Friday, July 08, 2011

Single Reviews 10/07/11

Welcome to this week’s Single Reviews, which we’d like to dedicate to the News of the World as it bows out this weekend. Thank you for your dangerously-skewed coverage of events. Thank you for your sanctimonious, pitchfork-wielding campaigns. Thank you for giving a platform to utter cunts like Dan Wootton and Carole Malone. Thank you for your awful copy, your bigoted tone, your lack of humanity and your shameless defecation on the name of journalism. Rot in hell. You take care now! x

We open with a grotesque package holiday to the skankiest corner of Ibiza Town, courtesy of The Wanted. The treacly twinkle that launches Glad You Came is soon detonated by a hooting Balearic hook which goes beyond the concept of parody, and smarmy, skeevy lyrics that even Enrique Iglesias wouldn’t attempt (so imagine how effective they are when croaked by a mismatched oaf-band). They’d be better off just releasing All Time Low again and again in lieu of new material.

Single of the Week is awarded to the idiosyncratic splendidness of Up Up Up, the wide-grinned, mood-lifting, bopalong debut from Louisiana folksters Givers. With such a bubbly immediacy throughout, it’ll prompt you to wonder where you’ve heard it before, but seemingly, that’s the sorcery of Givers. Expect this to be fully exploited by the world of holistic medicine as an alternative to any number of anti-depressants.

Man Down is the 724th single from Rihanna this year, and it’s every bit as lame as you’d expect. Yet again, it’s a vain attempt to round up some controversy, as this moron’s shitty output certain won’t sell based on its musical merits. With its tactless narrative and hilarious rum-pa-pums, it genuinely sounds as though it’s being made up as it goes along. A strong contender for the worst thing Rihanna has ever recorded – and Lord knows there’s plenty of competition in her dire catalogue.

And lastly, Promises Promises sees Nineties alt-rock bastions Incubus in a particularly mellow mood. The ivories are tinkled, the drums are guarded, the chorus is hushed... oh hai, middle age. It’s not a bad song by any means, and it’s unquestionably dignified in its tone – in fact, it’s the sort of thing Train would murder their families to record – but it’s sorely devoid of the heavy, sexy, concentrated edge Incubus carried with such effortlessness.

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