1. Bob Evans – Suburban Songbook
Album of the year. This album has soundtracked my year, all my ups and downs, left and rights, the laughs, the dancing, the silliness, the sadness, every moment.
I’ve had it just about all year. It only really hit me in March, when the first song, Don’t You Think It’s Time, was basically on repeat play every day, after work, walking to the bus stop. It’s simple acoustic hymn to future, better times, seizing the day, and I used to leave work every day thinking I had to do more with my life.
Later in the year, when the album came out, I was in love with it. The hidden track, Me & My Friends, had lines about sitting alone while everyone else is sending text messages. I loved the line, and it reminded me I was the only single guy in a five piece band and I was the only one not going home to someone.
Friend, the second track, I would listen to walking around Enmore in Autumn, thinking about the line “It’s true everybody knows/people come and people go” and realsing some friendships fade and that’s okay.
I saw Bob play a few times over the year and I remember synchronise dancing with a friends to I’m Coming Around at the Annandale. And discussing how Sadness & Whiskey, my favourite song, sounded a bit like a Weezer song at Newtown RSL.
I would sing harmonies openly and loudly at my desk to the new mix of Nowhere Without You and when work, life and everything got too much in the winter, I would listen to the Battle of 2004 with it’s sad refrain of “I’m coming down..” over and over again.
In September I would listen to Rocks In My Head when I thought maybe I had made a stupid decision. And every time it rained, I would think of The Great Unknown‘s middle eight, the stupidly simple “I guess I’m stuck in the rain again.”
When I finally left Australia and I felt like singing Darlin’ Won’t You Come (“…run away with me”) and make somone come with me. And now that I’m here, tonight, I was walking through Covent Gardens, Don’t You Think It’s Time came on the ipod, and it was like walking through a silent crowd, as the remains of Christmas lights withered the streets.
See, you had to be there to appreciate it – and you weren’t. And I don’t really mind if you never hear this album, and if it means nothing to you. It meant a lot to me, and you had to be there to really get it. Oh, I can recommend it on it’s musical merits or something. But that’s not why I treasure this record. It’s because it was my year in song.