Friday, November 25, 2011

Single Reviews 27/11/11

Well hello! Welcome to this week’s Single Reviews, in which we lay into the new offerings from an R&B gobshite whose output is 75% him singing his own name; 2011’s new darling of the most uninspired airwaves; an indie band more pop than most pop bands; and a honking, horsefaced dullard from a reality show that’s well and truly jumped the shark. Shit, hope we’re not doubling up on what they’re covering in Newsnight Review later...?

Next up, a woman so dull she makes Leona Lewis seem like an explosion of hyperactive Fraggles at a Scissor Sisters concert on the Moon, the beyond dreary Rebecca Ferguson. Her X Factor performances and her personality left a hell of a lot to be desired, a pattern repeated in her debut single, Nothing’s Real But Love. A yawnsome, slippery puddle of a ballad, devoid of a beginning, middle or end, and arguably bereft of any kind of tune. Nauseatingly, unforgivably bland.

Single of the Week goes to The Wombats, who present another clipping from This Modern Glitch, on this occasion the more-than-passable 1996. The melancholic synth hum and modest melody make for a slightly darker, calmer affair, one that works rather nicely. Perhaps it’s not the most exciting example of their output, but it’s a nice contrast to some of the noisier end of their catalogue, and the rousing chant that closes proceedings underlines it as classic Wombat goodness.

Christina Perri has a hard time ahead of her, presumably hoping that new single Arms will get even the slightest modicum of interest in the wake of the increasingly-colossal Jar of Hearts. It offers up something fairly different to its predecessor though, launching into a pulsing, fem-rock ballad midway through, bearing the kind of production you’d expect-slash-hope from an aloof, emo Bonnie Tyler, and more than a hint of staying power.

And finally, Jason Derulo, a man whose peculiar choice of samples is on the verge of outdoing both Cher Lloyd and JLS. This time, it’s Toto’s Africa which gets mutated into an overproduced, bubbling midtempo monstrosity, going by the name Fight For You. Take away the wee bursts of tribal chatter and it’s like a How To in R&B clichés, as though it were composed via Taio Cruz-branded wordplay refrigerator magnets.

No comments:

Creative Commons Licence
The Sloppy Dog by is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.