Sunday, May 28, 2006

Single Reviews 29/05/06

Welcome to this week’s Single Reviews, brought to you in association with Nurofen – sponsors of the post-birthday hangover that haunts us as we type. Ow.

Paul Oakenfold & Brittany Murphy have us dancing round purely-proverbial handbags this week with Faster Kill Pussycat – glorious electrosquelch which confirms Murphy is actually employable, rather than just another loathsome gin-soaked catastrophe a la Tara Reid. Very nice indeed.

A rather less successful collaboration comes in the form of Ronan Keating & Kate Rusby. The insipid beigeness of All Over Again sees the perennial sexless blandmeister roping in a folk nobody determined to cash in all her Guilcredentials. Also flying the flag for tedium this week is Corinne Bailey Rae with Trouble Sleeping – ironically titled since the track itself is an instant coma-inducer.

Is It Any Wonder is the welcome – if minutely disappointing – comeback from Keane, a moment we’ve been gagging for since we rinsed Hopes & Fears half to death. While it’s by no means a bad song, a rather more generic sound is on display which we’re hoping isn’t indicative of impending album Under The Iron Sea.

And back on top this week is Pink, after quite some time on a progressively-downward tumble. The Sloppy Dog believes the first mistake was getting the Pussycat Dolls to appear in the Trouble video – surely everything they touch turns to shit. And gets syphilis. Thankfully the curse is now broken, as Who Knew is an earnest ballad dressed up in a memorable femrock anthem. So we’ve made it Single of the Week, and not just cos she could beat the bejesus out of us.

Orson - No Tomorrow (Mercury)

Remember the New Radicals? Purveyors of blahmusic for hysterically archetypal middle-class cider-swilling students in rugby jerseys, fronted by a permanently-hatted shaven monkey with a voice that invites ceaseless punching. Said band release the most irksome track ever committed to record, annoys the bejesus out of us for an entire summer and beyond, and goes on to add fuel to the hateful fire of Ronan Keating, before single-handedly leading to the downfall of the wondrous Melanie C.

Well, they’re back, and this time, they’re called Orson.

While it’s far more likely that Orson have never even heard – let alone ape each detail – of the New Radicals, the key components are frightfully consistent. Twat in hat singer? Check. Pseudo-masculine McRock sound, crafted especially for Dad FM? Check. Wearisome lyrics about forgetting tomorrow’s “problems”? Check? An entire lack of personality? Check.

This nondescript, artificial tripe isn’t music. It’s something a U2 fan uses an unwanted HMV gift voucher on. In No Tomorrow, we have an album so parched, so contrived, and so bereft of ideas that you’ll be using the disc as a pizza cutter within a week.

Sunday, May 21, 2006

Single Reviews 22/05/06

Two wannabe rock stars, an utterly rancid Scottish folk-ho, two-foot-nothing of mischievous brilliance, Preston, and some furry friends. Thankfully, it’s not Big Brother – it’s just the Single Reviews (and a very dodgy intro)...

Putting a dirty great smile across our ugly mugs this week is Fill My Little World by The Feeling, a jovial wedge of sunshine which has us metaphorically pissing our pants with anticipation at the release of their album. We'll probably be fed up of them within a month of its release, but for now, we revel in their aceness.

Airwave-bothering scumlord Robbie Williams hocks up another musical phlegmball in the form of Sin Sin Sin, further proving he’s wholly incapable of a remotely original idea. But hey, that’s about all you can expect from a publicity whore with all the talent of a reject Redcoat. Even more pathetic is Matt Willis, whose post-Busted debut Up All Night is a shameless aping of Blobbie’s trademark no-mark stampmark, dejectedly screaming out for rock credentials.

What do you get if you cross a pint-sized work of endearingly cocky genius (approved by both Jay-Z and Mike Skinner), and a refreshing, energetic nu-ska rock band (with added fame factor)? Well, the same thing you’d get if you regurgitated a year-old remix. But hey, it’s a good ‘un – 9 To 5 by The Ordinary Boys & Lady Sovereign is a catchy kick up the backside with extra balls, and just pips The Feeling to be our Single of The Week.

And finally, following our recent diatribe against Sandi Thom, the silly bastard has still gone ahead and released her repulsive, ear-raping single. You’d think people would welcome a bit of constructive criticism. But don’t just take our word that I Wish I Was A Punk Rocker is a fucking stinker of a track – four out of five cats think it’s shit too.

You can’t argue with statistics, folks.

This week's Celebrity News with Fearne Cotton

Hi kiddies! It’s me, pretentious hook-nosed Camden parasite Fearne Cotton! I spell my name stupidly, cos it gives me an indie, like, edge. Cos I’m really cool and stuff, I’m going to personally bring you this week’s Celebrity News myself, wearing stripey tights and a tutu, cos that’s how cool people dress.

YEAH! Rock on!! Congratulations to rocking Finland, who rocked the Eurovision Song Contest with their hot-rockin’ rock song! Poor ol’ Daz Sampson came 95th, which is a bit of a shame. Maybe he should have worked with the Arctic Monkeys, who I’ve been told are really really cool and rockin’, and are my absolute favourite rock band.

The Tower of London was totally rocked this week after a really cool rocking concert featuring some awesome indie bands like The Embraces and McFly. Also present was the rockin’ cool Ozzy Osbourne who has decided to cash in on his reality TV profile by trying his hand at rock music. They got Cat fucking Deeley to host though, and she’s not rock at all. Bet she’s never even longingly walked past the Electric Ballroom like I do twice daily.

Such a shame to hear about the separation of Paul McCartney and Heather Mills this week. Actually, Sir Paul, if you’re in need of a hot rockin’ gal to get on board with, I can accommodate anyone who’ll up my profile. You’ll have to prove you’re a rockin’ rocker though, I haven’t actually heard your stuff.

Now, if you’re a member of any kind of band, or the owner of a snazzy thrift shop, feel free to get in touch with me at – I’m never short of a rock cock to collapse on my back for, or a nice sparkly kaftan to match with a pair of bovver boots. Gotta keep up the cred, man. Rock on. xxx

Monday, May 15, 2006

Single Reviews 15/05/06

Lookit, Bono, we already told you that you can’t do the Single Reviews. Perhaps a Celeb News column at a push, but hijacking our lovely blog and turning it red? That just won’t do. What’s that? You’re going to fuck off to The Independent and hijack that instead? Jeez, talk about a step down.

It’s backflips galore at The Sloppy Dog this week, with the homecoming of the splendid Zero 7. While backflipping isn’t quite becoming of the chilled tones of our favourite hangover band, Throw It All Away sees an optimistic carefree ditty with more shiveringly stunning vocals from fruitloop goddess Sia. A very worthy Single of the Week.

Nice to see Christina Milian back too, illustrating a slightly more mature sound in Say I, albeit featuring dullard rentarapper Young Jeezy. It’s even nicer to see that she’s realised writhing around half-naked in squid spunk isn’t the only way to flog a single.

Chugging a keg of beer and swiftly yakking it back up are Orson with the paltry Bright Idea - desperate for a fun, laddish angle but hopelessly failing, like a fratful of fairies. Far less shite than the brainlessly putrid No Tomorrow, mind you.

And bringing namedropping to a new level is Busta Rhymes with the remix of Touch It. Rather than relying on his inimitable brand of thunderous turbo-rap, Busta wheels in a list of mates who add precisely nothing in their one-line-apiece contributions – Missy Elliott, Sean Paul, Nelly, Mary J Blige, Lloyd Banks, Lisa Scott-Lee, Bill Oddie, Spongebob Squarepants, Anna Raeburn, Treguard off of Knightmare, Judith Keppel, and Dipsy.

Saturday, May 13, 2006

The 'Ump: Sandi Thom

While it’s fair to say that The Sloppy Dog is not exactly The Daily Mail, we feel obliged to play the moral guardian from time to time. We care about you, dear readers, and therefore it’s our duty to alert you of incoming danger.

Meet Sandi Thom, a singer-songwriter whose selling point is that she achieved fame by performing live via webcam from her bedroom. Why this is a good thing, we’re not quite sure – it certainly didn’t do Leslie Grantham any good.

Another reason to be wary is that the name “Sandi Thom” sounds treacherously similar to “Sandi Toksvig”. Not that we have anything against Nordic wordsmith ladybummers with hunchbacks, but we certainly wouldn’t want to be associated with one.

But what’s really giving us a proverbial red rump is Sandi’s debut single, I Wish I Was A Punk Rocker. Drowning in a sewer of destitute similes, Sandi coos about how vinyl was better than CD, letters better than emails, and quite possibly how woolly mammoths were better than the animals of today.

However, the ultimate example of twattery comes via the lyric “I wish I was a punk rocker with flowers in my hair”. Sandi love, if you can show The Sloppy Dog a miserable, gnashed, piercing-studded punk rocker who actually adorns their Mohican with a nice rhododendron, The Sloppy Dog will, in return, reconsider showing your face the soles of our boots several hundred times.

Bearing in mind this is the country that kept James Blunt at No 1 for five weeks, you WILL hear this song soon. Don’t say we didn’t warn you.

Wednesday, May 10, 2006

Red Hot Chili Peppers - Stadium Arcadium (Warner Bros)

If we were melodramatic enough to use a term such as ‘gut-wrenching’, we’d probably be using it right about now. Thankfully, we’re not quite histrionic old ham-monsters just yet, so the term “bollocks, I’m miffed” should just about cover it.

The Red Hot Chili Peppers, arguably one of the most iconic rock bands of our generation, return to non-form with a meek vulnerable whine in the gimmicky double album Stadium Arcadium.

Lead single Dani California is a tepid affair, with an accompanying video that even My Chemical Romance would cringe watching. There’s little to get excited about other than that fact it’s the Red Hot Chili Peppers, such is the apparent theme of Stadium Arcadium overall.

An abundance of unresponsive tracks sprawled across two discs, it’s clearly with the intention of experimenting. Quirky funk is injected into what could potentially have been immortal rock riffs, while Kiedis’ once-affecting vocals more often than not become slow and simpering. Granted, there are some elite melodies peppered throughout the album(s), but for the most part there’s really not much happening.

Perhaps we’re being too harsh. The Chilis could easily have taken a comfortable cruise along the middle of the road, gliding along gracefully towards their fifties, yet instead they’ve endeavoured to maintain their fierce energy and now-accomplished edge in a new format. Risky? Yes. Admirable? Yes. Effective... meh.

It makes perfect sense to back up such a radical change with characteristic Chili, but sadly the consistent material is more a poor reproduction of bygone glories than a faithful flipside to extreme novel ideas. Incredibly, incredibly disappointing. Come back, guys. Please?

Sunday, May 07, 2006

Single Reviews 08/05/06

While you lot were busy casting votes in this week’s local elections, we here at The Sloppy Dog have been tackling some rather more pressing issues – namely, the key issue that is this week’s Single Reviews.

Let the record show that maladroit, mind-numbing, baby-got-all-the-back Latina driftwood Jennifer Lopez is not a popular lady with The Sloppy Dog. But we’ll be objective in examining her latest “work”, lending “vocals” to LL Cool J’s Control Myself – a carbonated hip-hop foot-tapper which just pardons her from the metaphorical death penalty. For now.

The Pet Shop Boys are back, continuing to make music for… who, precisely? Too dull for the gayers and too gay for the dullards, I’m With Stupid looks to the trite talents of Walliams & Lucas to get noticed. Not far along on the middle of the same road is Shelly Poole, one half of the once-enchanting Alisha’s Attic. Sadly, Lost In You is devoid of any of the kooky charm that blessed the Attic, essentially a character-free soundtrack to washing up.

After providing us with one of the best songs of the year thus far, The Upper Room have an impressive personal best to break. Sadly, they don’t achieve it with Black & White – a mere shadow of All Over This Town, but still enough of an assured anthem-in-the-works to become our Single of the Week.

And so we come to Teenage Life by Daz Sampson: this year’s UK Eurovision entry and the worst song since, well, Orson’s No Tomorrow. A comedy middle-aged sub-Westwood white rapper backed by schoolgirls on helium in a Lidl reworking of Black Eyed Peas’ Where Is The Love – we’re predicting either a Jemini-style disaster or 12 points all the way. Either way, we’ll be watching in a drunken stupor.

This week's Celebrity News with Noel Edmonds

Hello, East Wing. Hello, West Wing. Twenty-two boxes. One prop telephone. And just one question – Deal or No... oh hang on, that’s something else.

This [dramatic pause] is the Celebrity News.

It would seem that Patrick Swayze has been voted Sexiest Male by Cosmopolitan magazine. For some reason, their chart had no placing for a certain silver fox that makes many a sophisticated lady go weak at the knees. Perhaps the Cosmo offices getting firebombed should be added to my lunar wishlist.

Billie Piper has signed a deal to write her autobiography, at the age of just 12. Her story is a moving one – when Something Deep Inside failed to make the top three, I think we all felt her pain. Let’s all join hands and think positive that she has recovered from such a blow.


Hello?... Yes.... Mm-hmm... I see.


The Banker says that he likes the way Simon Cowell is playing the game. It’s been revealed that Cowell makes $20 million a year from American Idol. Now, it’s no Deal or No Deal, but it’s one heck of a money-spinner. Perhaps, like me, Simon’s sold his soul to the devil. After all, Steve Brookstein was his Blobbyworld.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to carve pentagrams into my fist to appease the mystic overlords.
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