Twenty-twenty. The year when hugging was outlawed, and I may have started talking a lot to my fern. What’s that you say, Fergus? Oh, you don’t like today’s record. Right, back in the cupboard. Please note for the record that Fergus the Fern has been purged from the voter…

Twenty-twenty. The year when live music stage dived into a pit filled with heaving, hot bodies, and died, after which we were all forced to join a cloud crowd to watch musicians do their shit. YouTube sessions and Instagram LIVEs from people’s living rooms and look there, another sliver…

“Yesterday, any way you made it was just fine.” These are the first words you hear Karen Dalton sing on “In My Own Time,” and in 2020, I made it with a little help from my record friends. This was one of them.

Music is like a jangly set of keys to a secret door. I don’t care how tightly guarded your thought fortress is, or what secrets you think you’re hiding in that head of yours, as the Village People told us, you can’t stop it.