I remember it clearly. It was my first day in New York on my own. My friends  were all at work and I was finally left with just myself for company. I was standing by the window of the sterilised high-rise apartment my company had sub-let for me, looking down at 1st Avenue and wondering how I was ever going to get used to living in this crazy city.  I’d been out that morning to walk in Central Park and explore some of my neighbourhood but I  had been completely overwhelmed by the outside world which was hot and steamy and crowded and  had left me breathless and disoriented.  I remember feeling detached and lost and lonely and also like I’d left a big part of myself in London that I would never get back. After a while spent cooling down in the air-conditioned cocoon of my apartment  I started to feel less anxious and I sat back on the sofa and tried to think about what I wanted to do for the rest of the day. An image kept on coming to me of sitting on the sand at Coney Island, watching the  Hassids stroll along the boardwalk, whilst their children and wives played in the sea, the sun beaming in a brilliant blue sky.  Objectively  I knew it was probably not a reality anymore. I was thinking of the Brooklyn of Isaac Bashevis Singer, the  1950s,  when this area thrived with  Yiddish - speaking  Jews, mostly fresh off the boat from Eastern Europe.  Although I had no idea in what way it had changed, I was conscious of the fact that it probably had.  But still, the image was comforting  and enticing and I decided to brave the intense humidity of the outside world again.

I remember sitting on the F train  with my back leaning against the carriage partition and staring out of the window, noticing how ethnically defined the areas were which passed by: the first ones with people hanging out on doorsteps, African hair-dressers,  rich smells of jerk chicken,  and loud blasts of reggaeton, then ones where all the signs were in Russian , windows were dressed with  unlit candles and net curtains  and old people sat around outside chatting on benches.  Finally I began to smell the ocean, and then see the empty high-rise condo buildings, built in the expectation that Coney Island was soon to become a luxury residential destination. I got off the train waiting to be hit with the street scene  from my imagination : collections of Hassids on the boardwalk, religious women bathing in the ocean, old-style cafeterias selling chicken soup and rye bread.  Unsurprisingly there was nothing of the sort.  There were rollercoasters: their cars lazily resting on the tracks in preparation for the evening’s entertainment, Italian-Americans selling doughnuts to recent  Russian immigrants, an empty basketball court , and the iconic Ferris Wheel, its carriages swaying in the breeze.  The scene was different but the sea and the boardwalk were still there and I decided to sit down and relax in the sunshine for a while .  I took out my copy of Singer and started reading the story which had seemed so evocative of this place.   Slowly  I began to relax and I dug my bare feet into the sand and lay down flat staring up at the perfect cloudless sky. Then I remember feeling a wave of extreme happiness rise inside me . The sun, the sea, the sand, the words. It was all perfect.  And then I realised I’d been searching for something to connect me to this place, where I felt so out of my depth and so alone. And for that connection I had sought out the Jewish past. It didn’t even matter that for the most part it no longer existed. In that moment I felt grounded and solid and real for the first time in  months  after a period of packing, moving, emotional goodbyes and  more  emotional hellos.  This is the part of being Jewish and Judaism that is the most meaningful for me. Memory and memories. Communal and personal. Imagined and real.  The thought that I am connected to a history rich with literature, art, music, places, and most importantly, people, is one that warms me and  gives me strength .   In this vein I just wanted to finish with a passage from Leviticus which , in the rare occasion that I do go and also listen in synagogue, is one that always resonates strongly  with me and evokes the same feeling as the one I had that day in Coney Island “I will remember my covenant with Jacob, and my covenant with Isaac, and my covenant with Abraham, and I will remember the land.”

It is a much quieter album than “Ys” but no less magestic in scale or scope. In fact, I find it much more meaningful: less plainly evocative and more tangible. Whereas “Ys” was abstract in its musical flourishes and lyrical poetry, “Have One On Me” tells stories I can relate to. It also contains experiments such as “Good Intentions Paving Company” which starts upbeat, with a joyful piano-accompaniment, and ends in a longing drawn-out plea for love which Newsom does like no other.

This is music to live with, devour, accompany your day, your evening, your morning shower, your afternoon-tea, your walks in the park and gazes out of the window. It is more than the sum of its parts. If I was ever going to get spiritual about anything it would be this.

That’s all I have to say. I need to listen again.

Some new tracks are already up on YouTube, my favourite of which is below. I’ve already listened to it over 10 times in a row so it bodes well for the rest of the album.

I can’t imagine how difficult it would be to make an album after Ys which is still, by far, my favourite album of the noughties. I envisage it entailing lots of wandering around whitewashed rooms filled only with pianos and harps, occasionally taking some time to bump your forehead against the walls in the hope of jolting into place some more magical inspiration.

The first musician I saw was called Oh Ruin. It was a gentle introduction to the day: one man and his guitar singing quiet soul-tinged songs with a soft Irish accent.

Oh Ruin at Shh! Festival

Next up was Felix downstairs in the Main Hall. They were my favourite act of the day: the vocals of Lucina Chua were so gentle and precise and beautifully complemented her keyboard playing and the occasional percussive riffs in the background. I bought their album outside later on and have been listening to it ever since. You can hear a few tracks here.

By this point I had well and truly sunk into my chair from all the laid-back listening and decided not to move before the next act: Dan Michaelson and the Coastguards. If Tom Waits and Leonard Cohen were to have a (presumable immaculately conceived) child who was lost in time and then pitched up somewhere in East London in the early noughties with a ginger-ish frock of hair and a tweed blazer then I would think there would be at least a 70% chance of it being Michaelson. I listened wistfully to the country-tinged tunes as my mind wandered to counting how many beards there were in the room out of the total male population….conclusion: a lot.

After this we woozily shuffled upstairs to see Sam Amidon who was accompanied by Nico Muhly on piano and, for one tune, Beth Orton on vocals. Nico was by far the highlight of this trio. Although Amidon is clearly talented and his voice is quite unique, I found that his music was a bit lacking in meaning whereas Muhly’s piano-playing sang with heart and soul.

Sam Amidon and Nico Muhly at Shh! Festival

After this I thought it could only go downhill but the evening ended on a high: first the strange but captivating performance by David Thomas Broughton who punctuated his hauntingly affected singing with nervous twitching, throwing random bits of clothing into boxes, arranging various gadgets around the stage and finally holding his socked foot over an amplifier in a bid to create some interesting noises with which to accompany himself. I think he managed to pull it off pretty successfully. It was purposefully affected but in a charming way and after listening to his album a few times now it is clear that he has an abundance of talent and creativity that I’m sure will propel him into folk-stardom.

The last act was Jon Hopkins. I’ve always been a big fan of his and Saturday didn’t disappoint. After the hours of guitar-strumming it was nice to get down with some serious knob-twiddling (no, not in that way.)

I did manage to get a couple of videos on the day too but I’ve so far failed in uploading them here.

So…to finish I have a photo of David Thomas Broughton and Beth Orton. At some point I’ll get better at the multi-media additions. Or not. In fact the latter is more likely as I have little to no inclination to learn how to do these things. Therefore if I find someone to do it for me  then they will improve.

David Thomas Broughton and Beth Orton

So far in 2010 I’ve done quite a few cultural things: Tim Key’s “Slutcracker” which was Edinburgh Perrier-award winning but, I’m afraid, failed to win my heart, Daniel Kitson’s new stand-up show “We are gathered here” who was heart-warmingly fabulous as always,  dancing at Passing Clouds, Jon McGregor + Dan Antopolski + Francesca Beard at Book Slam (brilliant), and….ahem….”It’s Complicated” which was crap but enjoyable.

I also must make a comment on Avatar. Nothing prepared me for the seeping boredom that flowed slowly through my toes, up my legs, gripping my knees and eventually causing my neck to seize up until I literally crawling up the walls with a frustration and tiredness that threatened to make me scream. I have honestly never seen something so dull in my entire life. Since then I’ve found that most people though it was amazing. I just can’t understand it: I found it twee and lifeless and devoid of any intelligence.

In terms of new music I haven’t got much in the last couple of weeks. Most notable purchase was Peter Broderick and Machinefabriek’s “Blank Grey Canvas Sky” which is very light, beautiful and peaceful: Broderick’s composition mixed with gentle overlays of electronica. Perfect for the white winter days.

But the big news so far for 2010 is that I’ve booked for Burning Man. I’m stupidly nervously excited about the whole thing. On the one hand I think I may well hate it: leaving my cynicism at the door and spending a week in a oven-hot desert with occasional sandstorms sounds quite traumatic, but on the other I can’t wait to get there and to experience what it’s like to feel completely boundless for a week. I imagine there will be lots of ups and downs but I will leave feeling empowered. And dusty.

Next Saturday is the Shhh! Music Festival http://www.localism.org.uk/index.php?id=453 Come along. It’s a wonderful day of folk, electronica and, of course, folktronica at the Cecil Sharp House in Camden.

Peter Broderick Live at Bush Hall

Second favourite discovery is Beirut. I was actually obsessed with him in the middle of this year but I’ve calmed down now and now am just strongly interested. Best album is Gulag Orkestar but they are all quite captivating in their own way.

Little blog interlude: I just heard a big popping/explosion sound followed by an intense smell of burning. When I started this post (around 45 minutes ago) I put an egg on to boil. It has now boiled. And perhaps a bit too much. I’ll let you know how it goes.

Third: Burial. It’s just nice isn’t it? (sorry I’m a bit distracted by the egg now).  Seriously though – I’m definitely behind the trend on this one – but I really like the mixture of stripped-down beats mixed with snippets of haunting vocals. It’s especially good for long walks on the Heath.

And then…

Hauschka AKA Volker Bertelmann. A German (of course) experimental pianist. I actually heard him first supporting Max Richter a couple of years ago but I was reintroduced by way of this amazing animation at a OneDotZero night at the BFI

1. Peter Broderick (with Efterklang + Nils Frahm as support), Bush Hall. In fact, although I said it was in no particular order, this remains my most memorable gig of the year. I heard Peter Broderick for the first time at the Green Man festival this summer and was totally captivated. Since then I have bought every piece of music he has recorded and his musical diversity and talent is seriously unbelievable. He’s also sickeningly young, and at 22 is bound to reach some level of amazingness unheard of before. I especially love his cathartic wailing and the emotional intensity of his music.

2. First Aid Kit and Blue Roses at the Lexington. These were two young and ridiculously talented all-female groups. The evening was marred slightly by the oddness of my date who drank 10 pints over the course of the night and kept asking me very loud and inappropriate questions such as whether I preferred pickled cucumbers to gherkins. However the beautiful voices of both these bands could not be undone and this was a perfect gig.

3. The Dirty Three at the Green Man festival. This set was lifted into the Top Ten by the frontman Warren Ellis who punctuated their powerfully intense violin-led set with hilarious commentary and was the culmination of the most perfect music festival I’ve ever been to.

4. Brad Mehldau Trio at the Barbican. I’ve seen Mehldau twice live this year but I wasn’t overly keen on him with Joshua Redman, however the trio was pure New York jazz-club perfection.

5. Toumani Diabate at Field Day, Hackney. This set was indescribably perfect. I had shivers up and down my spine the whole way through it.

6. The Field at the Queen of Hoxton. I wrote about this for Londonist: although someone seems to have added the word “barnstorming” at the end which pisses me off as A. I don’t know what it means and B. I don’t think it’s something I’d say even if I did know what it meant. Also Axel Willner is tonk.

7. Max Richter at the Union Chapel. Also reviewed here.

8. Sunday Jam Sessions at Passing Clouds. Probably some of the best music I’ve heard all year and it’s all a result of a spontaneous mixture of jamming from local musicians. Add Passing Clouds’ special vodka mixers and you can’t go wrong.

9. Roots Manuva at the Alma Street Festival, Kentish Town. There’s nothing better than lazily getting out of bed on a Midsummer’s Sunday and wandering down the street to find Roots Manuva headlining a block party a few roads away.

10. Pet Shop Boys at Latitude Festival. This was the most jubilant I’ve been all year I think. I cried and jumped up and down like a maniac for the entire set. It was pure joy.

I was wandering around Camden market with a friend (Helen Dennis who was a close friend at school but whom I haven’t seen for about 12 years). It is not actually Camden market but some kind of simulacra. We are trying on massive earrings but the lady in the market stall keeps making me try on tiny ones which are hidden in my hair. I’m also reading at the same time. I can’t remember the book but I’ve read it before and it has a white cover.

Suddenly a stretcher comes past carrried by lots of stressed looking people and it is a medieval looking stretcher made out of branches and bits of rope. I look on the stretcher and it is someone I recognize but I don’t immediately know his name. Then the stretcher carriers put it on the floor and I notice one of the people next to it is Martin Clunes and then make the assumption that the person on the stretcher is his comedy partner Neil Morrissey. They then try to lift the stretcher onto a medieval looking carriage but it’s too heavy and I run forward, my heart pounding, to help. We get it on and I jump on the carriage and it starts moving really quickly. My book falls to the road and I feel a profound sense of loss.

Then I am in a medieval courtyard and there is a massive wooden sword on the ground. I pick it up and start smashing it to pieces. My ex boyfriend turns up and says he has moved back from New York but is now going to be a snowboarding instructor and wants me to join him. I am very disinterested in him but still want him to like me so I go back to his apartment which is the first apartment we stayed in together in Williamsburg. He never smiles.

Today I feel like something has grabbed my face and positioned itself on my lips and blown very hard into my body and, just like that, I’m alive and breathing again. Relief.

It’s also nearly the end of the year so I feel justified in doing a Top Ten. To be original I’m going to do the Top Ten dramatic moments of 2009.

1. Getting stuck in the lift in Belsize Park tube and then having to climb through the lift-shaft to the other lift. It felt like we were in a film but there was no crying. I was told to shut up by another woman though.

Crap, I can’t think of any others. Okay Top One then.

Now onto films.

1. The White Ribbon by Michael Haneke. Definitely the best film I saw this year. Even now I’m still shocked by how quietly controlled it was.

2. Synecdoche by Charlie Kaufman. It was a bit exhausting and I felt physically drained by the crying but it was still a beautiful film and I enjoyed the way that it stimulated my imagination both during and after watching it.

3. The Watchmen. Seriously violent and seriously thrilling. A fitting tribute to my favourite comic, I mean, graphic novel.

4. Ajami. Amazing film about Jaffa that managed to be intensely political without ever mentioning politics.

5. Let the Right One In. A mesmerising  Swedish vampire love-story. What struck me about this film was how quiet it was. The entire film is shot in winter when snow covered every surface and it seemed like their love was illuminated more extremely in contrast to the stark quietness of the white outside.

6. In The Loop. It was pretty hilarious and featured the most inventive swearing I’ve ever heard. Although we did invent a new swear word this weekend: twock. It’s a mixture of a twat and a cock. About 54% twat and 46% cock although if you increase the cockage it’s more potent.

7. District 9. Just for the South African accents. The rest was quite dire really. Or at least it seems crappy to me in retrospect. Fock.

8. Frost/Nixon. I saw it in 2009 which makes it a 2009 film. Amazing film. I thought it was going to be really dull (the title wasn’t selling it to me) but Martin Sheen’s perform was completely engrossing and I was on the edge of my seat most of the time.

9. Yes Man. Okay, I’m allowed one crap one. But it was hilarious! I actually did a wee.

10. Defiance. Also technically 2008 but I definitely saw it this year. It was like “Yeah! The Jews really killed all the Nazis! Wooo!” And then you come out and remember “Oh.”

Films that are definitely not in my Top Ten:

1. Last Chance Harvey.  I am a sucker for romantic comedies but Dustin Hoffman and Emma Thompson? Apart from their last names both ending in the same letter there’s very little else they have in common. And his name is Harvey.

2. The Proposal. Fuck this was bad. I mean FUCK.

3. The Ugly Truth. See No. 2.

Ta-da. Top Ten gigs next time…

2. I convinced myself I had swine flu for half an hour and then gradually calmed down to the reality that it was just a cold. The worst moment was when I self-diagnosed online and was ordered to take myself directly to an emergency ward after asking a series of multiple-choice questions. I think the NHS really should make the first multiple-choice question this one: “Are you prone to bouts of hypochondria and irrationality?” “Yes?” “Then get off the internet and have some chocolate.”

3. I discovered the Janis Joplin Live at Woodstock album. Addictive and uplifting.