Oops! Once again, the Single Reviews are a teensy bit late. We figure a valid excuse would be to inform you that we were stuck in the middle of a motorway as a result of the flash flooding, but we were in fact enjoying the Cornish sunshine. Go on, go ahead and be jealous, we won’t resent you for it.
First up, Tell Me What We’re Gonna Do Now sees everyone’s least favourite purveyor of confused Atlantic accents, Joss Stone, coming over all Wyclef. It’s a vast improvement on the tuneless Tell Me ‘Bout It, perhaps aided by the presence of Common, but more likely the fact that it shows off the talent beneath the purple barnet and the criticism, and even more likely the fact it has an actual melody.
Funeral For A Friend drift even further away from their rock roots and closer to Best Mother’s Day Ever compilation territory with Walk Away. Perhaps that’s a slight exaggeration - it’s actually far more effective than earlier material and certainly not without balls - there’s a long way to go til it’s spun by Jamie ‘n’ Harriet. In fact, Walk Away earns our Single of the Week - top marks for use of a key change, lads.
Next, three minutes of electro-thrusting and general squelchy goodness from Timbaland & Keri Hilson, with the impressive The Way I Are (bad grammar is normally a Sloppy Dog bugbear, but we approve wholeheartedly when it’s on purpose). Seemingly a platform for newcomer Hilson to prove herself more than another slice of Timbaland, but works rather nicely all the same.
Lastly, yet another release from poodle ’n’ kraken amalgam, shatterer of windows, musical shit-spreader and all-round used economy tampon Mika. As if his previous two acts of ear-rape weren’t bad enough, Big Girl (You Are Beautiful) is equally shit AND endorses obesity. Quick, get Jamie Oliver in to kick seven shades of shit out of the little bastard. Actually, whoever loses in that battle, it’s win/win for the rest of us.
Sunday, July 22, 2007
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2 comments:
Alright -- the Big Girls don't yet a lot of songs. The last song I remember was "Fat Bottom Girl" by Queen. I'd rather have a creep on the dance floor approach me while this song is playing, than some weirdo grab my tush on 80's night when Queen comes on.
This I know to be truth.
Oh please. You're merely a wee slip of a thing.
That said, it's more artist than subject matter that gets me all red and veiny-templed. Mika could write a song about labrador puppies, jellybeans, hugs and otters, and I'd still hate it.
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