed through the second-generation immigrant experience, creating something unique and valuable in its own right.

Moonlight Benjamin – Siltane: Moonlight Benjamin, a Haitian singer living in France, has made two previous records that, while not unpleasant at all, sound mannered and tame in comparison to this new effort. Here, Benjamin works with what can only be described as a guitar-based indie rock band. (In fact, I think “Moonlight Benjamin” might be the name of the act as much as the singer.) The music has undeniable power and provides a much more sensible context for her powerful, occasionally angry vocals (and you don’t need to know Kreol to appreciate this). It’s not really punk but indexes “garage” rock like Janis Joplin or early Patti Smith. I think there isn’t actually an indigenous genre that sounds like this in Haiti, but maybe there ought to be.

Nils Frahm – All Melody: Nils Frahm has the great gift of being able to combine — organically and in a way that makes you think it’s obvious — natural and synthetic sounds into generous, bright and beautiful compositions that pulsate from “ambient” to “classical” via dub house and electronic folk. It would all be unbearably clever if it weren’t so captivating, genuine and touching. All Melody may be his best record yet, a thoughtful and well-planned arc that also serves as an introduction to the world of Frahm if you haven’t yet encountered it. This should only be the beginning to a full exploration of his catalogue, most of which is equally startling and charming.

Norah Jones – Live at Ronnie Scott’s: Norah Jones has long been a favourite. I think all common criticisms of “boring because neither fish nor flesh” are unjustified and miss the point. She has successfully occupied a not-so-obvious space that straddles American roots musics like jazz, country and other things we call “Americana,” and in so doing quietly enhanced and changed each genre. Neither the sustained success of Scandinavian piano trios playing “folk” instead of bebop harmonies nor the runaway fame of Gregory Porter would be imaginable without Norah Jones. That said, here’s a lively and powerful concert recording of a 2017 date with Brian Blade (drums) and Chris Thomas (bass). We are reminded of how great a pianist Jones is (on par with Diana Krall who gets a lot more credit for it), and her clear voice (with a slight veil which she expertly uses for expressive impact) tells each song’s story beautifully.

Olivia Chaney – Shelter: Olivia Chaney demonstrates what a fully realized folk record in 2018 sounds like. A classically trained vocalist who chose to make traditional/folk music her idiom, Chaney’s vocals are perhaps unparalleled in this current generation. The record has a warm, organic feel — and a minimalist cast, consisting mainly of Chaney’s voice and instruments played by her (and one or two other musicians). Despite the minimalism there is so much to hear here: nuance, multitracked instruments placed carefully in space, a bit of tape or environmental hiss, just enough reverb on the vocals. Just when you think it’s too stark, suddenly there are vocal hamonies and a hamonium providing a delicious melodic counterpoint. Even if folk or traditional music are not normally your thing, you owe yourself a listen. It will draw you in, guaranteed.

Park Jiha – Communion: Park Jiha is a Korean multi-instrumentalist who plays various traditional Asian instruments. This record is in an “experimental jazz” idiom but could just as easily pass in a “world music” context. It’s a bit hard to explain competently in a few sentences, but I highly recommend it for its daring and intelligent bridge-building. I have listened to this in two different modes: amazed and charmed by its inventiveness; and soothed and enchanted by its spacious soundscapes which wouldn’t be entirely out of place in the sort of music one might expect in an imaginary Buddhist temple. You’ll have to explore it for yourself.

Ramzi – Phobiza Vol. 3: Amor Fati: Ramzi — Phoebé Guillemot from Montreal — programs the smartest, most listenable electronic music I’ve heard this year. Having apparently constructed her drumkits entirely from “world music” samples, she layers them with just-about-intelligible vocal samples while indexing various contemporary world musics from Brazil, the Caribbean, Africa, etc. It’s all very calm and invigorating, surprisingly ideal to have in one’s headphones while working. Music like micro-dosing psychoactive drugs to enhance your creativity or increase your productivity, maybe.

Santigold – I Don’t Want: The Gold Fire Sessions: A mixtape that is 33 minutes of pure pleasure. It sounds like summer, like dubby dancehall — all heavy beats with girl group vocals. Everything is carefully thought out and produced using tropes not entirely unlike, say, Major Lazer, yet it never takes a turn into the predictable or manages to lose your attention. I had it on repeat in the car on many a summer drive. One track flows into the next (in true mixtape style), and I imagine it would require a superhuman effort to not at least tap a foot. There are nods to traditional ska here, giving tracks like “Run The Road” a classic British melancholy feel. Where previously, Santigold was all promise — a stunningly talented writer and excellent vocalist whose records would often miss the mark on production, curation and consistency, here she has somehow lost all her self-consciousness (is it the casual, mixtape nature of the project?) and is entirely, 100% on point.

Siril Malmedal Hauge & Jacob Young – Last Things: Siril Malmedal Hauge is a young jazz vocalist from Norway. Here she is partnered with Jacob Young, a high-profile Norwegian guitarist known for his ECM recordings. Hauge has a round, pleasant voice, clear English diction, and a remarkable interpretive ability. Their first collaboration seems to stem from last year’s Nordic Circles release (sort of a Norwegian jazz super group), but this strips it right back to just voice and guitar. One thing that’s consistently interesting about Scandinavian jazz is its refusal to stay within the American “jazz” idiom. This is as much folk and bluegrass as it is jazz — the “jazz” label signals care, attention to detail, pride in deep interpretations of known songs, instrumental mastery, acoustic instruments. Tasteful late-night music, but far from “mere” entertainment.

Sly & Robbie meet Nils Petter Molvaer Feat. Eivind Aarset and Vladislav Delay – Nordub: This is as improbable as it is good. Sly & Robbie, itinerant Jamacian drummer and bassist, you know from a high percentage of the greatest reggae records ever made. Nils Petter Molvaer is a Norwegian jazz trumpeter, one of the heirs of Miles Davis, both in sound and in willingness to experiment with rock and electronic idioms. Eivind Aarset is a famous Norwegian jazz guitarist who’s also a sought-after studio and touring musician. Vladislav Delay is a Finnish electronic musician. This record is a fantasy soundscape that fuses live dub rhythms to choice electronic treatments or trumpet and guitar (and includes occasional vocals by Robbie). It’s all terrifically cool, the sort of thing you might hear on the PA before a concert and wonder: what are they playing? Shazam would have no answers. It would forever stick to the recesses of your mind, the sound that got away. Music to make you feel that there will always be someone cooler than you. But now you can hear it every day.

Superorganism – Superorganism: This band’s record is both completely 2018, and entirely out of time, and that’s a great thing. Sounding at times like Beck ca. “Loser,” it conjures up a time in the early 1990s when rock and electronic music were doing a dance of as-yet uncertain outcome. Superorganism’s album harkens back to a path ultimately not (really) taken. At the same time, the band’s origin story is impossible without the internet of today — they emerged from various online collaborations, recording together before ever meeting in person. The music is meticulously produced, thickly layered with all kinds of sounds and grooves, merrily stealing from influences as diverse as P-Funk, Daft Punk and the Go!-Team. Singer Orono Noguchi has the kind of voice and presence that’ll long survive this configuration. She sings the lyrics’ ironic observations with an enchanting world-weariness.

Tirzah – Devotion: Tirzah’s music sounds like a more inward-looking, folkier take on FKA twigs’ abstract, sometimes bruising R&B. It’s committed to fully spelling out one of an array of future paths for R&B/pop as a genre. It feels like music without any nostalgic or comfortable nods to what’s gone before it, and that in itself is a great achievement. Producer Mica Levi’s tracks can occasionally sound like someone fed de-tuned circus music into Ableton Live and fused them to a simple beat. Most people will find it lacking in some way — affectively perhaps, or because it sounds “unfinished.” But it’s anchored by the connective tissue of its hip-hop aesthetic, and there’s something singular and captivating about it. When Tirzah’s melodies decide to rise, they rise with great power and beauty, powerfully framed by the spare music.

The post Best new music 2018 first appeared on carsten knoch - essays + ideas.

Across the social sciences, including business ethnography, the so-called “best practice” for qualitative data analysis is to use coding, the process of categorizing data by applying tags to portions of it. These tags, and the data they label, can then be used to underpin analysis and interpretation. This technique allows researchers to develop category sets—arranged, perhaps, into different themes—which span different qualitative data. For example, one might conduct several interviews, transcribe them, and then code them to examine what themes emerge from the whole set of interviews. Textual material in its original form may be unwieldy and, as a result, somewhat difficult to work with (“…where did I see that quote again…?”). Coding increases contextual data retrieval, speeds up the analysis phase of a project, and enables easy comparisons across large data sets.

Coding in qualitative data analysis also has its “dirty secrets.” For one thing, it is widely discussed but not nearly as universally practiced. This is because it is hard, focused work and therefore costly in terms of time (which, in the context of business ethnography, translates to money). Coding also risks creating the impression, particularly in the hands of less experienced practitioners, that it somehow enables insights that are “statistically” valid because they have been mined from the entire data set using a rigorous process. While it may occasionally be handy for political reasons to be able to make claims about the “statistical validity” of one’s research, coding cannot and will not somehow magically convert an ethnographic dataset into quantitative research.

Coding’s other dirty secret is how expensive the specialized software is that is used in the process. There is only a handful of vendors that compete in this market segment, which is small and mostly populated with users who demand a lot but want to pay as little as possible (students, academics). The most common specialized QDA software suites are Atlas.ti, MAXQDA, and NVivo. These are software packages that need to be installed on a researcher’s computer (PC or Mac). The three main contenders are in a features “arms race” with each other, regularly introducing new capabilities that fewer and fewer users actually need. There are also many other, minor players. I would categorize these broadly into (1) “barely maintained,” older style Windows software (some of it even available for free or as open source software), (2) adjacent or look-alike applications that on closer inspection don’t really offer the same thing, and (3) web-based applications. There are two main web-based apps: Dedoose and Saturate. Neither strikes me as particularly trustworthy or reliable; in fact, Dedoose has a documented history of losing users’ projects.

But back to pricing: part of the three main vendors’ arms race strategy is to ensure that the market is kept at a high price point, especially for private sector researchers. While their software is often deeply discounted for academic use (and may sometimes even be available for free via one’s university), the “commercial” pricing policy seems to be something like this: since private sector researchers make money from doing qualitative research, they should pay as much as possible for the required tools. At the time of writing, NVivo would cost me $1,380 (US), MAXQDA is €990, and Atlas.ti is $2,037.12 (Canadian; I presume this is at today’s exchange rate).

Finding a cheap & cheerful QDA coding solution

A recent client project involved a relatively small data set (10 interviews of 20-30 pages each) and what ended up being a fairly small codebook (~30 terms). However, while I had conducted the interviews, I was collaborating with another researcher who was going to do the coding work. We were going to write collaboratively, so both of us needed simultaneous access to the coded data.

In this situation, we would have needed two copies of one of the standard QDA packages, at full price. Neither my client nor I was going to pay for that. I had an older copy of MAXQDA kicking around, so I investigated upgrading it, but the price point remained impractical. Most importantly, our needs were actually quite simple: manual coding for somewhere between 200 and 300 pages of transcripts, an ability to easily extract and consolidate all tagged excerpts, using—ideally—a readily available toolset that requires little to no ramp-up time. Enter Microsoft Word, Excel and Visual Basic for Applications (VBA), Microsoft’s automation scripting language for Office.

At the beginning of this journey, it occurred to me that Word’s commenting feature—part of the “Review” section in the ribbon—would be a simple and effective way for anyone to code text-based data. I began to google for a solution and happened upon this thread at “Mr. Excel,” a forum for Microsoft Excel users. The thread itself is quite old, but—if you follow it all the way through—offers a number of iterations of a VBA script that extracts Word comments, together with the tagged text itself, into an Excel spreadsheet. The discussants are iterating through different versions of Office (it appears that Microsoft occasionally evolves VBA syntax and capabilities) and through different versions of the requirements (someone needs it to do this, another person needs it to do that). I started to test various versions of the script as I read, noticing what worked and what didn’t, and learning a little about VBA in the process. Upgrades to newer versions of Office seemed to invalidate most of the earlier scripts, and I began to doubt that this investigation would prove viable, but user MaxMW from Sweden eventually posted a final updated version that works in the current version of Word.

Overview

First, I’ll outline the principle of how this works so that you have an overview.

Ingredients:

• Microsoft Word for Windows
• Microsoft Excel for Windows
• One or more Word documents, “coded” using Word comments (see below)

The basic procedure is as follows:

1. Prepare a “coded” Word document.
2. In Excel, add the VBA macro code (see detailed instructions below) and run it.
3. In the file open dialogue, pick the Word document containing the tags.
4. After a moment, look for a new Excel worksheet that contains your codes and corresponding data extracts. Save it.
5. Repeat for other documents.

Detailed instructions

Update February 2020: Please refer to these new instructions instead of what follows here.

In Word, use comments to code your document. Make sure your comment “labels” are consistent. You can use single or multi-word tags. (However, this solution only works for single layer tags—if you need additional taxonomic layers in your codebook, you’ll have to retrofit them after the extraction process.) Save your coded document.

In Excel, you’ll first need to reveal the Developer tab in the ribbon. Do this by going to File (the File tab), Options, Customize Ribbon, and turning it on there.

Next, go to the newly activated Developer tab and click on the Macros button:

In the resulting dialogue box, (1) give your macro a name (enter: ‘ExtractWordComments’), and (2) click on the Create button:

Next, the Visual Basic for Applications editor window will pop up. The first thing you’ll do is delete the two lines of boilerplate code that are in the editor by default:

Now highlight and copy the macro code below and paste it into the window you just cleared out. Here is the code:

Option Explicit

Public Sub FindWordComments()
'Excel 2016 macro to extract comments and comment content from a Word document
'Requires reference to Microsoft Word v16.0 object library

    Dim myWord              As Word.Application
    Dim myDoc               As Word.Document
    Dim thisComment         As Word.Comment
    
    Dim fDialog             As Office.FileDialog
    Dim varFile             As Variant
    
    Dim destSheet           As Worksheet
    Dim rowToUse            As Integer
    Dim colToUse            As Long
    
    Set fDialog = Application.FileDialog(msoFileDialogFilePicker)
    Set destSheet = ThisWorkbook.Sheets("Sheet1")
    colToUse = 1
    
    With fDialog
        .AllowMultiSelect = True
        .Title = "Import Files"
        .Filters.Clear
        .Filters.Add "Word Documents", "*.docx"
        .Filters.Add "Word Macro Documents", "*.docm"
        .Filters.Add "All Files", "*.*"
    End With
    
    If fDialog.Show Then
        
        For Each varFile In fDialog.SelectedItems
        
            rowToUse = 2
            
            Set myWord = New Word.Application
            Set myDoc = myWord.Documents.Open(varFile)
            
            For Each thisComment In myDoc.Comments
            
                With thisComment
                    destSheet.Cells(rowToUse, colToUse).Value = .Range.Text
                    'Put Comment label in cell
                    destSheet.Cells(rowToUse, colToUse + 1).Value = .Scope.Text
                    'Put corresponding highlighted text in cell
                    destSheet.Columns(2).AutoFit
                    'Switch highlighted text column to autofit the text
                End With
                
                rowToUse = rowToUse + 1
                
            Next thisComment
            
            destSheet.Cells(1, colToUse).Value = Left(myDoc.Name, 30)
            'Put filename of the Word doc in cell A1
            'and truncate to max 30 characters
            
            destSheet.Columns(1).AutoFit
            'Set comments column to autofit after inserting the filename
       
            Set myDoc = Nothing
            myWord.Quit
            
            colToUse = colToUse + 2
            
        Next varFile
    
    End If
        
End Sub

Now you’ll need to tell Excel about a library it needs in order to actually run this code. This library contains various procedures for opening and operating on Microsoft Word documents. In the Visual Basic for Applications editor window, open the Tools menu, then go to References. In the resulting dialogue, locate ‘Microsoft Word 16.0 Object Library’ and select it (leave whatever else is already selected as it is). Then click on OK:

This completes setting up the macro in Excel. Now you’ll need to run it. Start the process from inside the Visual Basic editor window. Click on a small green sideways “play” button (triangle):

Excel will appear to “think” for a moment and then display a file open dialogue. Find and select one of your Word documents containing comment codes and select OK:

After clicking OK, Excel will seem like it is doing nothing for a moment. How long depends on how many comments/extracts your document contains, but it shouldn’t take longer than 20 or 30 seconds at the most (probably less). Next, go back to Excel itself and find ‘Sheet1,’ which should now contain the extracted codes and corresponding text snippets. It should look like this:

From here, you can add columns manually to add additional metadata that you’ll need for your analysis. For example, if I’m coding interviews, I like to add a column containing the participant’s name. When I later combine all participants’ extracts into a single Excel sheet, I can more easily sort or filter data rows. Generally, the Filter function, in Excel’s Data tab, is very useful for conducting further analysis. First, ensure that your columns have appropriate headers (1), then switch to the Data tab and click on Filter (2), and finally use one or more of the drop-down menus that Excel now shows in your column headers (3) to select tags to show:

Below is the dialogue shown after selecting the drop-down menu (3). Use it to select one or more tags to query your consolidated database for, and Excel will filter it down to display only the matching rows. Note that you can also use more than one column filter at the same time. This allows you to display certain codes for a subset of interview participants, for example.

Final words & limitations

This method has some obvious drawbacks in comparison to the more advanced QDA tools. Most importantly, it is essentially a one-way process: you can’t easily rename a code and have the change reflected in your coded source documents. As a result, this method is probably not suitable for bigger or longer-term projects, where codebooks continually evolve. You would have to re-run the whole extraction and consolidation process each time you make code changes or updates in your source documents.

Conversely, it has several advantages. The most immediate benefit is that it is extremely low-cost. Furthermore, most computer users can figure out how to use Microsoft Word comments for tagging text-based data. This makes this approach a good candidate for working with cross-disciplinary business teams. You could even imagine a different style of collaborative analysis that deviates from the typical social science “coding” formula, such as distributing interviews or field notes to a business team and asking them to record their impressions and reactions to the material using Word comments, then extracting and analyzing those to create a kind of integrated, cross-team “auto-ethnographic” register of reactions/responses. I imagine one could also come up with other inventive use cases for this tool. If you think of one, perhaps you could post it in the comments below.

Finally, since it’s so cheap to implement and simple to change or enhance, it might be usable for teaching basic coding skills (dual meaning intentional) at undergrad or graduate level.

The post Qualitative data analysis using Microsoft Word comments first appeared on carsten knoch - essays + ideas.

This is also why I read very few “business” books: because I don’t think I’ve ever actually learned anything from one. Instead of teaching us about business, they try to enrol us in beliefs to make us less skeptical and more efficient. Which—I suppose—works for certain purposes. But my work requires me to have critical purchase over what I’m being told, and for that I prefer the kinds of things I usually read.

I don’t claim to have read all of these cover-to-cover. My office is in a constant state of tsundoku. I am mostly comfortable with this, particularly after realizing that the guilt I feel when looking at piles of unread books is rooted in work ethic precepts we would all do well to let go. Our aspirations inform us, too, and unread books represent the potential of what we could know next. Perhaps the only real question here is about how, or whether, unread books should be displayed as part of one’s decor, a point of representational ethics.

Feedback (and reading suggestions) always welcome.

*  *  *

Jeffries, Stuart. Grand Hotel Abyss. The Lives of the Frankfurt School.

London & New York: Verso Books, 2016

In a way, the thinkers associated with the Frankfurt School are always current. Formed in the 1920s, the independent Institute for Social Research drew into its orbit such luminaries as Walter Benjamin, Theodor Adorno, Max Horkheimer and Herbert Marcuse. Collectively, they are known to have founded “critical theory” (in the original sense of the term). As Marxist social researchers, these writers were interested in figuring out why Marx’s proposed revolution had failed to “happen” in the capitalist “West.” Later, they also turned their interest to fascism and totalitarianism (and their connection to capitalism). All were particularly thoughtful, erudite, broadly educated and intimidatingly productive. This sort of “intellectual biography” pulls it all together into an easily digestible format, weaving just enough biographical tidbits together with the theory to give it context and colour. One cannot escape the sense that the Frankfurt School’s work has tremendously gained in contemporary relevance post Trump election. (At the risk of sounding like a terrible stickler, I need to mention that this has quite a few copy-editing problems, both spelling and grammar, throughout. Noticing this more and more, particularly with British publishers.)

Anderson, Elizabeth. Private Government. How Employers Rule Our Lives (and Why We Don’t Talk about It)

Princeton & Oxford: Princeton Univ. Press, 2017

An important book. Anderson’s 2015 Tanner Lectures discuss how we came to have the current authoritarian form of “private government” over employees in corporations. She traces the history of “free trade” and free contracting—now commonly understood as conservative touchstones—to egalitarian interests in the 17th century. Free trade, then, was originally seen as a way out of various forms of government (monarchs, aristocrats, landowners, bishops, male heads of household), a pathway to a more equal society. The imagined ideal was that all citizens would be “freelancers,” that everyone would work for themselves and freely trade with one another. The Industrial Revolution changed this path fundamentally, as the concentration of capital coupled with the demand for vast numbers of low-skilled workers resulted in conditions closer to what we still recognize today. Yet the libertarian story never changed: we are still led to believe that any employee is freely contracting for her labour and could leave employment anytime. This free market ideology masks all kinds of abuses, from union-busting to firing employees at will for their political beliefs (or using their work email for family matters). Anderson’s book helps us see this clearly and outlines potential remedies. I’d recommend this to all employees (and managers). (The text of the lectures themselves is available for free from the Tanner archive. The book also contains commentaries and responses to commentaries.)

Hamdy, Sherine and Coleman Nye. Lissa. A Story About Medical Promise, Friendship, and Revolution.

Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2017

A noble and interesting experiment. Incubated by the University of Toronto Press, this is the first in a planned series of graphical ethnofictions, collaboratively produced by anthropologists and graphic designers who specialize in cartoons. Ethnofiction is a sub-form of ethnography that “tells a story” based on actual fieldwork but using composite characters and fictionalized events. Lissa is about two young women—one American, one Egyptian—who grapple with making medical decisions of various kinds while sustaining an intercontinental childhood friendship. In addition, much of it is set in Egypt during the 2011 revolution. The book comes with various commentaries, a teaching guide and a commented reading list. I did find the interview-style commentary with the authors key to making sense of it. And there’s the rub: as ethnofiction, it evokes or thematizes something but offers little analysis or interpretation. I can see that there are certain double-page spreads that attempt a kind of symbolic interpretive work by linking images, but it feels a little as if the “other half” of ethnography’s work has gone missing. That said, I see its use for undergrad teaching, particularly in conjunction with the discussion guide, and coupled with readings from the commented list. Whether you get excited about something like this depends on how you feel about all the hand-wringing around “relevance” and popularizing scholarship.

Lepselter, Susan. The Resonance of Unseen Things. Poetics, Power, Captivity, and UFOs in the American Uncanny.

Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2016
Open access PDF available.

What are the roots of the current moment’s “fake news,” the claiming of facts by partisan factions? Different forms of conspiracy beliefs and uncanny resonances have permeated American history since colonization. Lepselter’s smart and beautifully written book investigates UFOs and alien abduction, connecting it to broader meta-narrative patterns of capture and release which already occur in colonial times. Alternative knowledges (such as those of UFOs and alien abduction) are often constructed in the manner of apophenia, the tendency to see connections between phenomena that aren’t otherwise related. The current acceleration of such alternative knowledges—and their increasing mainstreaming—may be related to an intensification of capitalism’s polarizations (Lepselter writes of “the problems and tragedies … the spirals of falling through middle-class lives into hardship and crises,” 31). The book is both ethnographically rigorous (how can we take alternative knowledges and experts seriously, in “our own” society?) and an apt meditation in/on the poetics of these kinds of discourses. I think it is now more important than when the fieldwork was conducted (90s) and when it was published (2016). There are others who grapple with similar questions (such as Kurt Andersen’s Fantasyland), but Lepselter grounds her analysis firmly in both vectors of American modernity, colonization and capitalism, avoiding the common erasure implied by discussing only one.

The post Four books January 2018 first appeared on carsten knoch - essays + ideas.

This year’s best music list comes in the middle of the Great Deep Freeze of 2017, where it’s apparently colder in Canada than at the North Pole. Winter has come. This time, I have no summary words of political, cultural or technological wisdom to offer. Turn up the music and warm yourselves. I wish you all the best for 2018.

* * *

Amber Coffman: City of No Reply — Amber Coffman, formerly a key musical partner in Dirty Projectors, is an accomplished, skilled, introspective songwriter, the kind that seems to be able to effortlessly pen instant classics, songs that right away sound like you’ve known them forever. I think this is one of the “overlooked” albums of the year, having been overshadowed by the break up of Coffman and David Longstreth, the “other half” in Dirty Projectors. When biography gets in the way, art often gets lost (or at least we make it too easy for ourselves). This is worth hearing without necessarily looking for telltale signs of a “breakup record.”

Ann Hallenberg, Il Pomo d’Oro, Stefano Montanari: Carnevale 1729 — My favourite classical album of 2017. I do periodically find myself lost in Baroque arias, wondering why there’s a need to ever listen to any other kind of music again. Ann Hallenberg is a phenomenal Swedish mezzo-soprano who here resurrects the “greatest hits” of one particularly illustrious opera season in Venice, where competing opera houses had lured Handel’s main singers away from the impresario’s London stage with offers of higher wages. Here, then, the best of Italian opera 1729, mostly by unknown or barely known composers such as Giacomelli, Orlandini, Porpora and Leo. Wildly beautiful, big Baroque bel canto pieces, meticulously played and recorded with satisfying, rich sonics. I cannot recommend this highly enough.

Beatrice Rana: Bach Goldberg Variations — The young Italian pianist Beatrice Rana delivers impeccable Goldberg Variations, played with precision, heart and true insight into the music. Personally, I’ve always held that this music should only be heard on a harpsichord. Unlike others, I also never really understood why everyone liked Glenn Gould’s interpretations so much (today, they sound more like acrobatics than music-making, to my ears at least; I’m aware that’s tipping a Canadian sacred cow). But Rana has convinced me to give the piano another try, in my view eclipsing much of what’s come before her. I also enjoy her decidedly workmanlike approach to the whole thing, not offering any grand theoretical insights or interpretive frameworks. Just play the music.

Chris Thile: Thanks for Listening — Chris Thile, a mandolinist and vocalist who originally came to fame as one third of Nickel Creek, an absurdly virtuoso bluegrass group started by a bunch of teenagers, has taken over as the host of NPR’s A Prairie Home Companion. In his first season, he wrote and performed a new song every week. This album showcases ten of them, and they’re quite wonderful. Sonically somewhere on an axis that extends from Paul Simon to Crosby Stills Nash and Young via Randy Newman, these are very, very clever songs that conceal their complexities and instrumental challenges behind thoughtful, often funny lyrics and ear-worm melodies. I could imagine that some might find these too brainy by half, but I would recommend giving them a try. Thile is a treasure.

Cold Specks: Fool’s Paradise — Cold Specks is much more interesting now that she’s ditched the faux acoustic blues routine. She’s always had something to say with her music, a talent beyond her years, but the more rootsy guitar on her previous work made it tedious. This is a breakthrough album of sad torch songs embedded in warm synths, occasionally reminding one of early 80s wonders such as Kim Carnes’ “Bette Davis Eyes.” In iTunes, I filed this under “R&B” only because it defies any better classification. Other references might include Frank Ocean and Blood Orange.

Danay Suárez: Palabras Manuales — Suárez’s 2017 album has been several iterations in the making. Prior to this, its most definitive incarnation was hastily left behind in Cuba after Suárez left/fled the country for the United States. I don’t know if it’s the persistence through multiple iterations, but this is an outstanding record. Suárez is a rapper whose beats and soundscapes are jazzy and dubby, the music sometimes (probably inadvertently) echoing King Krule. There’s also a lot of reggae on it, which continues to be a unifying musical thread in the Caribbean (in reggaeton, sure, but also in protest music like Manu Chao’s). Dub poetry (e.g. LKJ) has always held a special place in my heart—so dub poetry in Spanish hits all kinds of notes. The production is beautiful, the collaborations powerful (Stephen Marley, Idan Raichel, Roberto Fonseca), and—to the extent that I can work out from translations—Suárez is a talented writer and lyricist.

Danish String Quartet: Last Leaf — We are occasionally reminded how folkloric traditions across Europe (and sometimes beyond) sound similarly “Celtic” to unfamiliar listeners. Here, we have a Danish string quartet playing versions of Scandinavian folk tunes (other examples, e.g. from Norway, might include the hardanger fiddle, and acidy-sounding string instrument that wouldn’t be out of place in an Irish pub; Spain has bagpipe music that is actually somehow historically connected to the British Isles). I find Last Leaf quite lovely, perfect winter music, and—like Kronos Quartet—a good example of a classical ensemble successfully breaking out of their original mould without becoming lost in translation. Impeccable ECM sound, as always.

Dirty Projectors: Dirty Projectors — The “other” half in the Longstreth/Coffman breakup discussed above, Longstreth’s record is more bitter, more self-pitying, more woe-is-me. Indulging those sentiments tends not to be a recommendation for making good art, at least as a general rule. His raw talent and indie production chops—all weird autotune-bent vocal harmonies and odd turns of musical phrase, now with more R&B touches than Dirty Projectors exhibited previously—make it work, though. The ironies in the instrumentation and arrangements mitigate some of the heavy-handed lyrical indulgences, pulling it all back from the manbaby brink more than once.

Hiromi & Edgar Castaneda: Live in Montreal — Brimming with extraordinary musicianship, this collaboration between a Japanese jazz pianist and a Colombian harpist is a joy to listen to from beginning to end. The fireworks never end, and the Montreal live audience responds accordingly. Even the Cantina Band theme from Star Wars makes an unexpected and delightful appearance.

Hurray for the Riff Raff: The Navigator — Alynda Segarra’s songcraft is incredibly accomplished and advanced. She belongs in a select group of elite American songwriters like Carole King, Patti Smith or Laura Nyro. This is one of the great American albums of the year, at once steeped in tradition and looking forward. I seem constitutionally unable to listen to too much “rock” these days (the boredom with the genre I noted in last year’s post continues unchanged), but HFTRR somehow manages to break through that resistance. A wonderfully dynamic, muscular, taut band, too, here with occasional Latin touches (honouring Segarra’s Puerto Rican background) and just the slightest touch of boozy bar country for good measure.

Ìfé: IIII+IIII — Ìfé is a Puerto Rican ensemble strongly influenced by hip hop, R&B and electronic music. Its leader, Otura Mun, is an African-American who learned Spanish, moved to the Caribbean, and became a Yoruba priest. Spiritual, simultaneously inward-looking and evidently trying to be part of a “world consciousness,” this album is for me a strong contender for record of the year. It is lovely, detailed, highly musical, flawlessly produced and full of good ideas. It’s also often touching, funny and always deeply human despite the electronic instrumentation. (This has to be one of the better, more organic ways to use electronic instrumentation in contemporary “folklore.”) Perhaps my favourite track is “Umbo,” with its wonderful auto-tuned female vocal. Ecstatically musical, and with universal appeal.

Jesca Hoop: Memories Are Now — Definitely one of the year’s must-hear records. Hoop is a gifted songwriter—folky, but not overly so, with an occasional weird, ragtime-y sensibility (not unlike Fiona Apple, who apparently guests on one track, on harmonica), matched here with Blake Mills’ (Dawes) peerless, warm production. It’s roots music that’s resolutely forward-looking, or future folk that hasn’t forgotten its roots. (Mills’ production, this year, can also be heard on Laura Marling’s and Perfume Genius’ latest records—see below—where it is equally effective. He may be the producer of the year.)

Jhené Aiko: Trip — Aiko’s public statement on mourning and recovery after her brother’s death in 2012. It’s brave and beautiful, working up all the messy ways to search for redemption and peace through poetry. Although long, its consistent production values carry it through to dawn. Her lovely, light voice is embedded in tracks that sound, to my ears, a little like the trip hop of yore, or the mid-90s nu soul/R&B revival. I really enjoy this as a listening record, not as background music. I think it has a lot to say. Plus, concept albums about drugs have sort of fallen out of favour, so this is a welcome throwback in that regard.

Lana del Rey: Lust for Life — Del Rey hits her stride with this record, emerging as a songwriting force to be reckoned with. All that has come before may not exactly matter. Yes, her “provenance” as an artist is suspect, her stiffness on stage easy to make fun of, her rich-girl ennui difficult to forget. But if you treat this as a work in its own right, it proudly takes its place among the great American songwriter storytellers. The languid, liquid production has the sort of richness of Roxy Music’s Avalon days, unashamedly embracing an electronic wall-of-sound aesthetic. Del Rey draws me in, and she’ll draw you in too (if you give her a chance).

Laura Marling: Semper Femina — Marling, on this final album in a supposed “West Coast trilogy,” sounds evermore like a thoughtful but low-key version of Joni Mitchell. It’s easy to imagine that this was recorded with the intention of referencing, but also updating, the best of the Laurel Canyon sound from the early 70s. Complicated rhythms, complex harmonies—not at the level of, say, Esperanza Spalding, but still: not typical fare in our day. The bass playing, in particular, is often wonderful, suggesting (good) bassists are still listening to and learning from Jaco Pastorius. Recommended for those who have lists of “Sunday morning coming down” albums.

Laurel Halo: Dust — Laurel Halo makes a kind of deconstructed house music full of subtle ideas and interesting sounds. In the universe of “electronic music,” one could reasonably classify this as “ambient,” but that doesn’t really capture it. Unlike, say, the Orb’s deconstructed excursions, Halo’s work is less focused on filling the whole dynamic spectrum with synth sounds. Instead, I find myself absorbed in parsing through her abstract minimalism, picking out the rapid-fire musical references: here, she sounds a little like “African music” era Talking Heads; here’s a hint of Janet Jackson; here a dubby echo of Lizzie Mercier Descloux. Another contrast with “ambient” fare: this music is filled with vocals and poetry, referencing on occasion the aesthetic of the beat poets. Waftily, wonderfully beautiful. Your patience will be richly rewarded, I promise.

Lorde: Melodrama — A singular songwriting talent and highly idiosyncratic performer, Lorde’s second album is a young woman’s coming-of-age tale in a conflicted era. Executed with impossible wisdom for a 20-year-old, her pop chops are a reverential reflection of Robyn’s best work. Also enjoyable: various glimpses, throughout the year, of Lorde “performing” her work at award shows, each time gleefully flying in the face of our expectations about how a young woman (or really, anyone) should “perform” in public. Best moment probably her miming performance at the VMAs, in an unusual party dress/track pant outfit. Memories of meat dresses and swan costumes.

Maggie Rogers: Now That the Light Is Fading — Maggie Rogers came to keen listeners’ attention when she appeared as a student in a production masterclass offered by Pharell Williams at NYU. Williams was astounded by her song (“Alaska”) and had no constructive criticism to offer. High praise, and a high bar to meet for a young songwriter. Rogers’ EP is lovely: inventive, accomplished, unusual. It will mark a specific time in whatever is yet to come in her career—a moment too early, perhaps. She’s since toured on the back of her unexpected overnight fame, and withdrawn to think about what her next act will be. Can’t wait.

Nathalie Stutzmann, Orfeo 55: Quella Fiamma: Arie antiche — Stutzmann is a dark-hued mezzo-soprano from France who also founded and conducts her own period performance group, Orfeo 55. This record is based on Baroque arias that were compiled into a well-known training method for aspiring singers by a 19^th century vocal teacher. Stutzmann’s team has gone back to the original sources and here presents period-appropriate performances that are highly enjoyable—well sung and well played.

Oddissee: The Iceberg — Oddissee is wildly prolific, one of the best “conscious” rappers at present. Lyrically, topically and stylistically, Oddissee is influenced by Rakim, De La Soul and ATCQ. The Iceberg is musically outstanding, underpinned by beautifully crafted soul beats, often involving actual instruments. I hear soul, reggae, gospel, jazz. The “live band” theme also carries through to his live shows which he performs—like The Roots—with a live band instead of a laptop. Later in the year, he released one of these shows as a live album: Oddissee & Good Compny: Beneath the Surface (Live) is also worth hearing, if only for the enthusiastic crowd.

Perfume Genius: No Shape — This is gorgeously produced and burstingly musical. It’s hard to describe this record with appropriate reference points. It has the solitude and introspection of Frank Ocean’s Blonde, the lushness of (again) Avalon-era Roxy Music, the boozy density of a jam band slowing things down two hours into a four-hour gig, occasionally the power of Brian Wilson’s richest and most personal work in the Beach Boys. You should make an effort to hear this.

Porter Ricks: Anguilla Electrica — Porter Ricks (named after a character from the 60s TV show Flipper) make “dub techno,” an immensely pleasurable and satisfying deep electronic rumble that’s somehow always a good listen, regardless of what time of day it is or what the circumstances are. Full of fuzzy arpeggiators, musical suspense and slow heavy beats, this has a logic that is entirely its own. If you need a reference point, think of some of the dubbier instrumental parts on Massive Attack’s Protection.

Quantic & Nidia Góngora: Curao — Quantic is a British electronica producer who lived in Colombia for a number of years. A consummate musician, he spent his years there exploring the local variants of music. On this album, he and Colombian vocalist Nidia Góngora present contemporary versions of typical music from Colombia’s Pacific coast. Simultaneously “African” and “Latin”—similar to other Latin American musics, yet also different and unique—this is uplifting, smart, entertaining music. Quantic’s production is flawless as ever, and Góngora’s vocals are strong and committed.

Rodrigo Gallardo & Nicola Cruz: El Origen — For a variety of reasons, I grew up appreciating South American folklore at an early age. I loved the deep, rumbly drums, the lonely-sounding natural flutes, the ecstatic whoops of the vocals, the tiny rhythm guitars. Gallardo & Cruz have made an EP that explores how to connect Andean folk to electronic music, and it’s quite brilliant. Evidently, there’s a sort of musical “reverse colonization” going on in electronic music: artists like Gallardo & Cruz—but also Ìfé (see above), Spoek Mathambo (from South Africa) and others—suggest that the increasing affordability and availability of electronic music-making tools all over the world are resulting in new mashups, blends and even genres. I for one am keen to hear more South American electronica.

Sinkane: Life & Livin’ It — Sinkane and his eponymous band make music that (weirdly) echoes my multi-culti musical socialization in southern Africa in the 80s and 90s. It’s bright, future-oriented, anchored in African-origin musical genres that aren’t limited to R&B (we hear reggae, Afrobeat, African early electronica, Afro-disco) and above all, optimistic. I found myself gravitating to it more often than not in the summer. For a contemporary North American context, this is music out of place and time. Its African explorations are as “exotic” today as Talking Heads’ were in the 80s. Doesn’t make this any less of a great record, though.

Smino: blkswn — I like my rap a little weirder and more leftfield as a rule, and Smino fits that bill perfectly. His debut album is inventive, adventurous and decidedly odd in parts, as if one had successfully managed to combine Digable Planets, Tyler, the Creator, Erykah Badu and Prince in a test tube. Never less than entertaining, there’s an awareness of the history and breadth of black music here, and a mastery of all genres that proves itself through its humour (working on the assumption that a “funny take” on anything is only credible if you’ve mastered the thing itself). Even though this is on the “jazzier” side of hip hop (and could thus be misconstrued as “old school”), Smino’s mumble rap is closer in spirit to Atlanta than New York. The record has a through-line that’s right up there with the best concept albums (even if I’m not entirely sure it is one).

Syd: Fin — Syd’s debut solo record has unfortunately been overlooked in most of the year’s “best of” lists, despite being well-reviewed when it came out. I like its slinky perspectival inversion (R&B in support of a woman desiring women) and the fact that its production values are so resolutely hip hop (rather than “soul” based). I think this is a departure for R&B that’s as significant as Frank Ocean channeling Radiohead in his bedroom studio. For all that we used to think Mary J. Blige was the “hip hop” R&B singer, we had evidently heard nothing yet.

Trio da Kali & Kronos Quartet: Ladilikan — A gloriously successful Kronos collaboration. Trio da Kali is from southern Mali (voice, balafon, bass ngoni). Complimenting them with Kronos’ strings is fortuitous, almost a stroke of genius—not because we cannot imagine such music or haven’t heard traditional West African music with “Western” strings (we have, and we know similar sounds from Egypt and other places), but because here we have an intimate, beautifully recorded “chamber” version of this idea, giving us all the “orchestral” drama of such arrangements but with Kronos’ unmatched intimacy. A testament to both groups’ musicianship and spirit of collaboration. Without question one of the loveliest albums of the year.

Tyler, the Creator: Flower Boy — One of brightest, if not the brightest talent in contemporary hip hop, Tyler, the Creator released what is by far his best record this year. Full of humour, lyricism, surprising twists and turns (both musical and lyrical), jazz and soul, this manages to reveal something new on every listen while also somehow never getting old. A triumph of production “auteurship,” musicianship and intelligent lyricism.

Yo-Yo Ma, The Knights, Eric Jacobsen: Golijov Azul — The Knights are a New York based chamber orchestra. Here, they collaborate with Yo-Yo Ma to record a cello concerto (actually, a concerto for cello, hyper-accordion, percussion and orchestra) which an Argentinian composer named Osvaldo Golijov dedicated to him. The concerto is surrounded by other pieces, often nearly as interesting as the Golijov. Azul is beautiful music that is also resolutely contemporary while becoming neither trivial (à la Montreal’s Angèle Dubeau & La Pieta, unfortunately) nor disappearing into “sounds like film music” cliché. At the end are four pieces that are orchestral arrangements of Sufjan Stevens instrumentals (originally from an album called Enjoy Your Rabbit) which are also not bad at all.

The post Best new music 2017 first appeared on carsten knoch - essays + ideas.

The ongoing refugee crisis is the central humanitarian catastrophe of our time. Human Flow correctly connects it to the refugee crisis caused by WWII and the Holocaust, events which are beginning to fade in the memory of current generations in the global North. In the wake of the Second World War, we developed definitions, protocols, and commitments on how to deal with refugees, tools that on average have worked well provided numbers remained low (and the receiving countries were wealthy and internally peaceful). In one of its argument strands, the film suggests that these mechanisms have, in the ongoing crisis, been relegated to historical relevance only: they remain aspirational but are no longer implementable.

Human Flow is the rare documentary that manages to avoid two common perils of the genre. It does not aim to generate specific affective responses in its viewers, and it does not fall prey to constructing a language-based linear argument based on skillfully editing together a series of expert talking heads. Instead, Ai in the first instance aims to bear witness to what is happening.

It is a curious and enlightening experience, to be allowed to see, to an immersive, almost participatory extent, what it is like to walk with refugees, to live in a waterlogged tent near a closed border, to be rescued from an overloaded boat in the Mediterranean, to be bored and confused all the time. In this sense, Human Flow is everything the news media are not and cannot be. Thinking back on how the events of the 2015/2016 apex of the European refugee crisis were reported on television (regardless of source or ideological agenda), the main contrast is that the media puts reporting and reporters at the centre of whatever is presented. This is usually seen as justifed, required even, to convey a certain “human scale,” offering the viewer a sense of orientation and relatability. Broadcast journalists’ purpose is, in a way, to be “just like us,” to show us a suitably white, middle class, well-resourced person relating to the events, positioned in or near the action. As such, journalism always directs our gaze and mediates our experience, leaving—perhaps by definition—less for us to experience.

Ai’s film, although he appears in it frequently, avoids this trope almost entirely. When we see him, it is never as commentator or proxy; instead, he helps with certain aspects of refugee processing, extends a helping hand or kind words to those who are struggling, asks questions but does not say much himself. In one scene, we see Ai and a Syrian refugee mock-exchange their passports, suggesting that, in the end, passports are just bureaucratic artifacts whose ability to open borders can be lost in an instant. Given Ai’s own experiences as a dissident in China, he—more than anyone—might know a thing or two about passports and their fleeting worth. (During the same scene, Ai and his interlocutor also joke about how they will exchange dwellings: Ai can have the refugee’s tent, and the refugee will move into Ai’s Berlin studio. They laugh and return each other’s passports; in the end, privileges aren’t so easily swapped after all.)

I’m hesitant to make any claims about Human Flow as a form of visual ethnography because it has made no such claims itself. But it is interesting to note how Ai’s film-making looks more like participant observation and less like traditional directing. To be sure, we are offered few glimpses of the planning, directing, or shooting process, so it is impossible to know for sure. When we see the director “directing,” it is more often than not as a second camera operator (using only his smartphone), or as an interviewer, or simply as a “doer,” as someone who is happy to participate in the scene without necessarily needing to direct it or be at its centre. We see Ai cutting someone’s hair, walk for hours with refugees across Europe, play with refugee children, comfort distressed refugees, hand out thermal blankets, haggle with a seller of persimmons, etc. We do not see him pointing, gesturing, or saying, “cut.”

Human Flow is often successful at immersing us in the refugee existence, occasionally by dwelling on scenes longer than would be comfortable in another documentary. Initially, this grates slightly, even suggesting a lapse of good taste; over time, it reveals itself as an effective technique. Of course the walk north through Greece is long and arduous. Of course the rain goes on for too long and all the tents in the camp are wet for weeks. This combination of “content” (what we are seeing) and “form” (how long we have to take it in) serves to communicate the relentless scale and flow of the crisis. The drawn-out length of certain scenes affords us the time to imagine how we might experience these events ourselves. What would it be like to walk across an entire country hoping that the border to the next one remains open, and the next one after that? What would it be like to spend your last money to cross an ocean on a rubber ship with 400 other desperate people? How would we feel if we were incarcerated, like Palestinians in Gaza, behind 26-foot walls?

The film isn’t entirely without talking, and a number of typical documentary experts and luminaries do appear from time to time. However, each is mercifully confined to a point or two, carefully extracted from what one might assume were much longer interviews. As such, the film doesn’t really rely on experts to tell us what to think. It helps to be reminded of the historical context of contemporary international refugee regimes, but our understanding of their uneven application and disastrous effects does not hinge on hearing the expert say it. Similarly, it is useful to hear humanitarian experts talk about their motivations for working with refugees, but it is not crucial in forming our own response to what we see.

I anticipated being emotionally drained by Human Flow, imagining a documentary designed to maximize an affective response. It steers clear of almost any typical documentary devices in this regard. There is little music, and what music there is does not signal “this scene requires an emotional response.” While the entire film is about human hardship, there are few scenes that specifically offer up the suffering of an individual. There are some, but they’re often the result of a refugee telling their story; what moves them (and us in response) is the seeming futility of the journey, the sense of loss and grieving (of home and life), the endless confusion and lack of clear direction. We recognize our own fears and frustrations in these narratives. What we see, although clearly part of an alternate reality that most viewers of this film have not experienced themselves, is so obviously something that we ourselves might experience, under different circumstances. Human Flow masterfully helps us understand that these people are not somehow different from us: they are not moral failures, they aren’t merely looking to “better themselves” economically, they are not criminals or terrorists. Our emotional response comes as a result of recognizing that they are us: the banality of being a refugee, to borrow from Arendt, the sheer boredom and “normality” of this entirely abnormal situation, helps us see clearly what we cannot be told.

To safeguard against the inevitable backlash that such a film might garner in the current wave of xenophobic renewal, it makes two specific strategic moves, both effective in different ways. There is a lengthy scene at the Hungarian border where we witness border police and their military reinforcements being inspected by a superior, apparently for the benefit of journalists. Ai shows us the media event, the careful positioning and insincere, stiff machinations—how the “photo opp” is being constructed for the lenses of the media. As a result, all we are able to see is a group of uniformed white supremacists in front of a large fence, working to keep out those who are cowering in wet tents on the other side, merely looking to pass through. The stifling “normality” that is being performed in this scene is all that is necessary to reinforce our understanding that closing a border in the face of a crisis of this magnitude is simply wrong.

The other strategic safeguard is against the inevitable argument—expressed or not—that refugees should just return to where they came from, because how bad could it really be? Ai makes sure we understand how bad it is by visiting an area of Iraq from which ISIS has just been pushed back by the Iraqi army. We see the apocalyptic sky, black and orange, filled with smoke from the oil wells set alight by the retreating occupier as a parting gift. We see the corpse of a dead child lying in the desert, the camera once more lingering for an uncomfortably long moment. We see drone fly-overs of whole cities in ruins, deserted, unlivable. No-one will return to these devastated places, at least not for a while.

If you were at all on the fence about seeing this film, do see it. It will confront you with many new and uncomfortable things to know, but it will do so in ways that preserve your opportunity to know them in ways that will be meaningful to you. The worldwide refugee crisis—caused by our wars against, and economic exploitation of, others—is our collective responsibility. So is whether we open our borders and welcome the displaced.

Images courtesy of the Press Kit section on the Human Flow website.

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The following is an excerpt from the introduction to a forthcoming master’s thesis in anthropology which I am working on at the moment. This quasi-autoethnographic piece looks at why I am interested in ethics and ethnography in the context of management consulting. I’m sure this will see an iteration or two as I work through the larger paper, but it seems able to stand alone for the time being. I am always curious to hear from others in “business” about how they navigate the ethical silences and flare-ups they are caught up in.

* * *

I was a management consultant long before I became interested in anthropology. My professional world consists of providing advice to clients related to particular business problems. Giving advice for money is always an ambiguous activity: what exactly am I selling? And what are you buying?

When my clients ask me for advice, they are usually looking to pursue a particular business goal. They may want to change the structure of their organization, create a new product, or explore better ways to reach customers or other “stakeholders.” Whatever the goal is, reaching it is not what I actually sell. Instead, I sell them my time and attention which are meant to facilitate the achievement of the goal. Successfully arriving at the desired outcome always involves an unpredictable set of factors, a series of false starts, and frequently some disappointments and failures along the way. These habitual delays and detours suggest that every consulting project has an array of possible outcomes: there is no single solution to a business problem, and satisfactory results can take many forms. Consulting work is highly contingent.

My actual work activities, to someone unaccustomed to business consulting, may seem ambiguous and nonspecific too. In a typical consulting engagement, they may include interviewing and making notes; observing people’s activities and interactions; summarizing and articulating concepts visually and in writing; presenting to varied groups of managers and employees; conducting workshops; helping recruit new employees; coaching people; having informal “corridor conversations;” and “filling in” as an interim manager. This list is non-exhaustive, of course, but the common thread is that most of my consulting work is fundamentally social in some sense—even writing or drawing always has a social purpose (to capture, communicate, invite discussion, persuade, provoke or “make real”).

The simultaneously uncertain and social nature of organizational consulting continually raises ethical questions and challenges. “Right” and “wrong” are always present and—just like everything else in consulting—have no fixed values. Like other social environments, the world of business works very hard to put forward normative ideas about what is right and wrong, subtly encouraging businesspeople to stop asking questions when the answers become too contradictory. This is achieved by pointing back to the immediate “goods” created in the local context: earning an income is good; getting along with one’s colleagues and manager is good; working long hours is good; a company’s growth is good; being part of a successful industry is good. Beyond that, people are discouraged from asking too many questions. Whether their company’s product or service is good for consumers is rarely thought about (unless consumers fail to buy it). Whether a company’s actions in the market have a negative impact on society, the world or the environment is rarely explored. This limited-scope normative moral framework allows businesspeople to answer moral questions with certainty even if they suspect at some level that these may be the wrong answers. In recent years, most people have become aware that there is a marked increase in the polarization between wealth and poverty, and that capitalist business priorities are connected to this. For a variety of reasons, however, this knowledge remains “inactive” in most businesspeople. It is, of course, too “big” of an idea to act on in any practical sense. But it also suggests that businesspeople by and large seem to exist in two separate and distinct moral universes.

I had multiple reasons for starting my own independent consulting practice a few years ago. One of them was a growing unease about my own—apparently “natural”—compartmentalization between these moral universes. I wanted to feel justified in asking broader questions, in part to see if they would yield better or more interesting results in my consulting work. When I think about ethics in the context of my work, I can see a number of responsibilities, relationships and impacts that connect my immediate needs, priorities and views to my clients, to an industry, to the economy and society, and ultimately to a broader human and environmental context. The following diagram attempts to capture this idea:

Each circle is in a dynamic relationship with at least the ones immediately adjacent, animated by the actions and inactions of various actors. For example, my consulting advice directly impacts the client project I am working on, which may have a stabilizing or growth effect on the client’s business. This, in turn, may change the client’s industry and may cause one of the client’s competitors to experience a downturn in its fortunes, causing layoffs or other hardship. Similarly, and looking all the way to the outer layers of the diagram, a consulting intervention may result in a product that experiences great success in the market, causing an increase in its consumption, which may have long-term environmental impacts.

Sometimes, even relationships that are in the same circle can be in conflict with one another, for example when my loyalties are divided between doing the best for the client’s business (e.g. recommending that a job be eliminated because my work suggests there is no further need for it) and looking out for the affected employee’s interests, someone I have gotten to know during my work and who I may now have a personal relationship with. In the “normal” course of business, the decision would be simple: eliminate the job, justify the decision with reference to the limited-scope normative moral framework of the business world, and move on. Yet years of experience can complicate matters. Over time, I became aware that there might be connections, however tentative and remote, between this naturalized compartmentalization and negative business outcomes. To stay with the example, eliminating the employee’s job and letting them go may cause an unspecified amount of important tacit knowledge to leave the organization; encourage other employees to look for work elsewhere; create a public “detractor” who will say negative things about the organization on the internet; or effectively “hand over” a talented employee to a competitor. Instead, thinking about the problem differently—by working to understand both parties’ contexts and negotiating their needs and priorities—may result in a future that is positive for both parties. In our example, this could mean adjusting a business process to “create” a new job opportunity for the employee, moving them into another workgroup where someone is about to retire, or something similar. The contingent nature of business consulting means that such outcomes can be “manufactured” because no situation is entirely predetermined. It takes being interested in how one’s immediate responsibilities and activities relate to those layers of the circle that are further away. The more I am able to contextualize my own and my client’s realities in broader patterns of interdependence, the more nuanced my consulting outcomes are becoming.

At the same time, the concentric circles diagram can also feel paralyzing. Once one routinely makes oneself aware of the effect and impact of one’s professional activities, it can become difficult to decide on a course of action at all. Where should we draw the line between what we consider in scope for these kinds of ethical deliberations, and what lies beyond? An awareness that “capitalism is destroying the environment” is too broad for most people to act on in any meaningful way, particularly when it needs to be weighed against their more immediate need to earn a living. When I reflect on what I have learned about businesspeople’s moral universes over the years—also thinking back to when I was a corporate employee myself—I realize that there can be no definitive or prescriptive answer to the question of where to “reasonably” draw the line. But I understand that “business” tries to confine the permissible moral universe as close to the middle of the circle as possible through a number of ideological procedures. And I also understand that better outcomes happen when we push outwards, towards contextualizing our actions in, and negotiating them with, the broader social world.

Underpinning business consulting with an ethnographic approach to discovery and an anthropological approach to contextual analysis facilitates this outward orientation. I sense that certain behaviours encouraged or required by ethnographic fieldwork also support a continual, iterative examination of the ethical implications of one’s discoveries and interventions. There are certain simple, routine ways of behaving “in the field” (e.g. listening more than speaking; approaching everyone with humility, courtesy and respect; asking for permission and help; learning the vernacular; treating everyone equally; etc.) that can serve to appropriately position a consultant in an unknown client environment, to “enter the field” and build rapport. More importantly, the contemporary social sciences—including anthropology—encourage reflexivity, the practice of examining and transparently discussing how “a researcher’s personal characteristics […] and their position in the field of research […] affects their research practice and their results” (Dean 2017, 2). This becomes a central idea for a business consulting practice that seeks more ethical outcomes by acknowledging and working with the broader social context.

I think of ethnographic discovery and anthropological interpretation as more than “productive enablers” for management consulting practice. In relation to my own work specifically, I have variously thought of ethnography and anthropology as remarkably similar to consulting in their patterns and open-ended orientation; as a kind of “antidote” to the routine and cynical narrowness of how business prefers me to think about its actions and effects on the world; and as a way to tack back and forth between the scene I find myself part of and its broader context. Increasingly conducting myself in an ethnographic way in my professional interactions—treating my consulting work “as if” it were fieldwork—has accelerated my ability to operationalize reflexivity, allowed me to better access and process contextual information, and enhanced my understanding of the closely connected personal and organizational dynamics that inform each situation. The rules of ethnographic engagement are equally suitable to many non-anthropological, non-academic contexts—and while this is not a new idea,¹ it is also not one much discussed in mainstream anthropological theory, for a variety of historically specific disciplinary reasons. Yet even academic anthropology dreams of having an impact on the world (and this dreaming goes well beyond the current neoliberal demands that scholarship be relevant). Perhaps embracing ethnography’s enthusiastic adoption in other fields and choosing to face the “ethics of intervention” (Baba and Hill 2006, 189) head-on are the way forward.

References

1. For a thorough sketch of the “value” of ethnography to other disciplines and the world, see David Westbrook, Navigators of the Contemporary: Why Ethnography Matters (2008). For a more pessimistic position about what the wider adoption of ethnography might come to mean for the discipline of anthropology, see Strathern (2004). ↩

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