There was much to grumble about this year, but amid all the doom and gloom and the 3D movies, our critics found some wonderful shows, books, bands and songs to lift their spirits
I revelled in the continuing ability of Alva Noto, master of austere German electronica, to create tours de force from bleeps, hums and warbles. For 2, a tribute to his heroes, and Mimikry, a jarring collaboration with Blixa Bargeld, were the two great unheard albums of this year.
On television, Mark Gattis ruled. The former League of Gentlemen stalwart excelled with his dazzling Sherlock, a wholly successful reinvention of Arthur Conan Doyle's hero, and his good-natured History of Horror. The brilliant fantasy novelist China Miéville came above ground with Kraken, the story of a squid-worshipping cult. Taking a few tips from Alex Ross's The Rest Is Noise, Rob Young delivered a brilliant history of underground British folk music in Electric Eden: Unearthing Britain's Visionary Music.
In cinemas, the mainstream flagged, but Sylvain Chomet's The Illusionist and Apichatpong Weerasethakul's Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives confirmed that, at its edges, the medium is in rude health.
Red Dead Redemption on the Xbox 360: a nicely violent western game that might just be the perfect compromise between frustratingly unstructured role-playing games and linear games like Call of Duty. Red Dead: Undead Nightmare, arriving at the end of the year, successfully added zombies to the mix.
The fact that 3D movies just won't go away. You can hunt high and low without discovering anybody who admits to enjoying the process, but Hollywood keeps churning out the murky things. It's the Tamagotchi that won't die.
As ever, Hollywood is a bit behind the cultural curve. But the arrival of The Social Network (a history of Facebook), Catfish (dubious study of web deceit) and Fred: The Movie (adapted from a YouTube channel) suggests the movies have finally discovered the web. The superhighway is about to be paved over.
Novels in which figures from history or literature hunt vampires, zombies or sea monsters. Is it my imagination or did somebody publish a book entitled Lord Shaftesbury: Werewolf Slayer this year? The joke wore off two years ago.
The wrong Wagner.
Breaths of fresh air from the RTÉ National Symphony Orchestra: the new conductors (Alan Buribayev and Hannu Lintu), the new programme strands (late-night concerts with the new associate artist, Finghin Collins) and a new willingness to take repertoire risks.
The high plateau reached by the Irish Baroque Orchestra under Monica Huggett, on disc as well as in concert.
The sheer chutzpah of Sofia Gubaidulina's aural imagination in Repentance for cello, three guitars and double bass at St Peter's Church of Ireland in Drogheda and the daring of Gerald Barry's view of Beethoven in his Schott and Sons, Mainz for the National Chamber Choir. The quiet delights of the Morton Feldman celebrations at Imma. The gorgeously resonant singing of Tallis and Byrd from The Cardinall's Musick at Kilkenny Arts Festival.
Krzysztof Penderecki conducting a mixed orchestra of students and professionals in his Threnody for the Victims of Hiroshima at NUI Maynooth. Productions of rare and rare-ish operas, Gounod's Roméo et Juliette (directed by Annelies Miskimmon for Opera Ireland) and two works from Wexford Festival Opera, Smetana's Hubicka (directed by Michael Gielata) and Mercadante's Virginia (with Angela Meade unforgettable in the title role).
Ken Wardrop's His & Hers . The documentary gives a voice to Irish girls and women in a way that's utterly ordinary and utterly extraordinary.
The courage of Morgan Kelly in daring, again and again, to speak the unthinkable. Kelly is an outsider. The country needs some of his kind inside the corridors of power, too. I also caught up with, and got caught up by, the complete Thick of It on DVD, with Peter Capaldi seeming to live rather than act the foaming profanities of Malcolm Tucker. Carl Jung's The Red Book , but don't ask me what it really means.
The shilly-shallying over the new Irish National Opera company. Neither the Department of Culture (which now has primary responsibility) nor the Arts Council (which is also involved in what increasingly looks like another fine mess) seems to know how to carry this project forward.
The future on all fronts in Ireland seems to involve more from less. We're all going to have to deal with the fact that imagination has no price. But, cheap as it is, it still needs resources and nurturing.
Beyond the recession, the sick banks and the government that didn't know what it was doing? The battering of the country's self-confidence.
Not the best.
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