As usual, I’m going in a slightly different direction because my book reading is pretty pedestrian and uninspiring (when I’m not reading review journals, I’m reading crime novels). But my music consumption is much more wide-ranging and potentially interesting, so instead of recommending books I’m going to recommend some of the best music releases of the year. I’ll start with a world-premiere recording of works by Vicente Lusitano. A well-known music theorist in his time, Lusitano is primarily remembered today — when he’s remembered at all — as very likely the first Black composer to have been formally published. His sole surviving collection of works, the Liber primus epigramatum, from which these ten motets were taken, was published in Rome in 1551. Lusitano was born in Portugal of mixed European and African parentage and eventually became a priest and a music teacher in Padua and Viterbo, and made his living through student fees (since paid clergy positions were available only to White men at the time). Throughout these marvelous vocal works you can clearly hear Lusitano paying tribute to Josquin des Prez, but at the same time he has developed a style distinctly his own — echoes of which we’ll hear later in the work of, among others, Carlo Gesualdo.

Turning in a radically different direction, we have Rare Global Pop 1980s. Belgium’s Crammed Discs label has been releasing fun and oddball pop and experimental music since the early 1980s, when they burst onto the avant-rock scene with albums by Aqsak Maboul, Julverne, and the Honeymoon Killers. Over the past few years the label has been raiding its vaults and putting out a steady stream of reissues and compilations under the series title Crammed Electronic Archives. The series includes six EPs by the likes of Nadjma, Des Airs, and Maurice Poto Doudongo — a hugely varied list that embraces afropop, European postpunk, and Arabic electropop. But if you don’t want to deal with six relatively brief releases, consider picking up this 17-track sampler, which provides an excellent overview of this fascinating catalog project as well as some rare singles and remixes not included on the EPs. If you’re like me, though, you’ll want every track of every release.

And of course I have to include a reggae album. Here are the things I love about Berlin reggae band Tooth of a Lion: first, and most importantly, they deliver the heavyweight goods: tuneful old-school reggae in a rootswise style with maximum bass pressure. Second, they sing in German rather than awkward English. Third — and this is very important — they don’t put on fake Jamaican accents. Here’s what I like less: their debut, Sonne von unten, is an EP rather than a full-length album. (Of course, at 34 minutes long it’s about the same length as a typical 1970s reggae album.) It’s hard to identify highlights because each track here is excellent, but “Kaun Kaun Kaun” hits extra hard due to its showcase-style dub extension, and “Flaschensammlah” incorporates a galloping dancehall interlude that is lots of fun.

Dianndra Roberts

Black Joy edited by Charlie Brinkhurst-Cuff and Timi Sotire

“Joy surrounds us. It can be found in the day to day. It’s what we live for. So why do we so rarely allow ourselves to revel in it?”

I picked up this book while walking around a bookshop — a place I find great joy getting lost in — and thought why not? I could always use some more joy and if anything I’ll learn a bit more about those who contributed to the book. I thought it would make a good read but I wasn’t expecting how much I would find parts of myself in some of these essays: the wonder that is the artist formerly known as Prince, memories of Choice FM — a staple of the community in 90s/00s London and when you finally have a Black colleague. The feeling of being home when you touch down on the plane and the Caribbean heat gives you a friendly slap or learning to cook traditional food with your elders. For me being able to make these dishes almost feels like a lifeline as I’m getting older. All these experiences filled my heart, and had me feeling seen — smiling and nodding at a book in public.

The joy in this book is one of individuality and community. It was a wholesome read to see the reflection of the ins and outs of the Black British experience that I am proudly a part of. It was fun to read how it has changed and in some ways is still the same across generations and spaces. With essays from Munya Chawawa, Leigh-Anne Pinnock, Diane Abbott, and more, each essay really is an individual experience from the discussion, structure, and style. Everyone can and should read this book — even if this is not your community there is joy to be found in the experiences shared and it’s an insight into humanity. There has long been a compulsion that the telling of the Black experience has to be one of struggle — and yes there is struggle, but there is also laughter, community, safety, and joy! There is a lot of joy to be had and told. These stories are just as important, so read them and share them.