Clockwise from top left: Martin Rossiter, Tenniscoats, Cate Le Bon, Deerhoof

2012 was a good year for music as far as I’m concerned, not least because I rediscovered my love for it. Possibly as a result of moving to the culture-less UAE in 2009, I have spent a few years in a uninspired wilderness, neither creating anything of my own nor particularly enjoying anything by anybody else. Thankfully, 2012 brought with it a spark – thanks, no doubt, to having moved in next door to my fellow Grizzly Folk member, Jon Nice, and having fitted up my attic as a kind of rough and ready recording room. Together, we’ve explored the stringed limits of the mandola and the ukulele, and I imagine we’ll put them through various pedals and push it out even further in the New Year. I’m looking forward to it.

In tribute to that rediscovered spark, I’ve collected a few sounds that have had me humming over the last 12 months. They’re not necessarily new, but they’re notable for having pulled me from my slumber. May 2013 be a wide-eyed audio fest for all! No snoozing allowed! 

"I'm eating yellow slop. What of it!?"

It’s not often I post personal photos, but since I was lucky enough to snap this one at London Zoo yesterday, I felt it only right that I share it with the world. I call it “Aardvark in Gloves and Butterscotch”, and it may be the best photo of an aardvark that I will ever take. 

The Hyperbole Beast, thrashed up to 11

Last night, just off Putney High Street, I came across a poignant sight. Walking ahead of me, her head hanging a little low, was a “games maker” – one of those generous people who volunteered help throughout London 2012. She was moving slowly, as if to savour this final journey in her Olympic regalia, and the purple of her branded tracksuit splashed vividly against the dazzling sunset. I can only assume she was returning from the heroes’ parade – the last hurrah for the London Olympics, 2012 – which meant that the comedown had already begun. Tomorrow she was moving back to reality. 

Members of our hard working creative team (courtesy of Language City London and Mindshapes)

Getting a job as a game designer, tester or writer is the big dream for so many people, and yet I work with these talented but lucky buggers every day. Quite how that happened is a bit of a mystery. They worked hard to get to where they are and, quite rightly, they’re proud of themselves. Heck, I’m proud of them too, though I’m not sure they could say the same for me. I ended up working in the games industry without ever having intended to. Far from working my arse off trying to get the job I have today, I kind of woke up one morning with the words “game writer” on my CV. For a man who, a year ago, didn’t know an RPG from an SUV, it’s been quite an intense six months.

Tricky in concert, not performing Maxinquaye

On Twitter, they’re baying for the artist’s blood – or a hauling over the coals for violating the trade discriminations act, at the very least. The offence? Announcing the performance of a much-loved album, and then doing as little of it as possible on the night.

With hindsight, this weekend’s series of onstage car crashes should have been spotted well in advance. The latest nostalgia trend, in which artists past their prime look back on kinder royalty cheques and agree to wind back the years to perform their best selling album in its entirety, is exactly the kind of thing you’d expect from The Charlatans or Oasis (Liam has the Morning Glory anniversary tour pencilled in for 2015). 

Tom Waits: Not a hypnic jerk, but a bluesman nonetheless

It sounds like a dance craze, perhaps something based on a Joy Division performance. The hypnic jerks are spasmodic and unpredictable; they tend to grab you in your least dance-friendly moments, just as you’re drifting off to sleep, and shake you back to confused consciousness again. Like an infantile practical joke that you’re playing on yourself and aren’t getting bored of anytime soon, they’re not big and they’re not clever. They seem as though they’re designed to annoy, to be weary of, and – in vulnerable moments – to possibly even fear.