Oli is back with a piece that started life on the TP Forum (that hidden place next door we don't like to shout about too much as it's kind of nice as it is). 25 x 25 was Oli's idea and is basically a list of records for each of the last 25 years. The forum has many more lists from other contributors, writers and friends and I have to say this has been one of the loveliest things to happen on there. That and the mutual support that goes on across health and the like. You can read the thread HERE. Oli writes a regular trilingual newsletter on music, life, travel and all points in between and has a Substack which you can follow HERE. It's very good. HERE'S some of his favourite music of 2025 so far. Anyway, over to Oli.

There is a certain type of intense music fan – invariably male and of a certain vintage – who is obsessed with lists. They satisfy the needs of completists and trend-watchers alike, whilst bringing a semblance of much-needed order to our lives. They provide useful intelligence about what others are into and remind us of the gaps in our own, sometimes ravaged, memories. In the worst instances, as graphically illustrated in High Fidelity, they serve as a reminder of man’s propensity to one-upmanship.

I’ve now at that transitory point in life where I’ve completed 25 years in each of the 20th and 21st centuries. I thought it would therefore be an interesting challenge in 2025 to identify 25 ‘top tracks’ over the last 25 years; a useful opportunity to revisit the journey we’ve all been on so far.

There’s always a danger that you can get too consumed in lists and rankings. Ultimately the music is the memories, the parties, the moments, sharing dancefloors with people you don’t know or could never possibly meet anywhere else, a communality that brings us together - in a way school, work and the Piccadilly Line do not. Possibly the only truly democratic, egalitarian environment on Earth, where, for a few hours at least, people are genuinely equal.

I’ve never fully understood the emotional power of music, what it is that moves us so profoundly, and why collectors, to borrow Dennis Parker’s immortal words, are always “searching never perching”. From the moment I first heard Abbey Road as a child, I knew music would be a big part of my life. It was always there, a comfort blanket when people let the side down. There were tough personal years after I graduated, a parental divorce, nasty overdrafts, cataclysmic relationships, poor decisions. I concurrently got more and more obsessive about music, and without ever getting too encyclopaedic or technical, I knew the bits I liked, if not the significance.

A large percentage of the music we hear is instantly forgotten. In many cases, there is no hope of ever identifying it. Sometimes I still replay anonymous tunes in my head from 20 years ago, condemned to never knowingly hear it again. Only a select few will read this and know what I’m talking about. An even smaller number of people, perhaps a few hundred at best, will ever have heard Les Aeroplanes Ils Disent Que L’ Orient Est Rouge. Fewer still will understand the context, who played it, where it was heard, and why it resonated. Temping in an office, processing benefits claims for a living, there was no way I could ever ‘explain’ the ambient meandering of Ulrich Schnauss to colleagues whose boundaries didn’t extend beyond Savage Garden.

The 2000s were a time of great innovation as new software, virtual communication and easy access to a vast archive of music opened doors to anyone with a computer. I became immersed in part because I was able to. It meant people could suddenly talk to kindred spirits across the world. People who had never heard of Baldelli were sudden experts on cosmic disco. People who had never been to New York became intimately acquainted with the words ‘Loft’ and ‘Shelter’. People who had never been to Ibiza could wax lyrical about the true essence of ‘balearic’. But my own world always came back to London.

Compiling the list was a useful way of revisiting a city that left such an indelible mark on my youth. I once thought about writing a book called “Around London in 20 Flatshares” because I think there still is a story there waiting to be told about the endless bedsits and houseshares that punctuated the journey. And wherever I lived the music usually followed. Most of my memories are from parties within a 2-mile radius of Hoxton Square. The excitement, the naivety, the adrenalin of living for the weekend. Where else could you find a party called They Shoot Horses Don’t They? Or drink at disco pubs playing erotic 70s films off a projector? Or bump into familiar rave faces in Tesco whilst buying the milk? Or stumbled into a pub hosting krautrock karaoke? Or come across DJ guests whose names sounded so outlandishly exotic: Lovefingers, Severino, Dr Nishimura, The Phenomenal Handclap Band…

Never again will kids be able to mythologise the past. Never again will discos exude mystery, sleaze and urban legend. The only tangible memories, therefore, are the tunes.

It is of course a futile mission, an impossible task. Recognising that from the start makes everything less problematic. But the questions still remain. How do you define a ‘top’ track or a ‘classic’? Something with personal significance or agreed by wider consensus? Music that crosses over or which is confined to a tight nerdy circle? Does it extend to reissues, edits and remixes or is it strictly original material? Is Pilooski eligible? Or Rahaan? Or an army of Soundcloud chancers giving a new slant to seasoned hits? Compiling a ‘definitive’ chart is a tough gig. You wince at what you excluded. You sigh at what others did not. I started by loosely dividing my selections into chronological themes. The party years and the era that followed. I thought that might have resonance for people of similar age whose nights out are increasingly as rare as hen’s teeth. That inevitably meant the later selections are a very different beast. Going through my shortlist I similarly – and not coincidentally - noticed the declining bpms as the 2000s wore on. This of course reflected not just my advancing years but also the way I shifted to more leftfield and intimate events and less banging parties. I approached it in a way that covered as wide a range of flavours as I could, without implementing crude quotas.

Without applying any strict criteria, there were no exclusions by genre or suitability. There were musical moments from discos, meadows, clifftops and motorway tailbacks. There were obvious choices interspersed with prolonged headscratchers. The shortlist was sincere and sucked up to nobody. There was an initial bias towards the big party years, the anthemic Ibadan and Innervisions tunes. At the other extreme, the pastoral psych-folk numbers, the stuff influenced by years on AOR Disco, channelling the spirit of Padilla, intensified further by the impact of the home-listening pandemic years. I then had to weed out all but 25 tracks...

The List.

1. Radiohead - The National Anthem (2000)

2. LCD Soundsystem - Losing My Edge (2002)

3. The Streets - Weak Become Heroes (2002)

4. Cantoma – The call (Banzai Republic remix) (2003)

5. Moloko - Forever More (FK & Kupper mix) (2003)

6. Golden Boy featuring Miss Kittin - Autopilot (Marchos-Full Synthetic Rework) (2003)

7. Sebastien Tellier - La Ritournelle (2004).

8. Coldcut & Robert Owens - Walk a mile in my shoes (Henrik Schwarz remix) (2006).

9. Blackjoy - Moustache (2006)

10. Carl Craig - Sandstorms (2006)

11. Gnarls Barkley - Crazy (2006)

12. Hot Chip - No fit state (Audion remix) (2007)

13. Midlake - Roscoe (Beyond the Wizard’s Sleeve re-animation) (2007).

14. Hercules & Love Affair - Blind (Frankie Knuckles vox) (2007).

15. Map of Africa - Map of Africa (2007).

16. Les Aeroplanes - Ils Disent Que L’ Orient Est Rouge (2009).

17. Todd Terje - Inspector Norse (2012).

18. Red Axes - 1970 (2012).

19. My Rules - More Fry (2013).

20. Goldfrapp - Drew (2013).

21. Fatima Yamaha - What’s a girl to do (2015).

22. Michael Kiwanuka - Cold Little Heart (live) (2016).

23. Nu Genea - Je Vulesse (2018).

24. Khruangbin & Felix Dickinson - Time (You and I) (Put a Smile on DJ’s Face Mix) (2021).

25. Prince - Digital Garden (Discotecas Resistors Dream edit) (2023).

//

It was interesting to see the responses, both the reactions to my chart in other people’s own charts. People had their own stories to tell and the music was instrumental in that. There seemed to be a consensus that DFA in its heyday was a superb label which covered everything from angular indie dance to bona fide balearic house bombs. It was a real gamechanger in the way many people listened to music, including several members of the Test Pressing community. Fatima Yamaha too had a sizeable constituency of support. It got me wondering why its minimal (not mnml) aesthetic appealed to so many people. I noted some similarities with another huge 2000s tune Body Language by Booka Shade/MANDY although the latter seemed to gain no traction here. The Norwegians proved popular with Lindstrom, Prins Thomas and Todd Terje all scoring at least one entry each. I remembered an old thread on DJ History which investigated the roots of the Scando (scandolearic?) scene. It felt to my ears like the next chapter in a European disco adventure that could be traced back to Giorgio Moroder, Klaus Schulze, Jean Michel Jarre and an army of other 70s/80s synth wizards. This largely instrumental music transcends borders and genres and is accessible to anyone with the right gear. I wasn’t too surprised to see La Ritournelle winning hearts and minds, whilst anyone seriously into music recognises Carl Craig’s incredible legacy over 35 years.

I was curious to see whether my tastes chimed with others. But as a sample of the forum’s tastes, I think they were largely aligned. I was posting in a friendly environment where many members had not only played but in some instances made the sounds I was into. Some people came in from a balearic angle, others erred towards Detroit, whilst a few skewed towards Gilles Peterson’s Worldwide. Scouring through other people’s choices I spotted glaring omissions in my list. Wot, no Shaun Escoffrey? Max Sedgley? Doctor Rockitt? Claremont 56? Chicken Lips? Alice Smith? Quiet Village? Pepe Bradock? Jazztronik? Gregory Porter? Galaxy II Galaxy? Maaate, where the hell are Dubtribe Soundsystem, Villalobos and Sly Mongoose?

I’ve come to realise that completism is not only impossible but actually daft. There aren’t enough hours. How does anyone listen to everything? But it was fun to compile because it was never just about the music. It was as much about the wild nights at 333 and Plastic People, the morning shifts at The Key, the sweaty energy at Disco Bloodbath, the hazy afternoons at someone’s flat in Seven Sisters.

These records all to some extent shaped who I am today. Friendships were made and hours spent trying to track these tunes down. It all feels so long ago. My 30s were largely spent in a dancefloor fug where knowing what was what, and being able to differentiate your Moonboots from your Little Boots, mattered. I could never claim to be any musical authority but I hope I shed a little light on the 21st century scenes that shaped my world.