Friday, November 26, 2010

Single Reviews 29/11/10

Welcome to this week’s Single Reviews, though we feel we ought to address the lunacy that was last week’s round-up. A week so bereft of decent songs that OLLY FRICKIN’ MURS claimed Single of the Week. Shocking stuff indeed. Fear not, as this week features a track so bad it resets the universal boundaries of awfulness. Plug up your ears and run. RUN!! (After you’ve read the review, of course. Then you can run.)

First up is Nicole Scherzinger, who, perhaps surprisingly, isn’t the purveyor of the aforementioned ear-rape. Instead, she’s finally conjured up a single worthy of the status she’s doggedly built for herself, the sassy, hard-hitting Poison. It’s not exactly game-changing overall though, and was probably knocked out by Red One in an afternoon, but it does the trick. Damn. It was so much easier to hate her with a feverish wrath.

Having cemented himself as a bona fide solo artist via the splendid Crossfire, Brandon Flowers plucks another fruit from the Flamingo album in the form of Only The Young. Unfortunately, Flamingo boasts little as impressive as Crossfire, hence a rather damp, slightly pessimistic overtone. The talent is certainly present, in fact abundant, but it’s not immediate single material. Excuse us while we put Crossfire on repeat for an hour or so.

Single of the Week goes to Alesha Dixon, who attempts to make amends for the polarising Drummer Boy with the more radio-friendly, er... Radio. Much like the monumentally-brilliant Breathe Slow, it’s a gently jittery electro-ballad with a substantial chorus that shows off her chops nicely. Whether it’s enough to win back the Strictly viewers she sent into anaphylactic shock with her last single remains to be seen, but it ticks all the relevant boxes round thisaway.

And finally, we come to the genuine evil that snaps at the heels of Sandi Thom and the New Radicals for worst song since ears were invented. The Black Eyed Peas, who’ve always uniquely straddled the dual notions of awesome and abysmal, now have all eight feet firmly in the latter category. The Time (Dirty Bit) samples – nay, defecates upon – The Time of My Life, turning it into a misshapen, agonizing, unpardonable, novelty musical migraine, for which the electric chair wouldn’t be unwarranted. (Now you can run.)

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