I can’t even pretend to offer a comprehensive list anymore. When I was a newspaper music critic, I tried to keep up with most everything. But life gets in the way, and these days I find myself much less willing to give things a chance. Hook me immediately or be consigned to the dustbin. So this is a list of favorites, not a best of.

I spent as much time listening to old favorites as I did new music this year. As such, there is only one artist on this list (King Creosote) that I hadn’t heard and/or didn’t already own something by before this year.

The nice development was the elevation of many a game. William Elliott Whitmore, Wye Oak, Tim Finn… all were artists I liked, certainly admired. But they hadn’t done anything that would earn them a spot on a list like this. But this year, all three and others really connected, taking their music to new, more exciting places.

1. William Elliott Whitmore – Field Songs
The best album of the year is also the simplest. With little more than a guitar or banjo and his deep, resonant voice, Whitmore has crafted the best album of his career. To date, his music has felt out of time, a recreation of something that came before. With Field Songs, Whitmore sings about today, but the context of his sound, which still harks back to the dustbowl days, shows how little progress we’ve made. It is a powerful socio-political statement that packs just as much of a punch musically.
“Field Song”

2. Boston Spaceships – Let it Beard
While Robert Pollard was busy leading the reunited “classic lineup” of Guided by Voices around the country, his fellow Spaceships Chris Slusarenko and John Moen were putting the finishing touches on that band’s (for now) swansong, a sprawling two-album (1 CD) set that makes good on Pollard’s quest to capture the 4 Ps: prog, pop, psych and punk. Not since his post-GBV solo bow, From a Compound Eye, has a Pollard package been so complete. Despite its length, there is hardly a weak song in the bunch (and those that are are so short you’d hardly notice). Includes Colin Newman, J Mascis, Steve Wynn and more.
“Blind 20-20″

3. Wye Oak – Civilian
Jenn Wasner is a guitar god(dess). And she has a great rock voice. And her songs have the right blend of murk and light, joy and sinister. Then there’s Andy Stack, a jack-of-all-instruments who plays drums and keyboards (usually at the same time). This band started good, got better and is now just flat out excellent. Catch them live and marvel at how this much sound can come from two people. Plus, they kill every time they visit the AV Club’s Undercover studio. As much as any act on this list, I truly can’t wait to hear what they cook up next.
“Holy Holy”

4. Feelies – Here Before
Yes, the title sounds like a commentary on the contents, and to an extent it is spot on. This does sound like the album the Feelies would have made 20 years ago to follow Time for a Witness. But it feels contemporary, too, as Glenn Mercer and Co. meet aging head on. Mercer always said he was waiting for Bill Million to return before the Feelies could be reborn, and it seems the wait was worth it (and justified). Those guitars, that beat… it’s all here. Don’t stay away so long this time, folks.
“Nobody Knows”

5. Matthew Ryan – I Remember Standing as if Nothing Could Fall
Ryan started out rocking, then took things down several notches on subsequent releases. He’d rock from time to time, but low-key melancholy was his typical speed, wrenching the emotion out of every track without the cover of loud guitars. On his latest, he finds a middle ground that allows him to harness all of his talents, all of his sounds, and the result is an album that sounds – at least on some days – like his best yet. I had a lengthy correspondence with Ryan about the album that helps to illuminate his motivations and goals for the projects.
“All Hail the Kings of Trash”

6. Tim Finn – The View is Worth the Climb
I picked this up on a lark. I’m a big, big fan of Tim’s little brother, Neil, and have come to appreciate the work of Tim as an extension of that fandom. Something clicked with this album, though, as Tim offers a mature, organic collection of songs that focus on the sweet center of these songs – the vocal melodies and the rich strums of an acoustic guitar. Tim solo always has been less manic/crazy than Tim as leader of Split Enz, but this strips things down even more. The view, or in this case, the sound, is worth the climb.
“Going Going Gone”

7. Tommy Keene – Behind the Parade
Keene has been quietly adding to his catalog over the past decade, crafting the same kind of densely layered power pop that earned him a modicum of fame in the late 1980s. Behind the Parade offers nothing new (unless you count the odd synth interlude of “La Castana”), which is exactly why it is so good. The hooks are plentiful and strong, the guitars muscular and chiming and the beat insistent. It’s as if the past 20 years never happened. Unfortunately, Keene’s profile is no higher than it was then. Thankfully, that doesn’t stop him.
“Deep Six Saturday”

8. Wilco – The Whole Love
After two albums that were perfectly fine, Wilco again experiments… a little. The experimental nature of the album has been overstated thanks to its presence at the beginning of the album. The real draw of the album is the fact that the band seems to be willing to push again, to take Jeff Tweedy’s songs as the base for improvisation rather than the be all end all. That was the case with the pleasant but unchallenging two albums that precede this one. Here, the band, by now well seasoned, pushes and pulls at these songs, taking them to unexpected places.
“I Might”

9. St. Vincent – Strange Mercy
The other female guitar shredder in the top 10, Annie Clark is the complete package. A great guitarist, a captivating singer and a top-notch songwriter, she creates music that is catchy yet quirky enough to be identifiable as her creations and hers alone. Strange Mercy is her third stunner in a row, the third collection of songs that play to her many strengths. Her music would seem to be constrained only by her imagination, which thus far seems limitless. Check her work with Beck on a deconstruction of INXS’s Kick for further evidence of her talent.
“Cruel”

10. King Creosote and John Hopkins – Diamond Mine
This was a blog discovery that hooked me immediately, and saw its profile raised throughout the year. King Creosote is an artist who reminds me of Appendix Out/Alasdair Roberts or the Harvest Ministers: quiet folk with high, warbling vocals that just work. The assistance of John Hopkins, who adds subtle touches that flesh out that skeletal sound, makes this the perfect package. To get a sense of the delicate beauty of the music made by these two, check out their Tiny Desk Concert at NPR.org.
“Bubble”

And the next 10, which includes a stunning comeback,  reliable master, two indie-supergroups, another welcome return, a poppy change of pace, a rechristened (yet unheralded talent), a bubblegummy delight, an improbably second inning and an album that succeeds despite it’s vocals being shouted at you.

11. Gillian Welch – Harrow and the Harvest
12. Nick Lowe – The Old Magic
13.  Middle Brother – Middle Brother
14. Wild Flag – Wild Flag
15. Sea and Cake – Moonlight Butterfly
16. Richard Buckner – Our Blood
17. Release the Sunbird – Come Back to Us
18. Jonny – Jonny
19. Baseball Project – High and Inside
20. Fucked Up – David Comes to Life

As I have read through Howard Sounes’ excellent Bob Dylan biography, Down the Highway, I have found myself compelled to listen to and explore all facets of Dylan’s catalog. Easy enough (and pleasant enough) to do with the canon, and certainly so with his more recent work, but what about that soft, saggy middle?

I came to Dylan, like many probably did, with Time Out of Mind. Yes, I had some of the early classics, but they were just that: classics. I didn’t consider him a valid, contemporary artist. Rather, he was a bona fide member of the oldies circuit who kept cranking out albums because he didn’t know any better. But with Time Out of Mind, I realized there was more – much, much more – to this artist.

It’s a daunting task, trying to keep up with Dylan. I filled in holes as I was compelled by outside influences. Reading about his Christian phase led me to Slow Train Coming, Saved and Shot of Love. The Bootleg series entry on the Rolling Thunder Revue led me to Desire. But there were several albums that I simply had ignored, from Knocked Out Loaded through Under the Red Sky. Oh Mercy doesn’t really belong on this list, as I bought the boxed set of SACD reissues several years ago that included it, and I fell in love with it.

What remains are three albums –Knocked Out Loaded, Down in the Groove and Under the Red Sky. They are pretty universally panned, and even charitable fans have a hard time being nice to more than a song or two on each. Why are these so troubled? Reading Sounes’ book, you could point to personal problems, drinking, financial woes or any number of issues. But to me it seems that a lack of band cohesion might be at least partly to blame.

I hit upon this while scrolling through the credits on Down in the Groove at bobdylan.com. I noticed that the bass on one song was played by Kip Winger. For those who don’t know, he is the titular leader of the hair metal band Winger. Why was Winger in the studio that day? I’m sure there’s a logical explanation, but that doesn’t make it any less strange that he joined Eric Clapton, Ron Wood, Mitchell Froom and others on “Had a Dream About You, Baby.”

Looking through the credits for those three albums, I was struck by how completely random some of the band configurations were. Dylan long has benefitted from throwing curve balls – changing keys, altering lyrics, etc. I’m sure the presence of some of these folks brought a spark to the proceedings. But there’s also something to be said for assembling a whipsmart band to tear through a batch of songs and provide a common thread through them.

What follows is a list of the eight songs that have the strangest batch of performers in Dylan’s catalog… according to me. Others, I’m very sure, would have differing opinions.

Under The Red Sky

“Wiggle Wiggle”: Bob Dylan – guitar, vocals; Slash – guitar; David Lindley – guitar; Jamie Muhoberac – organ; Randy Jackson – bass; Kenny Aronoff – drums

“Born In Time”: Bob Dylan – accordion, vocals; David Crosby – background vocals; Bruce Hornsby – piano; Robben Ford – guitar; Randy Jackson – bass; Kenny Aronoff – Drums; Paulinho Da Costa – percussion

“2 X 2″: Bob Dylan – acoustic guitar, vocals; David Crosby – background vocals; Elton John – piano; David Lindley – bouzouki; Randy Jackson – bass; Kenny Aronoff – Drums; Paulinho Da Costa – percussion

Down In The Groove

“Sally Sue Brown”: Bob Dylan – vocals, guitar; Steve Jones – guitar; Myron Grombacher – drums; Paul Simonon – bass; Kevin Savigar – keyboards; Madelyn Quebec – vocals; Bobby King, Willie Green – background vocals

“Had A Dream About You, Baby”: Bob Dylan – vocals, guitar; Eric Clapton – guitar; Ron Wood – bass; Kip Winger – bass; Beau Hill – keyboards; Mitchell Froom – keyboards; Henry Spinetti – drums

Knocked Out Loaded

“You Wanna Ramble”: Bob Dylan – guitar; T. Bone Burnett – guitar; James Jamerson Jr. – bass; Al Kooper – keyboards; Raymond Lee Pounds – drums; Carol Dennis, Madelyn Quebec, Muffy Hendrix, Annette May Thomas – background vocals

“Maybe Someday”: Bob Dylan – guitar; Mike Campbell – guitar; Howie Epstein – bass; Don Heffington – drums; Steve Douglas – saxophone; Steve Madaio – trumpet; Annette May Thomas, Carol Dennis, Madelyn Quebec, Elisecia Wright, Queen Esther Marrow, Peggi Blu –background vocals

“Under Your Spell”: Bob Dylan – guitar; Dave Stewart – guitar; Clem Burke – drums; Patrick Seymour – keyboards; John McKenzie – bass; Muffy Hendrix, Carol Dennis, Queen Esther Marrow, Elisecia Wright, Madelyn Quebec – background vocals

I’ve always admired Tim Finn‘s music, usually more than I’ve actually wanted to listen to it. Loved his work with Split Enz, thought his contributions to Crowded House gave the band a needed shot of variety at the right time, and his work with Neil in the Finn Brothers is fantastic.

But his solo stuff? Eh. There are high points, but if I made a list of favorite Finn-related discs, Tim’s work wouldn’t crack the top 10.

Until now. I clicked to listen to the single from his new album, and was hooked. “Going Going Gone” is a simple, pastoral gem, a song that serves as an aural warm blanket, perfect listening as the fall chill turns to winter cold. I took a chance and ordered the album, The View is Worth the Climb. To play off that title, the album is worth the import cost.

What makes it so good? Well, it might sound simple, but it’s the songs. Finn albums always have sounded good. He is a top-notch arranger, and his vocals are among the most distinctive in rock. But the songs weren’t always there. They seemed more hints at an idea than the idea itself. Working with Neil, he added elements that gave texture to his brother’s pop sensibilities. But on his own, he seemed to lack the hooks necessary to put a song over the top.

On The View, he brings the complete package. The songs are simple and direct, their hooks are strong. And the arrangements are simpler still. Where in the past he seemed to want to adorn his songs with bells and whistles, here they are largely conveyed with acoustic guitars and his vocals, with all other elements shading the picture rather than dominating it.

This transition began on his last album, The Conversation. It stripped things down from its predecessor, Imaginary Kingdom. The View maintains that simpler feel, but it contains better songs. Maybe I’m simply getting older and this more mellow music is now in my wheelhouse, but I think it as much that Finn is finally making music that feels organic, natural and content. Whatever the cause, it’s a winner.

It was two weeks ago today that I saw a show by the reunited Sebadoh. I really enjoyed the show and fully expected to post something the next day. Alas, two weeks later, I realize the show was kind of a singular moment. I expected it to fuel a renewed interest in the band, that I would be listening to their CDs non-stop for the foreseeable future.

Instead, that was really all I needed. What happened?

At one time I loved Sebadoh. Top five band, easily. I have all of the studio albums, the vinyl singles, the Sentridoh side project, Folk Implosion, the Shrimper tapes… even the Belt Buckle single (before I knew to be excited because it featured Eric Matthews from Cardinal). One thing you’ll

notice is that my love of Sebadoh came down heavily on the side of Lou Barlow. I could take or leave (and usually leave) Eric Gaffney’s noisier, more out-there contributions, and wasn’t sad to see him depart the band before Bakesale.

That album is the band’s high water mark, an album I’ve listened to hundreds of times. It did everything a Sebadoh album should, with a mix of loud, off-kilter rock and quiet, contemplative weepers. No Gaffney, and in fact, Jason Loewenstein, the third leg of the stool, ramped up his game to be Barlow’s near-equal in the songwriting department.

But that was followed by Harmacy, a misguided stab at more mainstream success (to these ears anyway), that, while it included some Sebadoh classics from both Barlow and Loewenstein (“On Fire,” “Ocean” and “Prince-S” among them), also had it’s share of filler. By the time of the band’s self-titled swan song, I had largely left it behind.

Looking back, I can point to the decreasing quality of the output, and the decreasing quantity, for that matter. The band seemed to know it was near the end. After the frenetic 90s, the aughts were largely devoid of product. A Loewenstein solo album, two Barlow solo albums and a couple of EPs, and that was it. And none of it lived up to Sebadoh at its best.

Fair enough. But when the band reunited, and pledged a set list that leaned heavily on its best work (Bakesale and Harmacy), I was in. The show started off like they were playing my dream set: “Skull,” “Rebound,” “Ocean” and “Magnet’s Coil” all hit hard and had me fully engaged. Then came Loewenstein’s part of the set. I found I was more excited to hear his songs, because they were the ones that had aged best. Barlow’s sugary confections didn’t pack the same punch as these disjointed excursions. But Loewenstein seemed hell-bent on pounding any subtlety out of the songs, shouting his way through the hooks and playing them at breakneck speed in pummeling fashion.
What I was left with was a last hurrah for Barlow’s songs, my reactions based more on nostalgia than anything else, and a missed opportunity for Loewnstein’s. Barlow’s songs simply haven’t aged well for me. Kudos to him for finding dozens of ways to sing about heartache, but those are largely teen-age emotions that I left behind decades ago. I’m more likely to dig up Loewnstein’s gems, these diamonds in the fluff just begging for their own playlist.

I’ll still play Sebadoh from time to time — “Magnet’s Coil” and “Rebound” are near-required playlist inclusions — but the fire I expected to be rekindled will instead remain a pile of low-burning embers.

Talking with a friend about the new Jayhawks album, Mockingbird Time, we lamented that while it sounded good — and certainly like a Jayhawks record should — the songs weren’t memorable. It has surface appeal, but it lacked the depth that would make either of us pull it off the shelf after the newness wore off.

That conversation led me to give the album a few more spins, and I’ll admit that it is starting to grow on me. I don’t hear anything as soaring as “Waiting for the Sun,” as beautiful as “Ain’t No End” or as timeless as “Blue.” But what I do hear is a very good album that will continue to offer rewards. It sounds less like a comeback and more like a solid mid-period album from a band that has long since found its groove.

If you’ll indulge a bit of lyrical psychoanalysis, I’d argue that this is exactly what the band had in mind.

A mockingbird is known for its ability to sound like other birds. It can’t be a coincidence that this band, named for a bird, has named its comeback album Mockingbird Time. After flirting with glam rock and then breezy California pop, the band has returned to the sound that earned it fans in the first place: a mix of country harmonies and classic rock. This, then, is the band’s attempt to mimic the sound of its younger self.

To a point, that is. On the title track, Mark Olson sings, “Yesterday is gone like the wind, like the wind it is gone.” OK, so we may want the Jayhawks to recapture the magic of the Hollywood Town Hall era, but that time is past.  Olson goes on to sing, “I want to make something for you that brings you joy.” That’s easy enough. Just harmonize with Gary Louris and you’ll put a smile on our faces.

The song isn’t really about this, of course. At least not on the surface. He’s singing to a loved one, noting the “color in the sky that’s in your eyes,” remarking on the moment when “we see each other alone.” But the subtext can easily be read as a commentary on the band and this re-emergence.

On the bridge, Olson, the prodigal singer-songwriter, tackles his return to the fold head-on: “Mockingbird time, I’ve really gone back. You’re all that I have.” His wander into the desert, literally and figuratively, yielded some interest albums that I’ll never play again. It was time for him to return to what he does best, and where he does it best. Time to start sounding like a Jayhawk again, to go back. With his marriage to Victoria Williams now a memory, his solo career one long unsuccessful attempt to shed his past, that past is all that he has left.

The result is an album that caps a real return for Olson. His last two solo albums were the best things he did post-Jayhawks, and his duo album with Louris in 2008 showed the magic between the two musically remained. Now, with the rest of the band back in the fold, they have created something that feels like a Jayhawks record yet doesn’t sound like a natural progression. It is an earthier album, like something Louris and Olson would have helmed between Blue Earth and Hollywood Town Hall. It lacks the confident swagger of HTH and the polish of Tomorrow the Green Grass. It is a modest record. The band is no longer swinging for the fences, content to get on base with a single… without recording anything that comes close to being a single.

I’m not sure why I didn’t pay attention to Two Times Intro the first time around. At the time I was a huge R.E.M. fan, had been for 15 years by the time this came out in 1998. And I had finally discovered Patti Smith by that point, her comeback in 1995 propelling her onto my radar. Perhaps it was the beginning of a period of ambivalence about Michael Stipe, a sort of “how can we miss you if you won’t go away?” vibe, or the thought that an artist as visceral as Smith couldn’t adequately be captured on the printed page.

Whatever the reason, I missed out. Thanks, then, to Akashic Books, which has brought the book back into print. It’s an opportune time. For Smith, it always seems opportune. Times like these call for a cultural mother who can guide us, and Smith is as good a candidate as any. And for Stipe, newly freed of the band that seemed like a constraining dayjob, the book is a reminder of what he offers in the form of artistry beyond singing pop songs.

In Two Times Intro, Stipe captures life on the road for a short tour during which Smith and her band opened for Bob Dylan. It was 1995, and this was her return after years away from music to be a wife and mother. As such, the feel one gets from the photos is that of someone trying to create a homey atmosphere in the by now common backstage setting. We see blurry photos of musicians sprawling on couches, sitting in airports, killing time. This is a pivotal point in Smith’s career — her groundbreaking first four albums behind her, her elder-states(wo)man catalog of the next 10 years still to come — and these pictures are an intimate portrait of that time.

Interspersed throughout are reminiscences from friends and colleagues, from a short poem by Tom Verlaine to longer, more analytical offerings from Lisa Robinson and Paul Williams, and more. At first, I assumed these would hope the real value of the book, the meat and potatoes surrounded by the gravy that is the photos (surely Smith is a vegetarian, right? Horrified at the metaphor… alas). Not so. The text is fine, if predictably laudatory. Instead, it is the photos to which I’m drawn again and again, Stipe’s odd yet compellingly composed windows into Smith’s world.

It long has been fashionable among rock snobs to declare that R.E.M.’s period of relevance ended somewhere around 1987′s Document; a charitable few give the band a few more years, declaring it was Bill Berry’s departure in 1996. Anyone who compares the five albums the band made after his exit with the 10 that came before would be hard pressed to argue that the band’s music was as vital, on the whole, as it once was.

Dismissing the ludicrous notion that albums like Out of Time and Automatic for the People somehow aren’t worthy of inclusion in the band’s canon, it still is shortsighted and spiteful to suggest that R.E.M. did nothing after 1996 of merit. The band’s low-key announcement on Wednesday that it had broken up will surely bring floods of re-evaluation, but here is a simple fact: though flawed, the five albums the band made after Berry’s departure include more keepers than most bands record in a lifetime.

If forced to create an R.E.M. best-of from those five albums, today mine would look something like this:

Up: At My Most Beautiful, You’re In the Air, Daysleeper
Reveal: Imitation of Life, Saturn Return, Beat a Drum
Around the Sun: Leaving New York,  I Wanted to Be Wrong
Accelerate: Living Well Is the Best Revenge, Until the Day Is Done
Collapse Into Now: Discoverer, Uberlin, Oh My Heart, Every Day is Yours to Win

I’d choose any of their first eight albums (save for Green) over this mix if selecting some R.E.M. to play, but this would win out over the career-spanning greatest hits of many other bands.

Were these latter-day albums occasionally misguided? Certainly. I’d argue that Up is a classic on par with anything the band created outside the first four classics. The rest are unquestionably flawed. But anyone who considers himself a fan of the band would find something to like on any of them. Yes, the band was foundering, unsure what it meant to be a Berry-less trio in an era when electronics and post-ironic posturing were popular. But traces of what made the band special reveal themselves everywhere, from Stipe’s inventive melodies to Buck’s chiming drone to Mill’s soaring counter-melodies.

On the band’s last two albums, it seemed to retrench. Well, it didn’t seem to — it flat out did. After casting about for a post-Berry sound, it returned to the template for what it did with him in the fold, first with the sub-Lifes Rich Pageant sound of Accelerate, then with the late-period pastiche of Collapse Into Now. Despite the diminished quality of imitation, these were hopeful signs for those of us who stuck with the band. After exploring the various corners of its sound and then rediscovering what it did best, it seemed reasonable to expect future music that finally reconciled the two and pushed the band toward something both grounded and new.

But with Wednesday’s announcement, we’ll be left to imagine… or will we? The cynic would suggest that the band, disillusioned by the collective yawn that greeted its last two albums — this despite massive self-promotion in the form of a near-constant online presence in the months leading up to the release of each — has decided to test the maxim “how can we miss you if you won’t go away?” Seeing the career boost afforded bands like the Pixies, Pavement and Guided by Voices, groups that returned from decade-plus hiatuses to crowds considerably larger than they had left behind, must have made an impression on R.E.M. If the band had made good on its promise to split if any one member departed, then returned 15 years later with Collapse Into Now, it would have been massive. Rather than accuse the band of being uninspired old farts without an original idea, critics would have lauded them for recapturing and then updating their classic sound.

So, a prediction: R.E.M., with Bill Berry in tow, will return in 2020 with a critically acclaimed album and a (gulp!) 40th anniversary tour. A fella can dream, can’t he?

Note: To read an interview with Lawrence Block about his first original book for Hard Case Crime, Getting Off, visit our sister site, GriftMagazine.com.

For those of us who have become rabid fans of Hard Case Crime books, the past year has been a long one. The series left its previous home at Dorchester in 2010, and has not re-emerged until this week, when it returns with three titles under the Titan Books umbrella.

Hard Case Crime is the brainchild of Charles Ardai, a top-notch writer, early Internet business guru and all around nice guy. Undeterred when circumstances led the line to pause publication, he soldiered on and has persevered. Now, the imprint seems stronger than ever, debuting with three great titles, with a fourth on the way next month.

First up is the line’s first hardcover book, Getting Off, “a novel of sex & violence” penned by Lawrence Block writing as Jill Emerson. It is joined by the final two titles announced by Hard Case while it was still with Dorchester, Max Allan Collins’ Quarry’s Ex and Christa Faust’s Choke Hold. They will be followed by Collins’ work on the latest Mickey Spillane novel (he finishes the late poet of pulp’s unfinished manuscripts), Consummata.

Ardai is a frequent guest here at TIRBD, and he consented to answer a few more questions about the re-launch and what is in store.

TIRBD: Supposing that the silver lining of this whole shift for Hard Case Crime was the chance to start over, are you doing anything differently this time around?

CA: Well, we’re publishing in different formats – hardcover and trade paperback – and our first four books are all new titles, rather than a mix of new books and reprints of obscure old stuff. But we will still be doing some reprints (for instance, Robert Silverberg’s Blood on the Mink next year) and our backlist is still in mass market format, so it’s not like we’ve abandoned our old approaches entirely.

The books are trade paper size as opposed to mass market, but you have kept all of the other design elements. Were you sad to see that connection with the pulps of old go?

Well, as I say, the backlist is still in mass market, so it’s not as though we’ve left the format behind entirely. And we might reprint some of the new titles in mass market at some point if there’s demand for it. There’s part of me that does miss the stylistic purity of working exclusively in the classic mass market format, just because doing so would be truest to the look and feel of the pulp-era paperbacks we’re emulating, but on the other hand, it’s not as though we were really pure to begin with. Old paperbacks weren’t 4x7” the way modern paperbacks are; they didn’t have modern glossy covers; the edges of the pages were often tipped in colored ink, which can’t be done anymore; the cover price was 25 cents rather than eight dollars…. Really, our mass markets were a good deal different from the older model, which makes me feel a little less bad about making further changes now.

The line has become more high-profile on this go-round, with a hardback from the resurgent Lawrence Block re-starting things. Do you worry about maintaining the edgy reputation of HCC given this higher profile?

I don’t think any company that publishes a book like Getting Off, with two completely naked women on the front cover and a sex scene in every chapter, needs to worry about not being edgy enough.

Might this help you to land anyone on your wish list? The higher profile certainly couldn’t hurt if you have more well-known authors in your sights.

It certainly never hurts to have a higher profile – though of course we were lucky enough to get Stephen King to write a book for us when our profile was low, so who knows. I think either a high or a low profile can work for you, if your line is exciting enough to the people you want to reach out to. We still don’t have much money in the bank and can’t compete with the big houses by offering big advances, so I’m sure there are many authors we’d love to work with who simply won’t be interested. But hopefully at least some will be.

Given the line’s title, it’s certainly OK that the books have been almost exclusively hard-boiled crime fiction. But you have ventured off that path, such as with Roger Zelazny’s The Dead Man’s Brother. Any thoughts to expanding the definition of a Hard Case Crime book, or is there too much within in that genre that you want to put out to allow straying?

The definition we’ve been working with is actually fairly broad already, encompassing everything from hardboiled comedy to searing drama, from private eye stories to crime stories with no detective in sight, from first-person narration to sprawling multiple-viewpoint novels, from intimate and disturbing psychological terror to popcorn entertainment of the action-adventure sort…in short any type of story where crime is central and the writing is hardboiled. We haven’t branched out into the fantastic or supernatural, and I think we still won’t, but beyond that, basically all other types of crime story are fair game.

Speaking of other genres, what is up these days with Gabriel Hunt?

We originally signed a deal with Dorchester Publishing to do six Hunt novels and we’ve done six. (The sixth, Hunt Through Napoleon’s Web, just came out last month.) There are no plans currently to do more, though if readers wanted more, they should let us know, since that makes it more likely. I don’t think it’s likely that we’ll do another spurt like first batch – six books written in 18 months! – but I could see doing one or two a year as long as people were enjoying them.