Happy New Year from all your friends at The Tonearm. Thank you for being a reader and a subscriber. 2026 is going to be a big year for us (and independent media in general), so hold tight. It's going to be bumpy, not like an airplane in turbulence, but more like one of those mechanical riding bulls. Yee-haw!
We wanted to do a sort of 2025 recap without lists or favorites. I figure you've seen enough of those. So I contacted our clever team of contributors and asked this question:
Rather than 'best of' lists, I'm more interested in 'cultural moments.' This is your assignment if you choose to accept it: Write about your favorite or most meaningful cultural moment of the year. That could be an album, a movie, a book, a show, or something more abstract. Anything!
Here's some of what we came up with:
Dave Segal
I'd been itching to see East Coast rapper/producer Edan perform for decades. Finally, that opportunity came in Seattle on Halloween. Edan was opening for the formidable turntablist DJ Cut Chemist, who'd dazzled me with his own wide-ranging, scratch-happy DJ set in 2024. But what Edan laid down on this night somehow outdid his more celebrated touring partner. He spun his obscure vinyl platters on two decks while frequently gripping a mic, quick-cutting between the unconventionally funky and psychedelic songs while rapping with a shocking swiftness, creating new classics out of old cult faves.
Blessedly, a screen behind the stage caught footage of the phenomenal dexterity of Edan's hands rotating records that kept my Shazam thumb busy and rapidly flipping faders while he spit fire verses. He accomplished all of this with a casual swagger, as if he hadn't been practicing in the lab twelve hours a day over the last twenty-five years. It was a display of old-school hip-hop skills that felt timeless, and it offered merciful, if brief, respite from the soul-grinding reality of living under this current American regime.
Bill Cooper
Liz Pelly's investigative reporting in Mood Machine: The Rise of Spotify and the Costs of the Perfect Playlist exemplifies the issues of streaming by covering one of the most successful options: Spotify. A few months after the book's release, it felt like a canary in the coal mine, as many of the issues Pelly writes about began gaining traction in the news. From AI bands masquerading as real ones on the platform to Daniel Ek's public funding of war weaponry, many began to realize the hidden costs of a monthly subscription to an extensive music library.
In Mood Machine, Pelly's damning account covers the whole story from the company's inception. Since 2016, the music journalist has interviewed hundreds of people, including Spotify employees, artists, and listeners, for her book. Through her investigations, Pelly uncovers several issues with both the platform and streaming itself, including its "lean-back" listening model, its emphasis on algorithms promoting retention rather than great music, and the multilayered ways it works to minimize artists' income while purporting to be a meritocracy. By the end of the book, readers won't be asking themselves if they should cancel their Spotify subscription and leave the platform, but when.
Mykadelica
For personal reasons, 2025 was not the greatest year—full stop. However, it was a year that made me appreciate the arts, culture, and my place within them much more. I realized that at the core of my being, I needed art, I needed cultural stimulus, I needed to create. I'll start by saying that writing for The Tonearm was an obvious personal highlight for me this year, but let me pick something a bit more accessible.
The V&A East Storehouse in East London officially launched in the summer of 2025, and I was lucky enough to visit within days of opening. The thing that made this my cultural highlight of the year was that it was like looking at a gallery from the inside out—floors of storage of precious objects (an amazing half a million in total), with curated displays and the ability to "Order an Object"—meaning you can actually have a personal viewing with any object in the collection. This was later topped by the dedicated David Bowie Centre opening, which displays a rotating selection of Bowie's personal artifacts, including handwritten lyrics, instruments, and previously stage-worn costumes.
Well worth a visit if you live in or are visiting London—it made me experience galleries and museums in a whole new way.
Garrett Schumann
I saw more concerts in 2025 than I have since my oldest was born over five years ago. Finally, in a more stable place as a parent of two young boys, I delighted in uncommon local offerings, including a rare solo synthesizer set by Ypsilanti-based indie rocker Fred Thomas and a group of celebrated midwestern experimental improvisers scoring a 124-year-old Japanese silent film. But the absolute peak of my cultural year came from afar when legendary pianist, composer, and technologist Herbie Hancock made a stop at Ann Arbor's historic Hill Auditorium on October 25.
My longstanding fondness for Hancock's music dates back to my days as a mediocre high school jazz trumpeter and has only grown in recent years as his classic recordings Thrust (1974) and The Quintet (1977) have become staples of my household's vinyl collection. I've also approached Hancock as a thinker in the last few years. This clip from the 1984 documentary I Love Quincy, which shows Hancock and Quincy Jones creating electronic music together, appears routinely in my courses at the University of Michigan and features prominently in my most recent piece of academic writing, published by Cambridge University Press's Public Humanities journal in February.
Hancock's Ann Arbor concert showcased the full breadth of an extraordinary career that continues to grow and evolve. Joined by Terence Blanchard (trumpet), James Genus (bass), Lionel Loueke (guitar and vocals), and Jaylen Petinaud (drums), the world-class group performed a wide-ranging set that, unsurprisingly, put technology to the fore in multiple ways. Incredibly, Hancock's skills at the keyboard show no signs of weakening. And while I have seen others who caught the tour in different cities complain about his vocoder-powered soliloquy on the dangers of AI, I found this moment to be holistically representative of Hancock's rare creative and intellectual talents.
For me, this event offered an additional revelation: the exceptional musicianship of Beninese guitarist and vocalist Lionel Loueke. As much as his virtuosic guitar playing and mouth percussion added to the band's dynamism, it was the astonishing power of Loueke's pedal array, which produced interwoven delays and multi-layered harmonizations, that made his contribution absolutely unforgettable. Although new to me, Loueke has toured with Herbie Hancock for twenty years and, in 2022, released an album of genre-bending electronic covers of Hancock compositions with British DJ Gilles Peterson that is definitely worth a listen.
Damien Joyce
Dave Allen was a good mate of mine and sadly passed away earlier this year.
The remaining Gang Of Four members played a gig in my hometown in the summer. I had mixed, bittersweet feelings about going to see the band without Dave on bass. He always enjoyed visiting Galway. But Jon King jumping around the stage at 70 years of age, delivering a great performance, was so memorable, and they played the full Entertainment album.
Here's to Dave, raising one for you, man. 🍻
[Michael's note: I knew Dave, too. I wrote about his passing here.]
Steven Garnett
The year marked a major birthday and further reflections on The Serenity Prayer. Pausing, praying, and proceeding in thoughts, words, and deeds brought refreshed appreciation for pretty much everything. Here follow some old and new music, literature, and film: Walker Percy's Love in the Ruins, Anastasia Coope's DOT EP, Orcutt Shelley Miller's self-titled LP, David Zahl's The Big Relief, To Live and Shave in LA's The Wigmaker_reissue on Palillia, Hildegard of Bingen, Rihards Dubras, and James McMillan (ancient and contemporary chant), Clifford Brown and Max Roach's At Basin Street, Roger Miller's "Old Toy Trains" and Bad Bunch Radio at NRQA.LIVE, Lost Noises Office's inaugural record Cloud, Castle, Lake, the Instagram art of Joe Pease, our kitten named Meep, the short fiction of Lauren Groff, Caught Stealing (film), and RIP Brian Wilson. Thank you.
Lawrence Peryer
2025 was another year of wonderful books, recordings, and concerts. As I thumbed back through my memories of the year, one cultural moment that has remained with me is the film Sinners.
Going into the year, I would not have suspected that a film, never mind a vampire film, would have ranked so high for me, but there it is. I have not seen Sinners since I did in the theatre, but today, thinking about it, I decided to poke around online. Of course, there are endless think pieces and explainers, but this little montage of scenes, officially released on the studio’s YouTube page, is a treat. The video wastes no time getting to the heralded juke joint music scene, and truthfully, that was really what I was looking for, but the ten or so minutes drove home how exciting it can be when a Hollywood studio backs a filmmaker with a vision and lets them go.
Like I said, a treat.
[Michael's note: if you haven't seen the film, don't watch the video past the 4:20 mark as you'll encounter many major spoilers!]
Chaim OBrienBlumenthal
I had the privilege of attending an evening of surrealist joy and music in Henley-on-Thames, England, organized and hosted by friend 'Legs' Larry Smith in November. This was the first large-scale event Smith had ever put together, and it was a riotous success. For those unaware, 'Legs' Larry Smith was drummer in sixties dadaist rockers/art group the Bonzo Dog Doo-Dah Band. After they disbanded, he toured with Eric Clapton, hung out with pals Keith Moon and George Harrison, and focused on his visual art.
Being in Henley, surrounded by friends and the surviving members of the Bonzos, brought me back to the fact that it was the same time a year prior, also in England, when I flew in to celebrate the release of the Bonzo Dog Band's twenty-disc boxset, Still Barking, which I worked on as a consultant, contributing writings to the book. Getting to befriend the members of a musical and visual group that inspired me creatively and artistically has been nothing short of wonderful. Seeing the band's members get the respect they so much deserve fills me with pride. Now, watching 'Legs' Larry Smith command the stage, performing and answering questions alongside fellow Bonzos Rodney Slater and Roger Ruskin-Spear to a sold-out audience, was a truly special moment.
Michael Donaldson
I'm hardly the concert-goer that I used to be. I've retracted from the (at least) weekly shows of my 20s and the constant travelling of my 30s, adopting a preference for home and the solitary experience of recorded music. Sure, every so often, I do attend a concert, and if I'm lucky, it's a reminder of the power of this stuff. This past year gave me one of those moments when the Irwin Allen Trio rolled into town and elected to perform in the middle of a used camera store.
The band—Irwin Allen on horns, Bill Campbell on drums, and Mike Baggetta, who we've covered on the site, on guitar—set up on the floor in front of a long glass counter displaying photographic wares. The audience, maybe 40 of us, stood and sat wherever there was room, inadvertently making this a concert in the round. People even listened from outside, peeking in through the windows. I stood next to fellow The Tonearm scribe Steven Garnett and a used darkroom enlarger. I was once a photography nerd who loved working in darkrooms, around the same time I loved going to concerts.
The Irwin Allen Trio was fantastic. Listen to "Recuerdo (after Edna St. Vincent Millay)," the song they closed with, to catch the vibe. But I wouldn't say this music alone had "the power of this stuff"—for me, the power came from the impromptu setting, the seated, standing, and cross-legged folks swaying to the music, and the joy on everyone's faces as the night ended. 'Communal' is a hackneyed description, I suppose, but something was pulling us together. I think partly it was this tough ass year, and here was a moment when a room of mostly strangers came together without fanfare or pretense to share the intimate experience of music. That's the stuff.
I don't know about you, but 2026 feels like it's lunging at us. It's demanding we stay sharp, act accordingly, insist frequently, and savor the memorable. Let's lunge back at it, like wild cats.
Thanks again for reading. If you're looking for more, please check out our latest stories and podcasts. I'll see you soon. 🚀
Connect with The Tonearm:
Comments