Sitting conspicuously at #9 in our 2011 Releases of the Year chart was Lou Reed and Metallica's Lulu, one of the most hated albums of the year. Reactions to its charting have ranged from noisy retching to charges of conspiracy. What's struck me, looking after The Wire's various digital channels, is the nature of these reactions - it's not the fact that hardly anyone likes Lulu that's unnerving, but that the response has been so over the top.
A few readers were bemused by the fact that James Ferraro's Far Side Virtual was our album of the year, but the reaction was rather more considered to say the least. As a result of Lulu's Top 10 placing, we have been accused of constructing the chart purely as a hyper-ironic statement, received an email (on Christmas day) that referred to it as a "piece of shit", and otherwise been variously slagged off. While every music magazine is used to receiving its fair share of beefs, the reaction to Lulu (and its appearance in our chart) has been uniquely venomous.
Interestingly, people seem to think the Loutallica album is objectively bad music; not just something that few people like, but something it is impossible for anyone to like, at all. It's a bizarre response to a record that is essentially a mix of overwrought beatnik poetry and overwrought Metal riffing, especially in the context The Wire - there's really nothing in it that's so shocking to modern ears it warrants the reception it's been getting. Why is it legitimate to react to it like this? What's the key difference between Lulu and other 2011 albums that people didn't like, the one ingredient that pushed everyone over the edge?
The obvious answer to that is Lou Reed himself, who has been (intentionally) whipping audiences into a hate-filled frenzy since at least the mid-1970s, and even once released a live double album, Take No Prisoners, full of obnoxious crowd baiting routines (sample line: "Give me an issue, I'll give you a tissue, and you can wipe my ass with it"). But that can't be the whole story. There's also the attitudes of Metallica fans to take into account. And of course, the ever present trolls.
Perhaps because there's been little consensus on what's definitively great this year, there's relief to be found in a consensus on what's terrible. In some ways that happens easier online – the balance of negative and positive in comments sections, YouTube and sometimes on Twitter tends towards the former. Add the objections of Metallica's more conservative fans to the group going way off message, stir it up via a YouTube preview and a set on Jools Holland, add some scathing reviews, and hey presto, Lulu's branded as safe to hate.
But not all zines, papers or sites thought Lulu was awful (although it garnered 1.0 ratings and "one of the worst albums ever made" type assessments). Ultimately, the reaction to it is a testament to Lou Reed's ability to still get up the noses and under the skin of even the most open-minded listeners. He's probably laughing his head off at it all this very minute.
(The above image comes courtesy of Rock Sound magazine, whose office is just across the corridor in the same building as The Wire's. They think Lulu is a joke too - obviously)
Consensus is mendacious. A composite of multiple, often conflicting individual realities, consensual reality projects an image that doesn’t exist. Which is another way of saying that all democratic processes are predicated on the paradox that they will produce a result that few of its individual participants will recognise, in terms of it being an accurate reflection of their own reality, but which most will agree to collectively believe in, or at the very least, to live with(in) its fabricated image.
And with that thought I commend to you The Wire’s Top 50 Releases of the Year for 2011, which arrives as a consequence of a democratic process in which an electorate made up of the magazine’s staff and contributors were franchised to vote for their top ten individual releases of the year across all known forms of sound and music activity, votes which were then collated into the chart that is enshrined in the annual Rewind feature in the new January issue.
(By the way, that's 'Releases of the Year' as opposed to 'Records of the Year', as with previous Rewind features, a release being classified here as any self-contained audio entity, be it a vinyl LP, 12" EP, cassette, CD, download, mixtape, etc. We made the change in a spirit of 'all formats acknowledged' democracy, but while a few up-to-speed contributors took us at our word and ran with it, submitting Web 2.0-driven charts containing YouTube uploads and tracks given away via Twitter, the bulk of the electorate continued to cast their votes for old fashioned albums, records or otherwise. And as a footnote to this aside, we ourselves obviously forgot that spirit when we were writing the cover lines for the January issue itself, which still bears the legend, 'Records of the Year'. LOL.)
Anyway, sitting conspicuously at the top of The Wire’s Releases of the Year chart for 2011 is James Ferraro's Far Side Virtual, by dint of the simple and maybe even bleedingly obvious fact that more staff and contributors voted for it than any other release issued this year. But what does that mean exactly? Because when you look closely, the individual wills that gave rise to such an outcome (The Wire's contributors say James Ferraro's Far Side Virtual is the best thing released this year) start to appear rather peculiar in relation to it, ie: out of an electorate of 60 voters, only seven actually voted for Far Side Virtual in their individual top tens - that's less than 12 per cent of the total electorate; and none of those electors who did vote for it actually had it as their individual top release of the year. Yet all are now implicated in a process that fetes a release that almost 90 per cent of them didn’t vote for, and who knows, wouldn't even give storage space to. Because Far Side Virtual is that kind of release: you either swoon over the conceptual audacity of its deadpan appropriation of late capitalist-era corporate mood Muzak, or you think it's the worst record Dave Grusin never made.
But that's democracy for you.
Now you could say that the triumph of such a potentially divisive release (which is playing now via my laptop's internal speakers and sounding like the kind of background noise your Second Life avatar might screen out as it moves through a simulacrum of the 21st century mediascape) is entirely appropriate in a year in which the abundance of choice brought on by digital technology reached such a tipping point as to make genuine consensus impossible. (That or the fact that there was no single 'flagship' release issued this year that cut across aesthetic divisions sufficiently to unite large portions of our cussedly diverse electorate, although admittedly this usually only happens in a year in which Robert Wyatt has put out some new music.) But what kind of authority does it bestow, when something can achieve such (ahem) high office on the back of such a miserly mandate? A highly compromised one you might think. (Is any of this sounding familiar?) But how was such an outcome arrived at? Well, brushing ethical issues aside, but in a spirit of transparency, though at the risk of dishing out too much information...
The Wire's Top 50 Releases of the Year chart is collated, or assembled into consensual reality, by way of a two-tier process. The number of individual voters voting for a particular release is the most significant factor: the more voters that vote for a release the higher up the final collective chart it will appear. In addition to this, a basic points system is used to allocate a value to each individual vote in each individual chart. So if a voter votes for ten releases, the tenth placed release in that chart receives 1 point, the ninth 2 points, the eighth 3 points and so on up to ten points for their number one choice. If a voter only votes for, say, five releases rather than ten (as some of our contributors did, obviously becoming paralyzed part way through the patently absurd process of having to isolate just ten individual releases from the mass of new music issued over the past 12 months), their top vote only receives five points, their second four and so on. These points are then applied to any release which two or more voters vote for. So if two voters vote for Release A, with one putting it at number one out of ten, the second at number ten out of ten, that release will have a total score of 2/11, ie two votes and 11 points. Likewise, if two voters vote for Release B, both putting it at, say, number six out of ten, that release will have a score of 2/12. So Release B will be higher up the final chart than Release A. However, at the end of the count, if Release A and Release B have the same number of votes and points, then a third tier comes into play: whichever release receives the highest placing in any of the individual charts that included it, then that will prevail. If even after this process both Release A and Release B have the same score, the returning officer can toss a coin and to hell with democracy.
And that's it.
More or less.
At such a level, the example given above seems a reasonable outcome or compromise, but it's not hard to imagine a scenario in which such a system starts to break down catastrophically. For instance, say 59 out of 60 voters all vote for Release A as the number one release in their individual top tens, that would give it a score of 59/590. But if in those same individual charts all 60 voters voted for Release B as their tenth release of the year, it would receive a score of 60/60. In other words a release that all the electorate thought was the tenth best release of the year would trump a release that all but one of them (there's always one) thought was the best release of the year.
In such a situation, there might be a case for moving the electoral system over to a wholly points based system, in which case Release A would trump Release B by the massive margin of 530 points. But then so to would a release that only seven out of 60 voters voted for, rather than 60 out of 60, if say, all seven voted for it as their number one in their individual top tens, thus giving it a total points score of 70.
The triumph of Far Side Virtual on such a low mandate is unusual in the history of The Wire's Rewind charts, with past Releases (or Records) of the Year usually having to garner votes from at least 25 per cent of the electorate. But even in years of low consensus we have tended to sideline any ethical concerns over the fairness of what is a mutated form of first-past-the-post as opposed to an alternative system that is possibly closer in spirit to a crude form of proportional representation. But for the sake of argument, if a purely points based system had been used to calculate this year's chart, the top ten would look like this:
1. The Beach Boys The SMILE Sessions 2. James Ferraro Far Side Virtual 3. Michael Chapman The Resurrection And Revenge Of The Clayton Peacock 4. DJ Rashad Just A Taste 5. Rustie Glass Swords 6. Laurel Halo Hour Logic 7. Lou Reed & Metallica Lulu 8. Eliane Radigue Transamorem - Transmortem 9. John Wall & Alex Rodgers Works 2006-2011 10. Hype Williams One Nation
As opposed to the actual Top Ten, which looks like this:
1. James Ferraro Far Side Virtual 2. Rustie Glass Swords 3. Eliane Radigue Transamorem - Transmortem 4. Hype Williams One Nation 5. The Beach Boys The SMILE Sessions 6. Michael Chapman The Resurrection And Revenge Of The Clayton Peacock 7. DJ Rashad Just A Taste 8. Laurel Halo Hour Logic 9. Lou Reed & Metallica Lulu 10. John Wall & Alex Rodgers Works 2006-2011
So the same ten releases would still appear in both charts (albeit in a wholly different order), which means, for instance, that a points based system wouldn't necessarily allow any of the lower placed entries in the Top 50 to suddenly storm the top tier (although it might in another year).
The collating of our 2011 charts was potentially further complicated by the fact that this year we asked the electorate to vote in a second chart, their personal Top Ten Archive Releases of the Year (replacing the previous A-Z lists of reissues and compilations, which, as remains the case with the annual genre charts, were compiled from the individual nominations of certain contributors, rather than a universal hierarchical voting system, which is why they were presented alphabetically, and why the genre charts still are).
The main Rewind chart commemorates music issued for the first time in 2011, whether it was 'new' music or 'old' music (which accounts for the #3 slot being occupied by an Eliane Radigue synthesizer piece that was realised in 1973 but only released this year). The Archive chart commemorates music that had been previously issued in one format or another prior to 2011, and that had then been reissued at some point in the past 12 months, whether as a straight like-for-like re-release of an original document, or as part of a single-artist anthology, or a generic or curated compilation, etc, etc. To complicate matters further, music or releases that had previously appeared only as bootlegs were not counted as having been previously issued, and so if they were put out in 2011 in some kind of 'official' or sanctioned capacity were considered as being issued for the first time, which accounts for the placing of The Beach Boys’ 1966 SMILE Sessions, one of the most bootlegged 'records' ever but only issued officially for the first time in 2011, at #5 in the main Releases of the Year chart. Again, if you scrutinise both charts closely (and no doubt plenty of you will) you can identify examples that don’t easily slot into this rationale, such as our top two Archive Releases of the Year themselves, Dust-To-Digital’s box set of John Fahey's early recordings and Albert Ayler's Stockholm, Berlin 1966. Neither of these is a straight reissue of an earlier document, and both are split more or less evenly between previously unheard and previously issued material. So why are they in the Archive chart? Because it felt right that's why. And because all democratic voting systems are full of holes, so what you gonna do?
Despite directions on how to 'correctly' vote in both charts, many of our contributors, being for the most part a bunch of unclubbable mavericks (which is just the way we like them), ignored all such entreaties and voted for first time releases of old music in their Archive charts, and vice versa. At which point, the chart return officer (yours truly) consulted the electoral reform society (whoever was in the Wire office at the time) and a decision was arrived at: if a voter voted for a release in their main chart, but whose status meant it should actually have been voted for in their Archive chart, that vote was moved across to the correct chart, and vice versa.
But if you are of the opinion that such distinctions are completely arbitrary and that all the year's releases should be judged against each other, then if you combine the votes cast, and points applied, in both the main and Archive charts to get 2011's ultimate Releases of the Year according to The Wire, you would get a top ten that looked like this:
1. John Fahey Your Past Comes Back To Haunt You: The Fontone Years (1958-1965) 2. Albert Ayler Stockholm, Berlin 1966 3. James Ferraro Far Side Virtual 4. Bill Dixon Intents And Purposes 5. Rustie Glass Swords 6. Theo Parrish Ugly Edits 7. Eliane Radigue Transamorem - Transmortem 8. Hype Williams One Nation 9. The Beach Boys The SMILE Sessions 10. Michael Chapman The Resurrection And Revenge Of The Clayton Peacock
I have it on good authority that many alt.music operations out there, from high-profile independent retailers to print and online magazines, compile their end of year charts via a form of tyranny, imposing the corporate will on their respective electorates via repressive dictats and vote rigging (at least The Wire doesn't actually tell anyone what they can or can't vote for).
But in light of all of the above, can you blame them?