tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-238817712024-03-07T09:15:36.650+00:00The Sloppy Dog - Scrutinising pop culture since, like, foreverScrutinising pop culture since, like, foreverUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger477125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23881771.post-10346722684870300572013-12-31T11:38:00.005+00:002013-12-31T11:38:47.376+00:00Albums of 2013
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Right then! The last of the ten-a-penny countdowns is
here, and this one rounds up the best albums. So here’s what to spend your HMV
gift voucher on, assuming HMV is still open by the time you read this…<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>10. Empire of the Sun – <em>Ice on the Dune<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Huge, lilting synth melodies and glam-pop overtones all
added up to a mesmerising finished product for the Sydney duo’s second album.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>9. The Feeling – <em>Boy Cried Wolf<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">That’s right, you pretentious Vice-reading spunkbubbles.
The Feeling. And what of it? After two albums best left unmentioned, <em>Boy Cried
Wolf</em> overtook even debut <em>Twelve Stops & Home</em> as their greatest work: a raw,
atmospheric and surprisingly dark masterpiece.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>8. Janelle Monae – <em>The Electric Lady<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Perhaps a tad on the lengthy side thanks to some
additional lukewarm soul padding, but the good bits more than make up for it. Equal
parts slick and explosive, it’s a mystery that Janelle Monae hasn’t yet taken
over the world. But hey, it’ll happen.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>7. Bastille – <em>Bad Blood<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">They provided a lone oasis of pseudo-indie in a singles
chart filled with fucking Pitbull, but their album made good on <em>Pompeii</em>’s
promise. More, please.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>6. The Boy Least Likely To – <em>The Great Perhaps<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Come on. Were you really expecting it <em>not</em> to be here?<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>5. Dawn Richard – <em>Goldenheart</em></strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">While some hailed her as the female Frank Ocean, this
album proved Dawn Richard’s talent far eclipsed that. Brooding, discerning
R&B years ahead of its time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>4. Biffy Clyro – <em>Opposites<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The double album facet might have seemed a bit gimmicky –
the two halves were nowhere near as disparate as you might expect. Which meant,
essentially, you were left with one big long Biffy album. And that’s a very
good thing indeed.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>3. Chvrches – <em>The Bones of What You Believe</em></strong></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Synthy splendour which proved impossible not to love. Big
tings a' coming.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>2. Everything Everything – <em>Arc</em></strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Much-deserved success came in the form of a Top 5 album
back in January 2013, and even one listen to this bold, electro-indie stroke of
genius explains why.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>1. Macklemore & Ryan Lewis – <em>The Heist<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And the greatest album of the year goes to Macklemore
& Ryan Lewis. Beneath the overt humour and face-value novelty, <em>The Heist</em>
displayed a formidable level of musicianship, intelligence and some incredibly
valiant messages. (That said, the lengthy dig at Jimmy Iovine remains a
highlight.)<o:p></o:p></span><br />
alhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01689576441127942633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23881771.post-21933545793612617982013-12-31T11:35:00.002+00:002013-12-31T11:35:25.328+00:00TV of 2013
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Oh look. It’s the ten greatest shows of 2013. Obviously,
I’ve had to discount any shows I’ve personally worked on for reasons of
impartiality (because yes, they were all THAT awesome). And just missing the
cut are <em>Suits</em>, <em>Top of the Lake</em>, and <em>Toast of London</em>. So behold, my
all-important opinion, in handy list form:<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>10. Homeland<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A very shaky start to Series 3 was eventually forgiven
with one hell of a payoff mid-season. Where the show will go from that event of
the final episode will prove interesting, but book me a front row seat
regardless.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>9. The Big Reunion<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A surprisingly entertaining series (helped in no small
part by bumbling sitcom rudeboy Abs Off Of Five, and a dash of genuine drama in
the form of a few surprise revelations). Shame the line-up for Series 2 is so
utterly shambolic.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>8. Trollied<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It’s a pity the dire <em>Atlantis</em> lured Mark Addy away from
Valco, but that didn’t stop <em>Trollied</em> being the best British sitcom of 2013.
Serious kudos to Sky 1 for getting it so right.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>7. The Americans<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This could easily have been a thrown-together
paranoia-fest on the coattails of <em>Homeland</em>, but <em>The Americans</em> stood up on its
own as a gripping, wily and inventive drama.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>6. Breaking Bad<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sterling work, bitch.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>5. Parks & Recreation<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“I ate a brownie once. I felt like I was floating. It
turns out, there wasn’t any marijuana in it. It was just an insanely good
brownie.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>4. The Great British Bake-Off<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Skills-wise, this was nowhere close to the standards of
previous series, but nevertheless a fantastic bit of entertainment. Sorry,
factual entertainment. Let’s hope it survives its enforced migration to BBC
One.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>3. The Returned<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A chilling, occasionally-frustrating, but overall genuinely
mesmerising drama which needs the mooted English-language remake about as much
as Pierre needs a stockpile of tinned food.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>2. Game of Thrones<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The only show that, every Monday, turned the nation into
a bunch of spoiler-fearing web-wusses. And as for the Red Wedding? *boke*<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>1. The Walking Dead<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The quality has dipped here and there throughout the
lifespan of <em>The Walking Dead</em>, but its recent return to form deserves serious
applause. As gut-wrenchingly emotional as it is gut-munchingly gruesome.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">While I’d ordinarily dedicate a post to the worst TV
shows of the year, I figure maybe it’s best to turn over a new leaf and think
more positively. Even the crappiest programmes had so much effort put into
them, it’d be wrong to tear them apart.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">(Apropos of nothing, FUCK <em>MRS BROWN’S BOYS</em> AND ALL WHO
HAD ANY INPUT IN THAT GOD-AWFUL SHITSHOWER EVER MAKING IT TO SCREEN. Happy New Year,
y’all!)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
alhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01689576441127942633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23881771.post-13507959691007762222013-12-31T11:32:00.002+00:002013-12-31T11:32:21.695+00:00Singles of 2013
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Whaddaya mean, you’re sick of end-of-year Best Of lists?!
Surely there’s time for a quick glimpse at the ten greatest songs of 2013?
Especially as all the other lists are WRONG?<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">(For the record, the honour of worst song of 2013 is a
toss-up between <em>Gentleman</em> by The Saturdays – for Christ’s sake, you dead-eyed
mannequins, SPLIT UP ALREADY – and Eliza Doolittle’s <em>Big When I Was Little</em>, which
rewrote the Official Rulebook of Clumsy Infantile Horse-Shit.)<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Calibri;">10. Phoenix – <em>Entertainment<o:p></o:p></em></span></strong></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">While every gobshite with an MP3 player got all knotted
up about Daft Punk returning in the form of a Harvester ad, French pop was far
better represented by Phoenix, and this mighty serving of guitar goodness.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>9. Little Green Cars – <em>Big Red Dragon<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">One of the greatest riffs of the year – nay, the decade –
came in <em>Big Red Dragon</em>, a highlight from the debut album of Dublin five-piece
Little Green Cars. Sit back, relax and watch ‘em get all, like, mahoosive.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>8. Jimmy Eat World – <em>I Will Steal You Back<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Look, it’s not <em>The Middle</em>, but nothing’s ever going to
be. We’ve made peace with that.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>7. Placebo – <em>Too Many Friends<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A pleasingly mental music video helped matters, but that’s
not to detract from the song itself, which saw Placebo back at their darkly-melodic,
astringent best.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>6. Two Door Cinema Club – <em>Changing of the Seasons<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The very idea of Northern Irish indie-pop darlings Two
Door Cinema Club hooking up with house tween Madeon was pearl-clutchingly
horrifying. But oh, how wrong we were. Exquisite stuff.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>5. Miley Cyrus – <em>We Can’t Stop<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Ignore the contrived smuttiness and clichéd lyrics
briefly, and you’re left with a highly intriguing serving of space-age pop,
thanks to the magic fingers of Mike Will Made It and a rather impressive vocal
from Cyrus herself (something easily disregarded amidst all the femur-flashing).<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>4. We Are Scientists – <em>Something About You<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A FULL ALBUM coming in a little over two months, people.
A FULL ALBUM.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>3. Bastille – <em>Pompeii<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Like many a great song, <em>Pompeii</em> has been sacrificed to
the Gods of Overkill (a huge thank you to unimaginative radio stations and
promo producers the world over), but hey, they overplayed it for a reason.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>2. Mutya Keisha Siobhan – <em>Flatline<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Its mere existence underlined the instability of the
online fanbase and the stupidity of UK radio execs, but beneath the frothing frustration
lay a magnificent, and sorely overlooked, track.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>1. Vampire Weekend – <em>Diane Young<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Third album <em>Modern Vampires of The City</em> may not have been
up to the overall standards of its predecessors, but this addictive little gem
was by far and away the star of the show. 2013’s greatest advocate of repeat-button
abuse.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
alhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01689576441127942633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23881771.post-86708709354996236122013-12-20T13:14:00.000+00:002013-12-20T13:14:02.580+00:00Laterz an' tingGuys. What are you even <em>doing</em> here? This place has been cordoned off for like a year!<br />
<br />
Alas, a year on from the last post I wrote, I figured I should shut up shop for good. Much as I love writing a blog, a change in my employment means I'm writing pretty much all day, every day. And that's a very good thing. But it means the last thing I want to do when I get home is write some more.<br />
<br />
However, fear not! I'll be blogging on a more ad-hoc basis over at <a href="http://mralfox.co.uk/">mralfox.co.uk</a>, so keep an eye out for my musings round those parts. And as far as I'm aware, The Sloppy Dog - which, if I'm wrapping things up, I should point out was a TERRIBLE name - will be left here for posterity. It'll be like visiting a museum, except with <em>X Factor</em> rants instead of priceless artefacts.<br />
<br />
Thanks for reading. Genuinely.<br />
<br />
Al xxalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01689576441127942633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23881771.post-52287882551779440592012-12-22T14:25:00.003+00:002012-12-22T14:29:53.716+00:00The Sloppy Dog's Worst of 2012: Singles<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibP5nHsLWggTV0_jJCi-Sa2TJMmAXi7pZTMaRAFlYseJjScPcI50RacXPUqw6iyfnfLlr0CxiXAzFGI1zhI-xWMhnb4n79D3ulntfiyUTWCnAXB6jmlvhdBD3w-J75xhAmzXNl/s1600/worst+of+2012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" eea="true" height="151" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibP5nHsLWggTV0_jJCi-Sa2TJMmAXi7pZTMaRAFlYseJjScPcI50RacXPUqw6iyfnfLlr0CxiXAzFGI1zhI-xWMhnb4n79D3ulntfiyUTWCnAXB6jmlvhdBD3w-J75xhAmzXNl/s320/worst+of+2012.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<strong>It’s been the worst year for pop in living memory. Sad, but true. It’s everywhere, it’s of a staggeringly low quality, and nothing is challenging it. As a result, the worst ten singles of 2012 probably share quite a few entries with the biggest-selling singles of 2012. It should be noted, Rihanna’s only just missed out on a spot – luckily for her tawdry, tone-deaf self, the 233 singles she’s released this year have split the vote. Let’s begrudgingly take a look at those that did make our list…</strong><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwMpp5-aORRzMqY0RRmAJVWAmbyapsjbz0POVkJZKqseafZAM83poiKpHJwJYWHi6CUf_FU2QLC0PNgYcDrWvUMiXXwUZJXqqdevVCKvbTuMzGhQb0hvP8XgeD3cBCNI7R_8k5/s1600/will+i+am.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" eea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwMpp5-aORRzMqY0RRmAJVWAmbyapsjbz0POVkJZKqseafZAM83poiKpHJwJYWHi6CUf_FU2QLC0PNgYcDrWvUMiXXwUZJXqqdevVCKvbTuMzGhQb0hvP8XgeD3cBCNI7R_8k5/s1600/will+i+am.jpg" /></a><strong>10. Will.I.Am ft Mick Jagger and Jennifer Lopez - <em>T.H.E. (The Hardest Ever)</em></strong></div>
Props must go to one of the few videos this year with something resembling imagination (and a half-decent budget), but the song itself was an absolute embarrassment. Quite how Mick Jagger was roped into this is baffling, though the fact a friend of ours mistook him for Fatman Scoop sort of says it all.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihcLjw78Wwik1PxFktEVvs_5KkxaLRLkHNObfcXtj0TCSlEHi-zots9E-vGyPJXNUEzyZJSWouJjvo-ObfXkP26Os8et9b93E38ta2mdMN-t6UkpFWhVD-V5ytiCG5fZISfay1/s1600/sam+and+the+womp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" eea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihcLjw78Wwik1PxFktEVvs_5KkxaLRLkHNObfcXtj0TCSlEHi-zots9E-vGyPJXNUEzyZJSWouJjvo-ObfXkP26Os8et9b93E38ta2mdMN-t6UkpFWhVD-V5ytiCG5fZISfay1/s1600/sam+and+the+womp.jpg" /></a><strong>9. Sam & The Womp - <em>Bom Bom</em></strong></div>
Balkan beats smothered in mutagen, with added horns, monkey screeches and the most ludicrous lyrics since… well, several other songs on this countdown. The video only added to the catastrophe, proof that something awful can become even more awful when sung by someone violently ugly.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbQLbByerXri5YPHZAWC3M1fj9J__7v-2PiJy8TB3o9Mk0Zxup-Ed_RGL21h8FimCnhq2ZOWZzn9qAkFNURjYTBdLGtwWqgvlpOL8FylO1XyRkQokfGdPAY_64W5-eVGc3ZRie/s1600/lawson.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" eea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbQLbByerXri5YPHZAWC3M1fj9J__7v-2PiJy8TB3o9Mk0Zxup-Ed_RGL21h8FimCnhq2ZOWZzn9qAkFNURjYTBdLGtwWqgvlpOL8FylO1XyRkQokfGdPAY_64W5-eVGc3ZRie/s1600/lawson.jpg" /></a><strong>8. Lawson - <em>Taking Over Me</em></strong></div>
Lawson emerged in 2012 peddling the sort of beige, irrelevant man-pop that you’d forget minutes after hearing it. Entirely unimaginative with piss-weak sentiment, <em>Taking Over Me</em> relied entirely on an irksome “ooh-ooh-ooh” hook, which somehow made it a success. Come back, BBMak, all is forgiven.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFFG5-8W5QzVV1cwfiMoIunReLalLdCCPR7I7D_ogoylUGba2R9SkMAOzYQl4mtP0YjayuEqeKIXbbUYsIbcp7fuGC6OiMh8JIFm5wLq-HwaCE5rEb970ptuhJcf4o2rJbaNns/s1600/conor+maynard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" eea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFFG5-8W5QzVV1cwfiMoIunReLalLdCCPR7I7D_ogoylUGba2R9SkMAOzYQl4mtP0YjayuEqeKIXbbUYsIbcp7fuGC6OiMh8JIFm5wLq-HwaCE5rEb970ptuhJcf4o2rJbaNns/s1600/conor+maynard.jpg" /></a><strong>7. Conor Maynard – <em>Vegas Girl</em></strong></div>
It was obvious the ever-predictable music industry would attempt to create a British Bieber, but no-one would’ve banked on it being a warty pre-pubescent from Brighton. The watered-down R&B of <em>Vegas Girl</em> is bad enough in itself, but his ‘acting’ in the video redefines the very meaning of cringeworthy.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlnYCcnNlHa92ZA5OSDd8Q5YiUpOsbn6l2LAqgbbe5Yd3oGgWl-sT2itKXWrCnJjeILXQKLR9eaXUtFIcG-U7fgW3f6Vp7gWG8K1rUho2kFtlvyTgf9yVc2Jlz0PljUruiy92O/s1600/ellie+goulding.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" eea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlnYCcnNlHa92ZA5OSDd8Q5YiUpOsbn6l2LAqgbbe5Yd3oGgWl-sT2itKXWrCnJjeILXQKLR9eaXUtFIcG-U7fgW3f6Vp7gWG8K1rUho2kFtlvyTgf9yVc2Jlz0PljUruiy92O/s1600/ellie+goulding.jpg" /></a><strong>6. Ellie Goulding - <em>Anything Could Happen</em></strong></div>
You’d have thought getting all horizontal with Skrillex might have dirtied her up a bit, but Ellie Goulding returned more bland and insipid than ever. <em>Anything Could Happen</em> was some wistful, repetitive cooing over a dreary loop, all in all amounting to a woolly Night Nurse hangover.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB8mUsj_e2T6TS2sb_FLOI00LDTDbqiXCGIJzm9WddJF2KyelpSvNTPdgjZ8vbkDiYMNfGDcb_j6a2EvNmDy1xG9uJOdZ5VOUoeBzbckEuW5n9KH0nhsyULzHsz3nF6xiY32z1/s1600/alyssa+reid.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" eea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB8mUsj_e2T6TS2sb_FLOI00LDTDbqiXCGIJzm9WddJF2KyelpSvNTPdgjZ8vbkDiYMNfGDcb_j6a2EvNmDy1xG9uJOdZ5VOUoeBzbckEuW5n9KH0nhsyULzHsz3nF6xiY32z1/s1600/alyssa+reid.jpg" /></a><strong>5. Alyssa Reid - <em>Alone Again</em></strong></div>
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Mercifully, this track only just missed out on a UK Number One spot back in February, but we’ve made sure it’s gotten its dues here. An entirely pointless Heart cover, with all its emotion ripped out and replaced with reedy, almost unlistenable vocals. Another one for the one-hit wonder countdown.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnvRbvlvY1hk84He_CWVAJWVXiBMXRcHfSkTb8W8qA8_DTlxnIGuBUrJzgEacNo2BqY4ruU3yYZhTDVGz19qwsHQaHnaZrAmtpw5ZwwKJ6lgbtjoLtgCr60T26gfF4ncxEPEKN/s1600/taylor+swift.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" eea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnvRbvlvY1hk84He_CWVAJWVXiBMXRcHfSkTb8W8qA8_DTlxnIGuBUrJzgEacNo2BqY4ruU3yYZhTDVGz19qwsHQaHnaZrAmtpw5ZwwKJ6lgbtjoLtgCr60T26gfF4ncxEPEKN/s1600/taylor+swift.jpg" /></a><strong>4. Taylor Swift - <em>We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together</em></strong></div>
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The first syllable of ‘country’ has never been so apt, and yet, this monstrosity saw Taylor Swift ditch the hee-haw genre for a serving of puerile, primary school awfulness. Like a Sweet Valley High parody in song form, it put a generally harmless artist well and truly on our shit-list.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH2NY5TW39j7OZzACWyt5SkMj7AAQW95CKjBLgHVZejDjBR7EWEyys4WTkXzHVSwtyZZL3lMj9imG9yZotio2PGZHfPmBNIRUexEJXyXZHQlgNMfNgNCYQXZhuSpRlo1M1u9PG/s1600/gotye.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" eea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH2NY5TW39j7OZzACWyt5SkMj7AAQW95CKjBLgHVZejDjBR7EWEyys4WTkXzHVSwtyZZL3lMj9imG9yZotio2PGZHfPmBNIRUexEJXyXZHQlgNMfNgNCYQXZhuSpRlo1M1u9PG/s1600/gotye.jpg" /></a><strong>3. Gotye - <em>Somebody That I Used To Know</em></strong></div>
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As refreshing and surprising as it is to see a downbeat folk ditty break through the Rihannacentric industry to become the biggest track of the year, it’s a shame it had to be this one. Morose, moronic and maddening, this complete whingefest took all of two seconds to become wholly unbearable.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8mekjRzbFtcckBKHYvvmWkbx0iDa5CqbtZfNvmS9H_bKxGxf3HWhSQCTb6hb3rG65xUtCjauRgteor6BZEZydbbJg7MBQleFsAUwGyPj1BRkFIax8W37aoT2GATg9RWbR32gW/s1600/carly+rae+japseye.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" eea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8mekjRzbFtcckBKHYvvmWkbx0iDa5CqbtZfNvmS9H_bKxGxf3HWhSQCTb6hb3rG65xUtCjauRgteor6BZEZydbbJg7MBQleFsAUwGyPj1BRkFIax8W37aoT2GATg9RWbR32gW/s1600/carly+rae+japseye.jpg" /></a><strong>2. Carly Rae Jepsen - <em>Call Me Maybe</em></strong></div>
It’s depressing that something so offensively bad has managed to clock up over a million sales in the UK alone. Somehow, what could genuinely be the cheesiest song ever recorded (this shit makes S Club 7 sound like Philip Glass) became a global smash. Thankfully, her evil spell failed to infiltrate these quarters, and we can hear it for the genuine affront to pop music it really is.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXpccXmyNAg5UYDQjJlazuSQ7HEFb6koI00GGDKOI_i0vy3RSaqXpM9ta4dITUfZYQHNyYeH9NS7I7D5fjOC5W7pAwc-InSpLTvnVLgyXn1c39KhIVJbfBAcpgEANGqQO799AO/s1600/robbie+williams.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" eea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXpccXmyNAg5UYDQjJlazuSQ7HEFb6koI00GGDKOI_i0vy3RSaqXpM9ta4dITUfZYQHNyYeH9NS7I7D5fjOC5W7pAwc-InSpLTvnVLgyXn1c39KhIVJbfBAcpgEANGqQO799AO/s1600/robbie+williams.jpg" /></a><strong>1. Robbie Williams – <em>Candy</em></strong><br />
Carly Rae Jepsen was the strong contender for the top spot this year, but she’s just (just) been pipped to the post by perennial resident of this list, Robbie Williams. We’d hoped Radio 1’s disdain for anyone over 25 might have a silver lining in a lack of success for Blobby, but alas, Candy was inescapable. A nursery rhymed raped and reshaped into an instrument of pure malevolence.<br />
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alhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01689576441127942633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23881771.post-53131740699600853782012-12-22T13:32:00.000+00:002012-12-22T13:38:34.445+00:00The Sloppy Dog's Best of 2012: Singles<strong><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The countdown of all things awesome and awful from the past twelve months continues with the more positive of the two. As has already been a theme throughout the end-of-year roundup, 2012's not been the greatest year musically, but the saturated singles market has actually thrown up a few gems, while a bit of digging also unearths some lesser-known treasures. Read on...</span></strong>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHpujnhKSnqMFQ7vpJgpIkxbkMXVwXhn02LxA7QVlnX1nBHJGLZfA1AIOzVmdTpS404eYXCq_fTPHC7mZ-LW02V_B8RjiUadQ5EsZ04DHxeWpF1o-YMwJc-6rax8WheanBk5MO/s1600/we_are_augustines.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" eea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHpujnhKSnqMFQ7vpJgpIkxbkMXVwXhn02LxA7QVlnX1nBHJGLZfA1AIOzVmdTpS404eYXCq_fTPHC7mZ-LW02V_B8RjiUadQ5EsZ04DHxeWpF1o-YMwJc-6rax8WheanBk5MO/s1600/we_are_augustines.jpg" /></a><strong><span style="font-family: inherit;">10. We Are Augustines – <em>Philadelphia<o:p></o:p></em></span></strong></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Regular readers will know we have a penchant for a US band with a “We Are…” moniker, and thankfully, Brooklyn trio We Are Augustines haven’t broken the pattern. <em>Philadelphia (The City of Brotherly Love)</em>, to give it its full title, was a warming portion of quietly-emotive, weathered indie, all heightened by Rob Allen’s intense drumwork.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi02FgjG7nyCMBsEV02gCYxTWsJH4utZIx2V7mQtuuzdVg1Aquu2E-2FErq3GI9gHOUTVlgJJ8LACVwPbXymnKKA9qJ5hL4qI_mf4bJPRSmae0VjqH4_P2iPei1UtD6LsHz-DyD/s1600/jay_z_kanye.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" eea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi02FgjG7nyCMBsEV02gCYxTWsJH4utZIx2V7mQtuuzdVg1Aquu2E-2FErq3GI9gHOUTVlgJJ8LACVwPbXymnKKA9qJ5hL4qI_mf4bJPRSmae0VjqH4_P2iPei1UtD6LsHz-DyD/s1600/jay_z_kanye.jpg" /></a><strong><span style="font-family: inherit;">9. Jay-Z & Kanye West – <em>N****s In Paris<o:p></o:p></em></span></strong></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The very concept of hip-hop’s two biggest artists on the same record screams of an ill-advised “give away the farm” situation. But <em>Paris</em> is quite the opposite – the minimal, simplistic production does more than the most polished, precision-layered track ever could, and allows its stars to shine brighter than either has on their own in a long time.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir5l3JDkfi9I0N8TYEI9ol71PLMCKOnNb3bep9C_I4m4pRA2OtWshh5FqL3cPnqy_mbcj0Tu7jTgnvRWzICzLTkBRXsrV-vwxooDaGJwVehuWplJ6BZE2ApJGXei-8SkdXESGp/s1600/rizzle_kicks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" eea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir5l3JDkfi9I0N8TYEI9ol71PLMCKOnNb3bep9C_I4m4pRA2OtWshh5FqL3cPnqy_mbcj0Tu7jTgnvRWzICzLTkBRXsrV-vwxooDaGJwVehuWplJ6BZE2ApJGXei-8SkdXESGp/s1600/rizzle_kicks.jpg" /></a><strong><span style="font-family: inherit;">8. Rizzle Kicks – <em>Mama Do The Hump<o:p></o:p></em></span></strong></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Technically released in 2011, but before the cut-off point of last year’s list. Ugh, that sounds like some shit the Brit Awards organisers would come out with. Anyway, <em>Mama Do The Hump</em> proved to be the best thing Fatboy Slim has ever turned his hand to, expertly capturing the youthful, brilliantly-British fervour of Rizzle Kicks.<o:p></o:p></span> <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8GcPIHHGeRrPZJ1QqrnyXQELRC9HQYjxcVpoRkbvBxHz7W5XvCiW3BzUyqdL3A-0p5tub3F7MqoWVq3Snn7WgNBbA3nLQ9WmU1w0TTjhhJQdcjHzcA03FZfw41axgW7ssQZlb/s1600/san_cisco.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; height: 150px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; width: 162px;"><img border="0" eea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8GcPIHHGeRrPZJ1QqrnyXQELRC9HQYjxcVpoRkbvBxHz7W5XvCiW3BzUyqdL3A-0p5tub3F7MqoWVq3Snn7WgNBbA3nLQ9WmU1w0TTjhhJQdcjHzcA03FZfw41axgW7ssQZlb/s1600/san_cisco.jpg" /></a><o:p><o:p><strong><span style="font-family: inherit;">7. San Cisco – <em>Beach</em></span></strong></o:p></o:p></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Representing Australia in our countdown – because frankly, <em>Kath & Kimderella</em> not being released in the UK yet is an utter travesty – it’s a Fremantle four-piece whose exquisite EP <em>Beach</em> was headed up by the hypnotic title track. Gentle, quirky indie melting into a gorgeous, aquatic burble of a chorus, it’s drummed up quite the appetite for a band who show the promise of big, big things.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpG_oPV1IXyFZKUm3QI2s93PtDsk8TqHdkz-hgTGqzBDBPitx20z2kcOWy0tz2U4lqjpnKn-D-QNgQMiR9uQVLj4Rj0PovAEXgDDyyB41GJYcHSooh2EoZvCfobZqKCJmbqIZt/s1600/titanium.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" eea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpG_oPV1IXyFZKUm3QI2s93PtDsk8TqHdkz-hgTGqzBDBPitx20z2kcOWy0tz2U4lqjpnKn-D-QNgQMiR9uQVLj4Rj0PovAEXgDDyyB41GJYcHSooh2EoZvCfobZqKCJmbqIZt/s1600/titanium.jpg" /></a><strong><span style="font-family: inherit;">6. David Guetta ft. Sia – <em>Titanium<o:p></o:p></em></span></strong></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Titanium would’ve earned a higher place in this list had it not been sacrificed to the gods of overkill, but even then, it’s hard to detract from its good points. Guetta’s beats, often by-numbers, were harsh and haunting and hugely effective, while Sia’s truly unique vocals went to astronomical new highs on the gale-force chorus.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFXtHPuY8dXEpXSWzNX-vgMG1cv2mlI12HVuA3GUHsvumMcWxsfNrn4DaRg5bDxH6nXudiFJnG_3dW-t0W_ykGy5tJMGh9vdMFc-oBQrTmasOWBQpVq2qT0nDlyn3uv6yLZBov/s1600/the_ghosts.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" eea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFXtHPuY8dXEpXSWzNX-vgMG1cv2mlI12HVuA3GUHsvumMcWxsfNrn4DaRg5bDxH6nXudiFJnG_3dW-t0W_ykGy5tJMGh9vdMFc-oBQrTmasOWBQpVq2qT0nDlyn3uv6yLZBov/s1600/the_ghosts.jpg" /></a><strong><span style="font-family: inherit;">5. The Ghosts – <em>Enough Time<o:p></o:p></em></span></strong></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">We’ve already named <em>The End</em> as our favourite album of 2012, so it’s no surprise one of its singles has snuck its way in here as well. Debut single <em>Enough Time</em> acted as a warning that something very, very good was on the way, a pounding falsetto chorus amidst swirling electronica making for a seriously impressive track.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: inherit;">4. Howler – <em>Back of Your Neck<o:p></o:p></em></span></strong></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Three minutes, eleven seconds of perfection. The gritty, unashamedly American indie-rock of <em>Back of Your Neck</em> was a genuine sit-up-and-pay-attention anthem, with commanding drumwork, laidback vocals, brilliantly extensive instrumentals, and best of all, absolute fuckloads of surf guitar.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBZ50g9qYzkjzmwuyLBg_hzkZHUIWmRM0W-99n7UNeJFGZoJ-uoY-tuD2lzWl_KosWekRCgu4LLFxJpdOgDWOwudnWIxgRVzxyi7way_BnkjTzucBjzQU0W14TzP6oRiU_ckpN/s1600/andy_burrows.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" eea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBZ50g9qYzkjzmwuyLBg_hzkZHUIWmRM0W-99n7UNeJFGZoJ-uoY-tuD2lzWl_KosWekRCgu4LLFxJpdOgDWOwudnWIxgRVzxyi7way_BnkjTzucBjzQU0W14TzP6oRiU_ckpN/s1600/andy_burrows.jpg" /></a><strong><span style="font-family: inherit;">3. Andy Burrows - <em>Light The Night/Hometown<o:p></o:p></em></span></strong></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">A late entry to the list, but what an entry it is. Each track on its own would warrant an entry, but as a double A-side, it’s goosebump-inducing perfection. The sensitive, stirring acoustica of <em>Hometown</em> and the sweeping fairytale enchantment of <em>Light The Night</em> mean Christmas playlists will have a much-needed dose of quality for decades to come.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: inherit;">2. The Vaccines – <em>I Always Knew<o:p></o:p></em></span></strong></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Coming a very close second, The Vaccines utterly trumped all their previous material with the majestic<em> I Always Knew</em>. Brooding yet heroic, packed with the kind of stirring rock melodies we’d previously thought only Tim Wheeler could come up with, <em>I Always Knew</em> paired a very human sentiment with a superhuman aptitude for crafting an outstanding tune. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG0vn9yCuvglOFaWs8iAprE436o0JaD2MncYkqExSjXe31d33zs2KiSQlviD_BlSHe5HgPnYFtRi484QHORgVdi1Brww9tce_av-ZIZqA-4tTPVS2V7ofD1r1UGdgObdKNGhRO/s1600/fun.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" eea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG0vn9yCuvglOFaWs8iAprE436o0JaD2MncYkqExSjXe31d33zs2KiSQlviD_BlSHe5HgPnYFtRi484QHORgVdi1Brww9tce_av-ZIZqA-4tTPVS2V7ofD1r1UGdgObdKNGhRO/s1600/fun.jpg" /></a><strong><span style="font-family: inherit;">1. fun. ft Janelle Monae – <em>We Are Young<o:p></o:p></em></span></strong></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">And so we reach Number One. It's another track that’s been battered to buggery by overplay, but it was probably inevitable, given its distinctiveness and all-round brilliance. And it’s testament to what a strong song <em>We Are Young</em> is that it’s survived such ubiquity. While nothing on the<em> Some Nights</em> album came close to matching it, <em>We Are Young</em> was an introduction to band providing originality and a refreshing burst of heart and soul in a Top 40 almost entirely bereft of it.<o:p></o:p></span> alhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01689576441127942633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23881771.post-34656449009151213572012-12-21T20:09:00.001+00:002012-12-21T20:15:13.746+00:00The Sloppy Dog's Best of 2012: TV<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4puuSgMq_NQFeTrPBjbYfDh9uwLZWaEFHG8Qm9_eAOjKsf-qe0yzPdm7fI9IORaxqO12cBzeKnXSI_Qc2hPAszYA3RuN1-cs2bgtQ_VWxDsQQxjGlROdpBnlUj0aQPibgXqsL/s1600/best+of+2012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" eea="true" height="165" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4puuSgMq_NQFeTrPBjbYfDh9uwLZWaEFHG8Qm9_eAOjKsf-qe0yzPdm7fI9IORaxqO12cBzeKnXSI_Qc2hPAszYA3RuN1-cs2bgtQ_VWxDsQQxjGlROdpBnlUj0aQPibgXqsL/s320/best+of+2012.jpg" width="320" /></a><strong>It’s been a critical-space-on-the-TiVo-box kinda year, which is a way of saying there’s been no shortage of good TV, rather than it suggesting Virgin Media need to sort their software out. (Although they do.)</strong></div>
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<strong>Alas, we never got round to the bleak Scandinavian knitwear-fests everyone told us to watch, but notable 2012 highlights have included the sharp, slick and hugely addictive <em>Suits</em>; the cutesy but cutting US sitcoms <em>New Girl</em> and <em>Don’t Trust The Bitch In Apartment 23</em>; a fitting end to <em>Desperate Housewives</em> after eight seasons; <em>Only Connect</em>'s new status as impossibly-difficult national treasure; and <em>The Almighty Johnsons</em> finally finding its feet. But let us crack on with the boxset-worthy Top 10...</strong><strong><br /><br />10. True Blood</strong></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0E9N7VJikj89R5rAtTJg6jHpVmdWnSSiwSg_XV-bZzotwB5dCzNpzL8mNpzyG9bgHzZxLIQHf5kPFW5Qh5FPV2LI8h7AfKBkiNnuT8MS3UalXQk2_ynBjWUnDY-4IxTh2AvBb/s1600/trueblood.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" eea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0E9N7VJikj89R5rAtTJg6jHpVmdWnSSiwSg_XV-bZzotwB5dCzNpzL8mNpzyG9bgHzZxLIQHf5kPFW5Qh5FPV2LI8h7AfKBkiNnuT8MS3UalXQk2_ynBjWUnDY-4IxTh2AvBb/s1600/trueblood.jpg" /></a>It’s been inconsistent, but when <em>True Blood</em> is good, it’s very very good. Alas, this has been one of its weaker years, with the Bill-as-undead-fundamentalist plot shockingly bad, but even then, it’s head and shoulders above most of its contemporaries. And as Tara, Jessica and Pam remain three of the best characters on television, teaming them up was a genius move. Fangs crossed the next series gets its shit together.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9Yr_OBT_eFVCnC18DBMQivjGTFOMZ-fZbzC08o-wLgES8E2vjSh1QtF0Vzn7Sc21jTukJnlhTEbQmx1jw0qY9Z_Q5j25NOGeQgZaUnbUk6TK2667EvkMyIXU6AWA6jeaA8oPX/s1600/stella.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" eea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9Yr_OBT_eFVCnC18DBMQivjGTFOMZ-fZbzC08o-wLgES8E2vjSh1QtF0Vzn7Sc21jTukJnlhTEbQmx1jw0qY9Z_Q5j25NOGeQgZaUnbUk6TK2667EvkMyIXU6AWA6jeaA8oPX/s1600/stella.jpg" /></a><strong>9. Stella</strong></div>
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A perfect example of Sky1’s new role as a true champion of British comedy, the hilarious and heartwarming <em>Stella</em> did exactly what <em>Cougar Town</em> failed to do – create a domestic/family-based sitcom that wasn’t twee and cosy. And aside from an impressive turn in front of the camera, Ruth Jones further proved her worth as one of Britain’s greatest comedy writers. </div>
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<strong>8. Indian Ocean with Simon Reeve</strong><br />
Quite often, a factual gem will sneak into our viewing habits amongst the filthy-humoured sitcoms and big neon entertainment shows – one such example was <em>Indian Ocean</em>, a compelling, eye-opening and hugely enlightening series. Kudos to Simon Reeve who presents his subject matter in the most accessible light, without dumbing it down. Frankly, he could do a series on Jiffy bags and make it feel like an adventure.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9T-jC0x1dof45CnsUK6cn13vsxjGgzM0AvZO6RkuMKqTEXTuwjQEdaWpczYCIupz_lKaUDBP-sqh3_ZIytyvYLFz7d2cWmU1Bkqm72cPQrGHrdo7BELVFMdwz3m3wIA6XNOhE/s1600/sherlock.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" eea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9T-jC0x1dof45CnsUK6cn13vsxjGgzM0AvZO6RkuMKqTEXTuwjQEdaWpczYCIupz_lKaUDBP-sqh3_ZIytyvYLFz7d2cWmU1Bkqm72cPQrGHrdo7BELVFMdwz3m3wIA6XNOhE/s1600/sherlock.jpg" /></a><strong>7. Sherlock</strong></div>
Another three-episode blast of groundbreaking British drama, another complete triumph. And the cliffhanger that saw <em>Sherlock</em> supposedly die has set things up very nicely for a third run. (For what it’s worth, we think he jumped into the rubbish truck, and sweet-talked whatsherface from the mortuary to doll up a tramp’s corpse to look like Sherlock. You wait and see.)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuW_ASUFVpvf6-2zoa4EwEJ-5IyrqpndujtAbHLyvKTrmayPhCq8con-aMEn9RTQbsKtGU0t7p7jYvCSld8dKN4B_kelXXZt_g98X23SVoHwYwtd3jal2ZJ3M8UWeNtmzId6x-/s1600/twenty+twelve.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" eea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuW_ASUFVpvf6-2zoa4EwEJ-5IyrqpndujtAbHLyvKTrmayPhCq8con-aMEn9RTQbsKtGU0t7p7jYvCSld8dKN4B_kelXXZt_g98X23SVoHwYwtd3jal2ZJ3M8UWeNtmzId6x-/s1600/twenty+twelve.jpg" /></a></div>
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<strong>6. Twenty Twelve</strong></div>
A rare blend of subtle and uproarious, the highly-quotable <em>Twenty Twelve</em> came to an outstanding conclusion this year. The return of Olivia Colman was the perfect climax, even if the closing scene itself was a landmark in throwing-remote-at-the-telly demi-frustration. And its main legacy (or sustainability?) will be that no-one working in PR will ever be taken seriously again.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhptrKUNxo9auNDFCufE3JrA17noJCQHK9ycc5GA6i-vtz0zoklbcl551U25RImzXji7G3GYiEaxSjY9JSEAKRCOUltkP_Db30OXrtBbEvQm-hrwyxlnpaeTeOrBdIDcWFjRmW8/s1600/GAME+OF+THRONES.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" eea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhptrKUNxo9auNDFCufE3JrA17noJCQHK9ycc5GA6i-vtz0zoklbcl551U25RImzXji7G3GYiEaxSjY9JSEAKRCOUltkP_Db30OXrtBbEvQm-hrwyxlnpaeTeOrBdIDcWFjRmW8/s1600/GAME+OF+THRONES.jpg" /></a><strong>5. Game of Thrones</strong></div>
Glossy, epic and gloriously hammy, <em>Game of Thrones</em> was defiantly huge in an age of cuts and scalebacks. But the story itself was the true star, with George R.R. Martin’s work seamlessly brought to life by an impressive cast (minus the dreadful Aidan Gillen) and stunning production. Additional props for the greatest opening titles since the animated pigeon on <em>The Good Life</em>.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVOpehabJ6vFYh4gfhXjDqqJlg2F-Ncp_6CtbMEC84vufOJOQ89rO-fmVjLnG0ZSRksBRdH81ciWC-f2uFBp9RCAj3qSrInptRP-EleZYcmFeCA8jcRtNsdTnabwXM-FQoGbLg/s1600/trollied.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" eea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVOpehabJ6vFYh4gfhXjDqqJlg2F-Ncp_6CtbMEC84vufOJOQ89rO-fmVjLnG0ZSRksBRdH81ciWC-f2uFBp9RCAj3qSrInptRP-EleZYcmFeCA8jcRtNsdTnabwXM-FQoGbLg/s1600/trollied.jpg" /></a><strong>4. Trollied</strong></div>
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Series One established <em>Trollied</em> as a sharply-observed, brilliantly-stylised and downright hilarious sitcom, but Series Two stepped it up massively. The initially-peculiar casting of Stephanie Beacham as Lorraine proved to be pure gold, not to detract from what’s probably the best overall ensemble performance this year. Genuinely brilliant stuff.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdd-IOKcQqPrbY60_oMTMdKzJoM-eD9a_VeTCA1FDK-ZdHKVX85znZDjPjlVrTS_xB0KzBj6cSwK3cj3Yp4477BDHc0SxIjiE0ViMjeyUOCjT52IGkDgKH9j0-sH1zBVr7C9t3/s1600/gbbo1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" eea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdd-IOKcQqPrbY60_oMTMdKzJoM-eD9a_VeTCA1FDK-ZdHKVX85znZDjPjlVrTS_xB0KzBj6cSwK3cj3Yp4477BDHc0SxIjiE0ViMjeyUOCjT52IGkDgKH9j0-sH1zBVr7C9t3/s1600/gbbo1.jpg" /></a><strong>3. The Great British Bake-Off</strong></div>
Anything that makes such a spectacle of cakes, pies and biscuits is already a good thing. But turning such great subject matter into something so entertaining, so captivating, so genuinely gripping, is quite the achievement. Mel and Sue continue to be two of the greatest presenters on TV, while the likeable contestants and ever-professional judges show some of their flashier reality contemporaries how it’s done. <br />
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<strong>2. The Walking Dead</strong></div>
Just missing out on Number One is <em>The Walking Dead</em>, whose third series took it to whole new levels of brilliance. The snail’s pace frustration of Series Two was quickly accounted for in the third run, with unwavering action, some jaw-dropping character sacrifices and genuinely moving moments. And with some exceptional new additions to the cast (David Morrissey and Danai Gurira in particular), the rest of this series can’t come soon enough.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhEqo9xv_4MCJ1LZqTD91CoN_RDT6cmoRShiPSBr59RAlTwM79l1pnktkLA0Pulp1QMe6R26FmVoI27SFc4cw0MSz1-rbn2-eMyFzftYVAied3yaQ7I8PdlounTZ7yxYo5eAiv/s1600/HOMELAND.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" eea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhEqo9xv_4MCJ1LZqTD91CoN_RDT6cmoRShiPSBr59RAlTwM79l1pnktkLA0Pulp1QMe6R26FmVoI27SFc4cw0MSz1-rbn2-eMyFzftYVAied3yaQ7I8PdlounTZ7yxYo5eAiv/s1600/HOMELAND.jpg" /></a><strong>1. Homeland</strong></div>
Perhaps one of the most instantly-gripping pilot episodes ever, <em>Homeland</em> set itself up to be something pretty damn special from the outset. Offering up twists you’d never predict and answering questions <em>Lost</em> failed to do across six seasons, it’s a show that clearly gives a shit about its viewers. Add to that some inventive direction, bold subject matter, and stellar performances across the board, <em>Homeland </em>was easily 2012’s best new show.<br />
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<br />alhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01689576441127942633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23881771.post-91070962143262577392012-12-15T20:53:00.002+00:002012-12-23T12:54:17.584+00:00The Sloppy Dog's Best of 2012: Albums<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7aVWJKtI9w0NGWpA_B_n0LdLdvq5hEl-aJVKbfG_WRh5bEX3K7roDgFtDPiHHEryoP82m-PwmxTov_zxsdJn9TgR_ZrvGb_CUQTm_Ps38yOoKLC7sdu7hBYIWq2iwbutS6fFU/s1600/best+of+2012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img bea="true" border="0" height="165" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7aVWJKtI9w0NGWpA_B_n0LdLdvq5hEl-aJVKbfG_WRh5bEX3K7roDgFtDPiHHEryoP82m-PwmxTov_zxsdJn9TgR_ZrvGb_CUQTm_Ps38yOoKLC7sdu7hBYIWq2iwbutS6fFU/s320/best+of+2012.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<strong>2012’s been a funny old year for music (as the upcoming Best and Worst Singles list will testify), but amidst the bizarre chart victories, the succession of surprising flops, and the dominance of one particular genre, there’s been a few examples of greatness shining through as far as albums are concerned. Notable mention must go to Van Susans and We Are Augustines, but let’s get cracking on the ten greatest...</strong><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQR7j9Df59TQe70MBBHoPhKxwBUUiTbaE-gT-zmr9WMASNHx5GAlzzqX-0_YdYIn6GKHC3fMUr4dLsYO0GGNwmAJqWUKoFxw2LLxgOc6U9Rn6o7QQLr2BJo6Ua_Pjw40vdXBJW/s1600/andy+burrows.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" eea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQR7j9Df59TQe70MBBHoPhKxwBUUiTbaE-gT-zmr9WMASNHx5GAlzzqX-0_YdYIn6GKHC3fMUr4dLsYO0GGNwmAJqWUKoFxw2LLxgOc6U9Rn6o7QQLr2BJo6Ua_Pjw40vdXBJW/s1600/andy+burrows.jpg" /></a><strong>10. Andy Burrows - Company</strong></div>
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A re-edit of our final ten for reasons best not addressed means Andy Burrows gets bumped up a spot. From thankless Razorlight drummer to a far more appreciated role in We Are Scientists, to co-frontman of Smith & Burrows, the folksy perfection of <em>Company</em> finally sees the fruition of a truly talented solo artist.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiwAovNLjJXeT27wogYUZ-phP2EYQyDftFNgbkMtv9KnwtLgSTiopYJeanqOy89A8iAggPkFskkaF6KQc364mircGzuRTffTjs-RHp2UWwVmAm_Msv0RV9oVpCtDemGZVrnJzB/s1600/feeder.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img bea="true" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiwAovNLjJXeT27wogYUZ-phP2EYQyDftFNgbkMtv9KnwtLgSTiopYJeanqOy89A8iAggPkFskkaF6KQc364mircGzuRTffTjs-RHp2UWwVmAm_Msv0RV9oVpCtDemGZVrnJzB/s1600/feeder.jpg" /></a><strong>9. Feeder – Generation Freakshow</strong></div>
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They’ve been patchy post-<em>Pushing The Senses</em>, but <em>Generation Freakshow</em> was a giant step back towards the Feeder we know and love. It’s a more mature offering, but it demonstrates a growth (as opposed to a U2-style attempt to cling onto youth), still packed with anthemic, intelligent rock.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFUCw1-GqIYCAjHu3NJAVYh2rS0nMsAZc3hm-e5vpM6cCICO77Hyac0PRJE_q0T5UwJQWuVclQFBjYGBdxAHU2ngKUqULgnH8UwZqB1PeJfG7Q-PtHR_Gt9_LF1c6qGneOXuZP/s1600/pink+friday+roman+reloaded.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img bea="true" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFUCw1-GqIYCAjHu3NJAVYh2rS0nMsAZc3hm-e5vpM6cCICO77Hyac0PRJE_q0T5UwJQWuVclQFBjYGBdxAHU2ngKUqULgnH8UwZqB1PeJfG7Q-PtHR_Gt9_LF1c6qGneOXuZP/s1600/pink+friday+roman+reloaded.jpg" /></a><strong></strong><br />
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<strong>8. Nicki Minaj – Pink Friday: Roman Reloaded</strong><br />
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Admittedly, not the most consistent of albums, and certainly not something that’s easily-digestible, but <em>Pink Friday: Roman Reloaded</em> was testament to a truly unique entity. A fast-paced, infectious, day-glo explosion, which somehow melded glittery camp and ballsy hip-hop to surprisingly great effect.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg57wvVEENyJAOxS1oF7Tp2s6g1Zd6eKPMc3RLZ1b_7DYWN8OgZZWsBFj8ulmC5rctDzz-DHmq67POs6_4RJqlWokqe3WVSfJdXzcdS4psgJgzBOvJkzrGujD6ZjbUaKqSWFTSN/s1600/keane1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img bea="true" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg57wvVEENyJAOxS1oF7Tp2s6g1Zd6eKPMc3RLZ1b_7DYWN8OgZZWsBFj8ulmC5rctDzz-DHmq67POs6_4RJqlWokqe3WVSfJdXzcdS4psgJgzBOvJkzrGujD6ZjbUaKqSWFTSN/s1600/keane1.jpg" /></a><strong>7. Keane – Strangeland</strong></div>
Had this been the follow-up to <em>Hopes & Fears</em>, it would’ve been called lazy. But chasing two more explorative albums, it somehow makes sense, almost marking a journey back to what they do best, utilising the gained experience of <em>Under The Iron Sea</em> and <em>Perfect Symmetry</em>. A welcome return to form.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAeavZr9zkusH0OHvoF2eLd95_voNAJyzNPP8KzPLb74LcN2-UCezdrlNsVDWGATbZ8ab86lWhx2q_NnheBvtcVT3kG-BpGpkOcTjYLHoXQkpNBelo43extcgIAfyVeToBT6sg/s1600/imani+coppola.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img bea="true" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAeavZr9zkusH0OHvoF2eLd95_voNAJyzNPP8KzPLb74LcN2-UCezdrlNsVDWGATbZ8ab86lWhx2q_NnheBvtcVT3kG-BpGpkOcTjYLHoXQkpNBelo43extcgIAfyVeToBT6sg/s1600/imani+coppola.jpg" /></a><strong>6. Imani Coppola – The Glass Wall</strong></div>
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We’ll overlook the ill-advised dubstep breakdown to celebrate yet another album that bears witness to the genius of Imani Coppola. It seems she’s still incapable of putting her name to anything less than brilliant, and while the masses might not be on board just yet, <em>The Glass Wall</em> was a triumphant indie-soul gem.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQDQ87xG5fb86RR8w-agzrNjv_-wI8_GrIpZTnMK9TZxuAuw9KFIvvIrEvh-0Nljvuzeux3AssRyj7SYE9VVTEvap7AziuVD-jFHZyKzx1r12DM9PeBuXxI4llmYcQPk0c9_ZO/s1600/TDCC.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: right; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img bea="true" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQDQ87xG5fb86RR8w-agzrNjv_-wI8_GrIpZTnMK9TZxuAuw9KFIvvIrEvh-0Nljvuzeux3AssRyj7SYE9VVTEvap7AziuVD-jFHZyKzx1r12DM9PeBuXxI4llmYcQPk0c9_ZO/s1600/TDCC.jpg" /></a><strong>5. Two Door Cinema Club – Beacon</strong></div>
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Alex Trimble’s vocal turn at the Olympics Opening Ceremony showed him to have a surprisingly tender tone, but <em>Beacon</em> put him back in the guise he’s best known for – assured, quirky, and superbly-executed indie-pop. Building upon the greatest components of <em>Tourist History</em>, Two Door Cinema Club know their strengths and play to them with exceptional results.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnNNMLGZJagH4_TOiBGce-EvW6LYDHVcUNfZnbqR1lPUHTM9PGL7UqbcVFs5k07ZVhwEInazS_PGISDVYPElpVJHZ0IKlpk1VFHQeeEkMhYBnnx-ypAyWy8TPYaZ8JZV4gstgX/s1600/bigkids.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img bea="true" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnNNMLGZJagH4_TOiBGce-EvW6LYDHVcUNfZnbqR1lPUHTM9PGL7UqbcVFs5k07ZVhwEInazS_PGISDVYPElpVJHZ0IKlpk1VFHQeeEkMhYBnnx-ypAyWy8TPYaZ8JZV4gstgX/s1600/bigkids.jpg" /></a><strong>4. BIGkids – Never Grow Up</strong></div>
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Perfect pop, completely devoid of pretensions, courtesy of Mr Hudson and Rosie Bones. In a year where the pop genre morphed into a behemoth of bottom-drawer beats and unimaginative soullessness, BIGkids fought their corner with a knowing wink and a line-up of fun, breezy, yet high-quality, tunes.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiecD-fz2OIrR4x8XuhKjE6vBaYeg5oR6AzCAbnlRtQ38KSCIPjTNi6bW2hn7_K8m2nCF24pVUy3hGXzbWBUFMIRC8fU5BHBvU1RX8TTv7BOhKSoT73wqQwNP-7-0FzLiQtvBkf/s1600/vaccines.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img bea="true" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiecD-fz2OIrR4x8XuhKjE6vBaYeg5oR6AzCAbnlRtQ38KSCIPjTNi6bW2hn7_K8m2nCF24pVUy3hGXzbWBUFMIRC8fU5BHBvU1RX8TTv7BOhKSoT73wqQwNP-7-0FzLiQtvBkf/s1600/vaccines.jpg" /></a><strong>3. The Vaccines – Come Of Age</strong></div>
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Debut album <em>What Did You Expect From The Vaccines</em> made the right kind of noise, but this follow-up repeated the feat with a whole new ethos. Polished, confident and rousing, the aptly-titled <em>Come Of Age</em> expertly cut through the annoying buzz that surrounded their debut and cemented them as a band in it for the long haul.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0chkoKdUWz7Om994sf9Bt21oXSJKN8JH3nYCQ8-K5DQCkIkasWZ05nJj-jzvn1Ha9ZIDPXL8epoiNUQRmFBkWFnnvIv4XXIL79gXXYmJ0G1Du7WO4b4NvwyDLjicgYBErDWJ4/s1600/spector.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img bea="true" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0chkoKdUWz7Om994sf9Bt21oXSJKN8JH3nYCQ8-K5DQCkIkasWZ05nJj-jzvn1Ha9ZIDPXL8epoiNUQRmFBkWFnnvIv4XXIL79gXXYmJ0G1Du7WO4b4NvwyDLjicgYBErDWJ4/s1600/spector.jpg" /></a><strong>2. Spector – Enjoy It While It Lasts</strong></div>
Just being beaten to first place, the debut of the year came from Spector. The London five-piece quickly established themselves as an act to get excited about, with Strokes/Vaccines-esque thumpers swathed in a heady mix of Sixties melodies, boyish charm and genuine grit. The kind of album a repeat button is made for.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0JpnD3U2k9atu6DZXxCS0wkCl1LcGy_NqcDZzVpNCZnZjTUius72c4XbvwL7znqq4qnJy54HWaLo8XoA1cjhQksXIUKGH8uO5i5Vu3y__ZlW7jRphQGdFOJFTxZW7UxRcMLJD/s1600/the+ghosts.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: right; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img bea="true" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0JpnD3U2k9atu6DZXxCS0wkCl1LcGy_NqcDZzVpNCZnZjTUius72c4XbvwL7znqq4qnJy54HWaLo8XoA1cjhQksXIUKGH8uO5i5Vu3y__ZlW7jRphQGdFOJFTxZW7UxRcMLJD/s1600/the+ghosts.jpg" /></a><strong>1. The Ghosts – The End</strong></div>
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Not to be confused with Ghosts – though aside from sharing a moniker, they also have in common the fact they’ve each been our Album of the Year. From the ashes of Ou Est Le Swimming Pool came this immense collection of electronic, melody-heavy indie, boasting huge choruses and hypnotic hooks. Alas, chart success evaded them, but in <em>The End</em> they produced a genuine masterpiece. Hey, what do the stupid public know?</div>
alhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01689576441127942633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23881771.post-78083996087409471612012-12-15T20:17:00.000+00:002012-12-15T20:35:19.231+00:00The Sloppy Dog's Worst of 2012: TV<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<strong>Our annual beady eye over the year’s pop culture offerings has come around again, and we’re kicking things off on a sour note – it’s time to reveal 2012’s worst television.</strong></div>
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<strong>It’s worth pointing out that it’s far easier to avoid a bad TV show than it is to avoid bad music, so this list isn’t so much a definitive ‘most unforgivably awful things broadcast this year’ rundown – these ones were just unfortunate enough to have our gaze fall upon them. (And, as ever, assume Jeremy Kyle is a permanent Number One.)</strong></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY_CFGGdQn1hSvu45X5F6_LOSH16JW-2XVUBcCgZ6rnFxa4Ja2fjXJJ65tlxFLMnUdJbqmFg6QGVlKHGrfwGQkaLyf6qNlLRRHWYGGtfhZ_pC0cCo7BLjTq0Wh-ZqxLQpEwst5/s1600/glee.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img bea="true" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY_CFGGdQn1hSvu45X5F6_LOSH16JW-2XVUBcCgZ6rnFxa4Ja2fjXJJ65tlxFLMnUdJbqmFg6QGVlKHGrfwGQkaLyf6qNlLRRHWYGGtfhZ_pC0cCo7BLjTq0Wh-ZqxLQpEwst5/s1600/glee.jpg" /></a><strong>10. Glee</strong></div>
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Not too long ago, <em>Glee</em> was an exciting and entertaining show – albeit heavy on the cheese. But even the star turn from Jane Lynch can’t save it. The introduction of the atrocious <em>Glee Project</em> winner Damian McGinty didn’t help matters, but it was the dire Christmas episode that proved to be the true shark-jumper. RIP <em>Glee</em>.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9qmkC4a1jdRB6eh1mcBoCnVSxCJq0jC9fSmPkF0-1IgmJbCUk2E_mYi6s47yuOf_kOBkvOsv2WS8vEPoKuraYUJ5PXGkp_EWyjzdMgRt8uQFhjqXMsm_mtt0qvMUs6JkI8gIp/s1600/merlin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img bea="true" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9qmkC4a1jdRB6eh1mcBoCnVSxCJq0jC9fSmPkF0-1IgmJbCUk2E_mYi6s47yuOf_kOBkvOsv2WS8vEPoKuraYUJ5PXGkp_EWyjzdMgRt8uQFhjqXMsm_mtt0qvMUs6JkI8gIp/s1600/merlin.jpg" /></a><strong>9. Merlin</strong></div>
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Perhaps <em>Merlin</em>’s inclusion on the list isn’t entirely fair – it’s significantly better than all other shows listed here, and in fact, better than a great deal else. But its slow-moving nature, its build-up to sweet FA and its premature axing before any kind of payoff made for a horribly frustrating show. It’s literally taken them five series to do absolutely nothing.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtzwBHpm29ezToUxzEt20b8k26xregiugJjW1Lua2c0I7_kB8WnNr1DrHwurtG_mAQggS4YoWV9qAxMMFT0Y9L1UjPEbCyz9mnENTw-cm5YrvbL0VYRBOyT-hLWcD-TdEzo8Mn/s1600/cougartown.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img bea="true" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtzwBHpm29ezToUxzEt20b8k26xregiugJjW1Lua2c0I7_kB8WnNr1DrHwurtG_mAQggS4YoWV9qAxMMFT0Y9L1UjPEbCyz9mnENTw-cm5YrvbL0VYRBOyT-hLWcD-TdEzo8Mn/s1600/cougartown.jpg" /></a><strong>8. Cougar Town</strong></div>
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What began life as a sharp, bold, semi-believable comedy soon melted down into a cosy, convenient family sitcom worryingly light on the laughs. A few constraints here and there might prompt writers to think outside the box. Alas, when your one punchline is ‘wine’, you’d need a few gallons yourself to enjoy this waste of airtime.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyIF3vxegjvuuztH0qBOZj7hPGn1XU1XiAOoydxVsIiOw10iYgNa9m77pfzHPjB1YAP8J5kAdT-lpTkVDo0mesc13gsqlDzk0jFfzqmo0PgWqphQPdZn7PR2zWAHHZjv0iqKC3/s1600/QUESTION+TIME.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img bea="true" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyIF3vxegjvuuztH0qBOZj7hPGn1XU1XiAOoydxVsIiOw10iYgNa9m77pfzHPjB1YAP8J5kAdT-lpTkVDo0mesc13gsqlDzk0jFfzqmo0PgWqphQPdZn7PR2zWAHHZjv0iqKC3/s1600/QUESTION+TIME.jpg" /></a><strong>7. Question Time</strong></div>
Another show whose inclusion here might not be fully justified – it’s a simple yet effective format, which goes to great lengths to bridge the sizeable gap between politician and everyman. But the consistently cunt-packed panel, often trumped by hateful audience members airing some truly disgusting views, makes <em>Question Time</em> seriously uncomfortable viewing.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid_tfW2iiRYrsR-Dl1qkFJ7XtlMRWADGIfESFwzQQ3W7_szje_2Hno8t6BHRn4UPzH-4sDzUCiRChlxWgEUuLeB4Ddmvj8PKxGca5EK7u5kQXeMhYTTS_0PMy0vls0c1TYWRmX/s1600/xfactor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img bea="true" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid_tfW2iiRYrsR-Dl1qkFJ7XtlMRWADGIfESFwzQQ3W7_szje_2Hno8t6BHRn4UPzH-4sDzUCiRChlxWgEUuLeB4Ddmvj8PKxGca5EK7u5kQXeMhYTTS_0PMy0vls0c1TYWRmX/s1600/xfactor.jpg" /></a><strong>6 - 5. X Factor USA / The X Factor</strong></div>
The bubble had burst for <em>The X Factor</em> some time ago, but its continued existence is taking a mammoth dump on whatever good it once did as an entertainment show and/or talent search. The American version is painful to watch, the clearly-unwell Britney Spears wheeled out to read three syllables at a time. Meanwhile, the British version with its now-transparent flouting of the rules, entire lack of morals and largely loathsome talent somehow outdoes its transatlantic sister. Simon Cowell, you are a cunt. But, for your sake, give it up.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlx1R2NuF6r_VslUyOUBEvlz6kmuLXz_6B8ZH2LQ0Uc-KBP1ytG7NoZ9l8nfLnT24ba7aFD9gRwAZhlWsCbjiwNn_56pkUpYLRG3spkjDE5V22m_kL0A3OuNw87uhhnBzJDO82/s1600/hotel+GB.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img bea="true" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlx1R2NuF6r_VslUyOUBEvlz6kmuLXz_6B8ZH2LQ0Uc-KBP1ytG7NoZ9l8nfLnT24ba7aFD9gRwAZhlWsCbjiwNn_56pkUpYLRG3spkjDE5V22m_kL0A3OuNw87uhhnBzJDO82/s1600/hotel+GB.jpg" /></a><strong>4. Hotel GB</strong></div>
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Let’s round up all our talent! Except the ones with dignity! Let’s chuck ‘em all in a hotel, undertaking tasks with little or no relevance to their own skills! Let’s add in some unemployed folk to give it some heart! Let’s put cameras everywhere, like that show we gave to Channel 5! Let’s completely die on our arses!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjumy_z0ne8IdFG48-u8XK6Vr9Z26z7VsPIdTuCaJ5VuF1KDnF8Zk_t_KuNGO7Q-kTt53DfCOseuRCI-QUDXJ95Uqmkbj-bLlPTPhyphenhyphenR3JLCw_7g9bZm-dB14xrCIF4fpoRogAlK/s1600/midnight+beast.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img bea="true" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjumy_z0ne8IdFG48-u8XK6Vr9Z26z7VsPIdTuCaJ5VuF1KDnF8Zk_t_KuNGO7Q-kTt53DfCOseuRCI-QUDXJ95Uqmkbj-bLlPTPhyphenhyphenR3JLCw_7g9bZm-dB14xrCIF4fpoRogAlK/s1600/midnight+beast.jpg" /></a><strong>3. The Midnight Beast</strong></div>
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Apparently, this is funny to some people. Apparently, those people are missing at least two of their five senses. Fair play to The Midnight Beast for grafting their way to their own TV show, but the overplayed, smug knowingness of it all was fist-bitingly awkward to witness. (That, and the material absolutely stinks.)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhDiuXgwlFf0BvLHMcsjBpk8vybMj__LBSOU97RgsrRbrJpaAdULNxwLrq1CpOFt8a-JUWQxSAKp_B2TuTIOwKnl105EpClCs7KqgEwj-tJ96pPjx6Zg90KYlV7o-7dzHBv2jw/s1600/britain+unzipped.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img bea="true" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhDiuXgwlFf0BvLHMcsjBpk8vybMj__LBSOU97RgsrRbrJpaAdULNxwLrq1CpOFt8a-JUWQxSAKp_B2TuTIOwKnl105EpClCs7KqgEwj-tJ96pPjx6Zg90KYlV7o-7dzHBv2jw/s1600/britain+unzipped.jpg" /></a><strong>2. Britain Unzipped</strong></div>
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For all BBC Three’s foolish decisions (axing high-rating shows such as The Fades) and their sanctimonious spiel about making viewers ‘think’, they don’t half produce some shit. <em>Britain Unzipped</em> was approaching <em>Eurotrash</em> levels of tastelessness, a low being Holly Willoughby examining spunk stains in front of a live studio audience. License fee refund, please.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu2TS9jU7xSav9mtM9xXRFSkASfZR9Mp63KdKfJYZlzodWBmjoo9Q6oVun8oW9plmMmVqLqOSUf-77Iu9pa4SQvXDHUGcV0_aMSvZtM3bXey-kDSYmzMvkA1hLy0TNpy0LSAJe/s1600/TOWIE.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img bea="true" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu2TS9jU7xSav9mtM9xXRFSkASfZR9Mp63KdKfJYZlzodWBmjoo9Q6oVun8oW9plmMmVqLqOSUf-77Iu9pa4SQvXDHUGcV0_aMSvZtM3bXey-kDSYmzMvkA1hLy0TNpy0LSAJe/s1600/TOWIE.jpg" /></a><strong>1. The Only Way Is Essex Live</strong><br />
The dreadfulness is baked right into the title, isn’t it? The show in its usual guise is an absolute abortion, so how they thought it would translate into a live special is a complete mystery. The plus side is that the missed cues, script cock-ups, and the most loathsome cuntrags on television finally put the nail in the bright orange, diamante-studded coffin.</div>
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alhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01689576441127942633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23881771.post-19833655929292431242012-11-17T16:34:00.002+00:002012-11-17T16:37:32.155+00:00Single Reviews 18/11/12<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<strong>On this week’s <span style="color: orange;">Single Reviews</span> (this ‘week’, eh regular readers? Hahaha, etc), we’ve got a returning girlband ready to make the most of Mutya Keisha Siobhan’s delay and Stooshe’s implosion; a mild metal band knocking out something different; Northern Ireland proving, post-Ash, they can produce something amazing; and a piano-bothering demi-diva being a tad beige. In fact, that pretty much covers it. No need to read on, really, is there?</strong><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTyPoXhbAak-MlND0-Pzdfy-4xHcnjVthbhoUFvxSAA5Wb798Lou6eKyEsyi5IqKf8v-ZolxCVRtJJNbar5OI8ETsJ277g5sbgRg_mQ5enu7whBtMk-gpkKGBlzuu-XzkCOgsq/s1600/girlsaloud.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" rea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTyPoXhbAak-MlND0-Pzdfy-4xHcnjVthbhoUFvxSAA5Wb798Lou6eKyEsyi5IqKf8v-ZolxCVRtJJNbar5OI8ETsJ277g5sbgRg_mQ5enu7whBtMk-gpkKGBlzuu-XzkCOgsq/s1600/girlsaloud.jpg" /></a>Perhaps a little too much has been made of the <strong>Girls Aloud</strong> comeback – lofty expectations can only result in disappointment, and <em><strong>Something New</strong></em> certainly ticks that box on first listen. But once you get past the generic Calvin Harris-style McHouse parping, and actually determine where the chorus is, it’s all pretty good fun. It’s a shame it’s just to herald a superfluous greatest hits rather than a full album proper, but you’d be a fool to think this is anything other than a swansong.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Wc0b8HX1fqdNzfSEY9PYt145Zs6Mrq4UvcPLx4_A7Np5HbJX6VDS5F5H5EunPK8z7f4Wj4Spv_DNX8ezb73gWtPyo-0V7y5viOCBIoS0VhvV8idsLp-fWQS8w-B_wLA9ckR5/s1600/donbroco.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" rea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Wc0b8HX1fqdNzfSEY9PYt145Zs6Mrq4UvcPLx4_A7Np5HbJX6VDS5F5H5EunPK8z7f4Wj4Spv_DNX8ezb73gWtPyo-0V7y5viOCBIoS0VhvV8idsLp-fWQS8w-B_wLA9ckR5/s1600/donbroco.jpg" /></a>Bedford’s finest <strong>Don Broco</strong> ease off on the thrashing ever so slightly to create a smooth, sardonic rock anthem, which may or may not be tongue-in-cheek. Either way, <strong><em>Hold On</em></strong> works – Rob Damiani’s downy vocals are delivered through a knowing smirk, laid nicely atop a vigorous foundation of drums ‘n’ riffs. With the indie genre still on life support, it’s nice to know the rock side of things is still doing its damndest to make things interesting.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvS46Tb4euB062enwyBs3nFKdLkus0BjO3QEvyStHxAxq9w94eti_LdoJFbQEWnII5U_ILSXu3xLXeF1GXkAP0txanul9owsPjiVTgNYyqeqDcFr7qzk665rDSwiJs_qHIZ-m9/s1600/twodoorcinemaclub.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" rea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvS46Tb4euB062enwyBs3nFKdLkus0BjO3QEvyStHxAxq9w94eti_LdoJFbQEWnII5U_ILSXu3xLXeF1GXkAP0txanul9owsPjiVTgNYyqeqDcFr7qzk665rDSwiJs_qHIZ-m9/s1600/twodoorcinemaclub.jpg" /></a>That said, there remain a few brave bastions of the indie cause. <strong><span style="color: red;">Single of the Week</span></strong> is awarded to <strong><em>Two Door Cinema Club</em></strong>, who’ve already given our ears quite the treat this year via the mighty Beacon album (and indirectly, the Olympic brilliance of <em>Caliban’s Dream</em> – insert Siobhan Sharpe quote here). Sun’s simple, plod-along qualities prove hugely addictive in practice, and underline the band as a genuinely luminous prospect.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyeupSabniArmD17AgyDpPddr67jFh2AomwUem4rHh_x9n_E7KTVL7okbUlXtpY1Qh3tP543YjZcTaf-9i06U8ydMkP6RfJPkwIccaVZzjseaGPirGBk9uRnAmOHbrKYNKJQ-R/s1600/aliciakeys.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" rea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyeupSabniArmD17AgyDpPddr67jFh2AomwUem4rHh_x9n_E7KTVL7okbUlXtpY1Qh3tP543YjZcTaf-9i06U8ydMkP6RfJPkwIccaVZzjseaGPirGBk9uRnAmOHbrKYNKJQ-R/s1600/aliciakeys.jpg" /></a>And last up, it’s <strong>Alicia Keys</strong>, who on one hand, proves she can do the kind of immense chorus Bjorn & Benny would be proud to create. But on the other hand, proves she’s a tad short of ideas – the parallels between <strong><em>Girl On Fire</em></strong> and previous material are just a tad too prevalent. The Inferno remix, which adds a Nicki Minaj rap to proceedings, makes things far more interesting, but on its own, has a distinct air of “oh, it’ll do” about it.</div>
<br />alhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01689576441127942633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23881771.post-65276255541468438002012-10-14T20:22:00.002+01:002012-10-14T20:22:56.981+01:00Honking Box Preview: The Great British Bake-Off<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA5WdlXpmWM3e95SKb9PVChu5TJFnJY_unmp2JP8oYyHD1t2WGEejGjL8eFgRimw27WChQWEqAGL10uq2oYRhYPSXCPq6km7tFnuf5J-T51wPdWBEHkzoBWW8SBRyhIICA1ZmF/s1600/honkingbox1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" nea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA5WdlXpmWM3e95SKb9PVChu5TJFnJY_unmp2JP8oYyHD1t2WGEejGjL8eFgRimw27WChQWEqAGL10uq2oYRhYPSXCPq6km7tFnuf5J-T51wPdWBEHkzoBWW8SBRyhIICA1ZmF/s1600/honkingbox1.jpg" /></a><strong>Just as a round-up of the hapless <em>X Factor</em> condemnees ahead of the Live Shows has become a yearly tradition, a spot of gushing ‘n’ guesswork prior to the final of <em>The Great British Bake-Off</em> is too becoming ritual. And with Series Three coming to an climax this week, it’s time to chew over (and swallow, cos only a complete fucking bonehead would spit out cake) this year’s platter of finalists.</strong></div>
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From early shock evictees in the form of Victoria, to week-on-week skin-of-the-teeth survivors in the form of Ryan and Manisha, the selection of characters has once again been outstanding. But special mention must go to Cathryn, who began the competition as a trembling, don’t-look-at-me dormouse, before slowly morphing into some sort of apron-clad valkyrie, facing down Paul Hollywood’s judgements with egalitarian sass.</div>
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But, as ever, we’re left with three. However, whereas previous years have seen a general three-horse race for the prize, this year there’s been a clear leader from the outset. Perfect Brendan, whose lone hiccup throughout the series was during the semi-final, when one rogue strawberry half dared to droop out of its pristine custard gulag, is the obvious favourite, with an unyielding – almost robotic – determination to win. (And what Brendan did to the aforementioned strawberry’s family in cold vengeance for its foolish audacity cannot ever be uttered.)</div>
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Far more interesting finalists come in the form of John and James, interestingly the two youngest contestants, in contrast to Brendan being the oldest. Brendan’s precision and perfection and infallible skill come from years of flour-dusted trial-and-errors, a million miles away from James and his constant wing-it approach. But when his results are good, they’re very, very good indeed.</div>
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John, while likeable and a gifted baker, has perhaps had the least consistent performance across the series. But he’s entertained splendidly: calling John a wily minx; his cheeks acting as a redscale to indicate his level of flusteredness; attempting a gingerbread Coliseum AND PULLING IT OFF. He’s been good, but he’s most likely a bronze medallist.</div>
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It’s hard to see James, even with his inventiveness and quirkiness and knitted owl mascot, being picked over Brendan in black-and-white terms, but Paul Hollywood and Mary Berry can be hard to predict. And it makes for quite a final: a millimetre-precise, accomplished baker with throwback appeal; or a more haphazard, but hugely exciting, innovator.</div>
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Regardless, it’ll make for a fitting end to what’s been a gripping and entertaining series. And while, on paper, such words applied to a baking competition defies all kinds of logic, the execution has been truly brilliant. And to tide us over until the fourth series, we’ll amuse ourselves by playing YouTube clips of Mel and Sue saying the word “strudel” on repeat.alhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01689576441127942633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23881771.post-70481095583056485662012-10-08T13:25:00.000+01:002012-10-08T13:29:04.081+01:00BIGkids - Never Grow Up (BIGkids Recordings)<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuLGQABLpfnO-8D0dVWD4EdS-0DBkZFeT3XOREdLkgYGPJhNcp3RghXrTcnEDxxktVA1XhYP7hGfqKxLAatuTfPxjzdMV6e4PHzkGLmT66VeDEoxjiOqieVTnP3CMZc67nY7aa/s400/img008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" nea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuLGQABLpfnO-8D0dVWD4EdS-0DBkZFeT3XOREdLkgYGPJhNcp3RghXrTcnEDxxktVA1XhYP7hGfqKxLAatuTfPxjzdMV6e4PHzkGLmT66VeDEoxjiOqieVTnP3CMZc67nY7aa/s320/img008.jpg" width="320" /></a><strong>Side projects are a funny old concept. Sometimes, they do great things, often outshining the day job: Codeine Velvet Club, The Last Shadow Puppets, Gorillaz. Other times, they pass without much noise, such as SuperHeavy. And then there’s the genuinely horrific offerings: Alex James and Betty Boo teaming up as Wigwam, anyone?<br /><br /></strong>So as blue-eyed soul troubadour Mr Hudson sneaks out from under his urban credentials into candyfloss pop surroundings, it could be a recipe for disaster. But in practice, his partnership with singer Rosie Bones under the guise of <strong>BIGkids</strong> is nothing short of triumphant. Sugary and glittery and exuberant, sure, but definitely triumphant with it.<br />
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<em><strong>Never Grow Up</strong></em> is one big major key delight – traditional pop in the best possible sense, but fresh and flagrant with it. Even the more downbeat offerings fit into the overall tone – for instance, <em>Good For You</em>, whose simple earthiness is lifted by mischievous Tomy twiddlings. But amidst the day-glo friskiness, there’s taut, defined musicianship. Mr Hudson’s graceful tones and Rosie Bones’ rich, bluesy honk bring a real depth to proceedings.</div>
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The playful back-and-forths between the two is one of <em>Never Grow Up</em>’s key pleasures. But when they’re not engaging in a light-hearted lyrical duel, they’re equally as good when they form a team, purveying a genuine us-against-the-world, screw-the-rest-of-em attitude.<br />
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<em>Never Grow Up</em> recaptures some of the unashamed Englishness that made Mr Hudson & The Library’s debut album so effortlessly charming. His ditching of The Library and palling up with Kanye West inevitably drifted things Stateside, but he’s very much back to Blighty here, albeit with a very different tone. And as depressing as it is that <em>Parklife </em>and the Spice Girls now count as nostalgic references, it adds to the aforementioned Britishness whilst underlining the bouncy, light-hearted quality that makes <em>Never Grow Up</em> twinkle.<br />
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Business-wise, it’s probably not going to shift a squillion-odd copies. But <em>Never Grow Up</em> has a list of merits as long as Kanye’s rider demands. Above all else, it functions wonderfully as a good mood inducer, and displays a side to an artist most of us were completely unaware of. Possibly, even Mr Hudson himself. </div>
alhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01689576441127942633noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23881771.post-86668488709527059822012-10-02T14:02:00.004+01:002012-10-02T14:05:18.415+01:00Honking Box Preview: The X Factor<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Welcome to the first blog post round these parts for some considerable time, and to our annual rundown of the <em>X Factor</em> live show fodder. You know the deal – work, summer, DIY, etc etc. Hell, if</strong> <strong><em>X Factor</em></strong> <strong>contestants are allowed to wheel out “this means everything to me” 16 times an episode, then we can regurgitate the same old excuses too.</strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So, aside from the presence of new judge Nicole Scherzinger on the panel (and deliciously, hated by the British public solely for not being Mel B), does this year’s <em>X Factor</em> have anything genuinely new to offer us? Read on...</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi936M9ZuMS7aieg76Biju7-bGCHS3a6tZH-kPE1yD7UsamIg5xBdeJQkmPvFWoDLx5Mce3sisb6Hg62yOX2-QDzR9t51DwBIRoDo7z9eVgZPi674B_Ty-yHCKgt2Vl0SJqtlxc/s1600/xf+kye.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" mea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi936M9ZuMS7aieg76Biju7-bGCHS3a6tZH-kPE1yD7UsamIg5xBdeJQkmPvFWoDLx5Mce3sisb6Hg62yOX2-QDzR9t51DwBIRoDo7z9eVgZPi674B_Ty-yHCKgt2Vl0SJqtlxc/s1600/xf+kye.jpg" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Kye Sones</strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Who?</strong> Chimney sweep turned AOR busker type. Not a million miles from a certain Matt Cardle.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Ideal Theme Week:</strong> ‘Rock’ Week. While Tulisa gives her girls Ke$ha songs again, Kye will tackle a Train ‘classic’.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>How will Syco bollocks up his career?</strong> A watered-down ballad as a debut single. Perhaps one penned by Gary Barlow.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Deserved placing:</strong> 5<sup>th</sup><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Likely placing:</strong> 1<sup>st</sup>. The White-Guy-With-Guitar epidemic that’s poisoned American Idol is heading thisaway.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikvzG12Twv8lVZfvTLxTrz06vIMcyw-M7B7naznGf9MwDQZytispsa6zgl_mH1jxgOpTH0FiAhwRoImQrgq72BrHiJmZmV8XtwMrhwSXwi26dbw_2s_MiUodbxzKjO1JXkROFd/s1600/xf+melanie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" mea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikvzG12Twv8lVZfvTLxTrz06vIMcyw-M7B7naznGf9MwDQZytispsa6zgl_mH1jxgOpTH0FiAhwRoImQrgq72BrHiJmZmV8XtwMrhwSXwi26dbw_2s_MiUodbxzKjO1JXkROFd/s1600/xf+melanie.jpg" /></a>Melanie Masson</strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Who?</strong> Vocally: absurdly noisy belter. Professionally: full-time fairy. Visually: Nicola Roberts’ reflection in a haunted mirror.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Ideal Theme Week:</strong> Rock Ballads. She’ll obliterate Bonnie Tyler’s back catalogue.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>How will Syco bollocks up her career?</strong> Ill-selected PAs in chavvy nightclubs, album of covers for Mother’s Day, back to being a fairy within a year.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Deserved placing:</strong> 9<sup>th</sup><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Likely placing:</strong> 9<sup>th</sup> – that almighty holler will get pretty old pretty quick.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXFDiFk6E_WZQg7_biIfhRcRUgukgjtOT35HjCYHBjUc8wQ4Pxf33vyZRhQeDYEpFywYIMq5KetsUg2e36oLjKEJsm7wCMFBI7RyC8pO6-Vv3DO7GItcIJv8UaDgR8uNxSdkaY/s1600/xf+carolynne.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" mea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXFDiFk6E_WZQg7_biIfhRcRUgukgjtOT35HjCYHBjUc8wQ4Pxf33vyZRhQeDYEpFywYIMq5KetsUg2e36oLjKEJsm7wCMFBI7RyC8pO6-Vv3DO7GItcIJv8UaDgR8uNxSdkaY/s1600/xf+carolynne.jpg" /></a>Carolynne Poole</strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Who?</strong> <em>Fame Academy</em> finalist, but for <em>X Factor</em> purposes, she didn’t actually exist prior to last year’s Judges Houses. Very, very good. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Ideal Theme Week:</strong> Shakira. No, wait, come back. Her <em>Underneath Your Clothes</em> back on <em>Fame Academy</em> was rather special indeed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>How will Syco bollocks up her career?</strong> No promotion beyond a performance <em>Loose Women</em>, on which she’ll eventually become a panellist.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Deserved placing:</strong> 1<sup>st</sup> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Likely placing:</strong> 3<sup>rd</sup>, if she’s lucky. There’s a touch of the Ruth Lorenzos about this one...</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCexh2Rhy-3e_BmnJMDCxHd7fzGOyS1m_w5DfXjJhqaqfNJocrngsGjr5Zn8sTUkvqxjeWPKwyU9J3rsqGtA2qgAZfIJz5-QdULHJWgTcTxp-LIx8w5WT-9w6CiKE5G8zMKHUX/s1600/xf+lucy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" mea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCexh2Rhy-3e_BmnJMDCxHd7fzGOyS1m_w5DfXjJhqaqfNJocrngsGjr5Zn8sTUkvqxjeWPKwyU9J3rsqGtA2qgAZfIJz5-QdULHJWgTcTxp-LIx8w5WT-9w6CiKE5G8zMKHUX/s1600/xf+lucy.jpg" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Lucy Spraggan</strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Who?</strong> One-trick Victoria-Wood-a-like, who’d have been far better suited to <em>Britain’s Got Talent</em>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Ideal Theme Week:</strong> Self-Penned, Quasi-Touching-But-Mainly-Comedic Acousti-Wank Week.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>How will Syco bollocks up their career?</strong> They won’t have a clue how to market her. In fairness, would <em>anyone</em> have a clue how to market her?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Deserved placing:</strong> 8<sup>th</sup> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Likely placing:</strong> 6<sup>th</sup> – it’ll be interesting to see how the public cope with hearing the same near-parody effect applied to every track, week in, week out.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwuqGRQWFd-OaaF4MT9gm-Q3wr8WE2TOQmVAgHa48SFqhvV6lJi-GlgrmaHa0Ba-hQRhH_rYA1coj6SdkaMuM6LyXG866p1EyBdgMsSzsbg7B9H9MoOIVAet6j46zInSJ_QvQv/s1600/xf+jade.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" mea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwuqGRQWFd-OaaF4MT9gm-Q3wr8WE2TOQmVAgHa48SFqhvV6lJi-GlgrmaHa0Ba-hQRhH_rYA1coj6SdkaMuM6LyXG866p1EyBdgMsSzsbg7B9H9MoOIVAet6j46zInSJ_QvQv/s1600/xf+jade.jpg" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Jade Ellis</strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Who?</strong> Single mum with half a head of hair, and a pleasant, low-key rasp.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Ideal Theme Week:</strong> Britpop Week. Not cos it’d suit her, just cos we’d quite like to see it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>How will Syco bollocks up their career?</strong> An album of dull-as-dishwater REAL JAZZ, as previously tackled by terminal dullard Rebecca Ferguson. Though, in fairness, it’s served her well...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Deserved placing:</strong> 3<sup>rd</sup> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Likely placing:</strong> 10<sup>th</sup> – not a whole lot of screen time + a unique quality = ITV1 VIEWERS DOEZ NOT WANTS.</span></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX9lX5NRQW6U0hmLgrloS1IY8w86zBWC0-McCs9I5fwzqDzAEJyddAtunevKdzYnFf1PeJwfZnOV10XnfBXjng1zRPcxMaSPQ0ds2miyTcGWLhdFp0WEAvXRTftNrX0o_gAIAk/s1600/xf+ella.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" mea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX9lX5NRQW6U0hmLgrloS1IY8w86zBWC0-McCs9I5fwzqDzAEJyddAtunevKdzYnFf1PeJwfZnOV10XnfBXjng1zRPcxMaSPQ0ds2miyTcGWLhdFp0WEAvXRTftNrX0o_gAIAk/s1600/xf+ella.jpg" /></a></span></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Ella Henderson</strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Who?</strong> Likeable belter. In-show quirks include World War II hair, and the fact that she’s 16. The judges may have mentioned that once or twice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Ideal Theme Week:</strong> Soul Classics. Inevitably, the closest <em>X Factor</em> will get is Songs That Have Been Played On American Radio At Some Point.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>How will Syco bollocks up her career?</strong> By shoehorning her into a black frock and an Adele-by-numbers album. See also: Leanne Mitchell. (Y’know, her off <em>The Voice</em>. Look her up.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Deserved placing:</strong> 2<sup>nd</sup> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Likely placing:</strong> 2<sup>nd</sup> – she’s good, but not White-Guy-With-Guitar good.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv0G0TO5sJldMoULO_ACgWpt-JBjHSQUppdytsCpwWX3ZWluVBI9vNxpp_YkAJK-mZz8uet3h6PeljznVRwsaOzdL-qzVePEX2ttnvS29cQ14SiMTVCwmByD_jy_YZCkMmcBzV/s1600/xf+gmd3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" mea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv0G0TO5sJldMoULO_ACgWpt-JBjHSQUppdytsCpwWX3ZWluVBI9vNxpp_YkAJK-mZz8uet3h6PeljznVRwsaOzdL-qzVePEX2ttnvS29cQ14SiMTVCwmByD_jy_YZCkMmcBzV/s1600/xf+gmd3.jpg" /></a>GMD3</strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Who?</strong> Horrendous, 1D-lite trio who claim to be all about the harmonies, yet sound like a dozen battery hens being ironed in unison. Fun fact: managed by Global Radio. Fixed? <em>The X Factor</em>?!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Ideal Theme Week: One Direction. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>How will Syco bollocks up their career?</strong> By accidentally turning up their mics at <em>T4 On The Beach</em>, thus showing the world that a band full of Louis Tomlinsons is not a good idea.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Deserved placing:</strong> 11<sup>th</sup> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Likely placing:</strong> 8<sup>th</sup> – piggybacking on The Wanted’s fanbase can only get you so far.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgltczYieeeRTzjQn1NN2FJrO7D-Mk4Hj3slpxandMeitlqLPdxUnHRG8owN20i3EeCfl3gsfjF9An6o_siFZGcwgU0E4mKjhiueaz7qC_p9gxtjxtZNlSXmEkOsB_9P8qgdtdj/s1600/xf+union+j.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" mea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgltczYieeeRTzjQn1NN2FJrO7D-Mk4Hj3slpxandMeitlqLPdxUnHRG8owN20i3EeCfl3gsfjF9An6o_siFZGcwgU0E4mKjhiueaz7qC_p9gxtjxtZNlSXmEkOsB_9P8qgdtdj/s1600/xf+union+j.jpg" /></a>Union J</strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Who?</strong> Horrendous, 1D-lite quartet, who represent the Frankenbands this year thanks to a fourth member squished in at the last second. Better than GMD3.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Ideal Theme Week:</strong> One Direction.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>How will Syco bollocks up their career?</strong> It’ll be an intentional sabotage so as not to detract from One Direction. Or GMD3, whose uber-management will be having a quiet word with Syco.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Deserved placing:</strong> 10<sup>th</sup> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Likely placing:</strong> 4<sup>th</sup>, following the moment Louis gives up the ghost and just hands them <em>You Raise Me Up</em>.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSiexxwRYOA6AfG3xYv-mUmPdPksyBZUFY6FqjRxaBrz7eRApg7APM-8Ec7cP3W9GNPwNPpGv3vefhrYbcismdjugDnUsNZ96urGnEQ8xJUdVk-4LVmBNTIkDUdSJSQCxoNVki/s1600/xf+mk1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" mea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSiexxwRYOA6AfG3xYv-mUmPdPksyBZUFY6FqjRxaBrz7eRApg7APM-8Ec7cP3W9GNPwNPpGv3vefhrYbcismdjugDnUsNZ96urGnEQ8xJUdVk-4LVmBNTIkDUdSJSQCxoNVki/s1600/xf+mk1.jpg" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>MK1</strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Who?</strong> Boy-girl rap duo who brutally turfed out their founding member during their audition, then sabotaged the brilliantly-named Lightbulb Thieves at Boot Camp. Utterly ruthless.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Ideal Theme Week:</strong> Black Eyed Peas. Or, y’know, Love City Groove.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>How will Syco bollocks up their career?</strong> Completely unaware of how to handle anyone who isn’t a throwaway boyband, Syco will force Labrinth to lay down one track with MK1, before forgetting about them altogether. <em>Celebrity Big Brother</em> for the white girl.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Deserved placing:</strong> 8<sup>th</sup> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Likely placing:</strong> 11<sup>th</sup> – that new-fangled rap music? On ITV? Oh goodness, no.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-G1m36IoFpvz086r52osTERFv-_F0bEBc-JAmDRUbaJGOf1FnY6zo7ebHgsxvzdvp8DHtEsrZYx1HBPKh1EilJ2xtY_9wUF9an38Zlf8OqlUjZdKhZZBs_tUGZH5hZoJxsE2g/s1600/xf+jahmene.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" mea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-G1m36IoFpvz086r52osTERFv-_F0bEBc-JAmDRUbaJGOf1FnY6zo7ebHgsxvzdvp8DHtEsrZYx1HBPKh1EilJ2xtY_9wUF9an38Zlf8OqlUjZdKhZZBs_tUGZH5hZoJxsE2g/s1600/xf+jahmene.jpg" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Jahmene Douglas</strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Who?</strong> Quite literally, Leighton from <em>Trollied</em>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Ideal Theme Week:</strong> Anything prior to 1970. His <em>At Last</em> proved it nicely. His <em>Moves Like Jagger</em> proved it horribly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>How will Syco bollocks up his career?</strong> He’ll crumble into a quivering mess before he’s even reached his covers album. It’s unlikely they’ve learned from SuBo, and Jahmene might well be the proof of that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Deserved placing:</strong> 4<sup>th</sup> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Likely placing:</strong> 5<sup>th</sup>, if his nerve and/or bladder holds out that long.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzo3yWENxkw7WPInLEDSQFZCpk3RltZgmwbYpdr0rq_iyUltpvHZvrkjoARxtbDiKbh63aBsDCSQAe_rhQkbimu6jkB660c2z9WbukAdJOcbFt-0X-oTZblRiay4Tg-SuYPpdS/s1600/xf+james.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" mea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzo3yWENxkw7WPInLEDSQFZCpk3RltZgmwbYpdr0rq_iyUltpvHZvrkjoARxtbDiKbh63aBsDCSQAe_rhQkbimu6jkB660c2z9WbukAdJOcbFt-0X-oTZblRiay4Tg-SuYPpdS/s1600/xf+james.jpg" /></a>James Arthur</strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Who?</strong> Misshapen, soulful guitar-wielder with a distinctive voice and Deirdre Barlow’s glasses circa 1989.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Ideal Theme Week:</strong> Sting Week, or Damien Rice Week. He’ll have to make do with Big Band Week, when he rolls his eyes through <em>Mack The Knife</em>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>How will Syco bollocks up his career?</strong> They’ll do their damndest to emulate Ed Sheeran, note for note. James won’t play ball. He’ll cuss them out on Twitter, get dropped, and be back to playing the student union by 2014.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Deserved placing:</strong> 6<sup>th</sup> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Likely placing:</strong> 7<sup>th</sup> – it’ll be self-sabotage to get the hell out of the madhouse.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL-KUePN7npKU0rfNKaRq-0ChWBTGuZmU0fePAkUXOq0k5ohAoKU5qvAKHXNzuXTzBHQusmUBXUHcFHXwMwtfFBIyXfnJrk0qkJ_e5pd3e1w2_13KUw-PVlT_8N1loCJDZs0EW/s1600/xf+rylan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" mea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL-KUePN7npKU0rfNKaRq-0ChWBTGuZmU0fePAkUXOq0k5ohAoKU5qvAKHXNzuXTzBHQusmUBXUHcFHXwMwtfFBIyXfnJrk0qkJ_e5pd3e1w2_13KUw-PVlT_8N1loCJDZs0EW/s1600/xf+rylan.jpg" /></a>Rylan Clark</strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Who?</strong> Loathsome, fame-hungry mincefest. Most punchable contestant since Frankie Cocozza.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Ideal Theme Week:</strong> IBEEFA!! Innit! Oh my God!!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>How will Syco bollocks up his career?</strong> Rylan will do a fine job of that all by himself. Syco can put their feet up and watch him explode in a shower of glitter and complimentary lube.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Deserved placing:</strong> 12<sup>th</sup> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Likely placing:</strong> 12<sup>th</sup> – it’s hard to know what sort of moron Rylan will appeal to.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And let’s not forget that a 13<sup>th</sup> spot is up for grabs in the live shows, meaning one judge will have one extra contestant. Fighting for the dubious honour of not being good enough to get through originally are simpering Scouse weepathon <strong>Christopher Maloney</strong>, passable Essex teen <strong>Amy Mottram</strong>, permatanned heavage-fest <strong>Times Red</strong>, and Matt Cardle 3.0 (or Kye Sones 2.0) <strong>Adam Burridge</strong>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Times Red were by far the most impressive at Judges Houses with their beatbox-and-guitar interpretation of <em>Ain’t No Sunshine/Let’s Get It Started</em>, and far outshone the other three acts Louis selected. But Amy or Christopher will be a far more likely prospect. Not an interesting prospect, admittedly, but a far more likely one all the same.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">For those of you asking about a liveblog this year, it’s probably not too likely – hell, it took a few months to even get a bogstandard blog post up and running again. However, we heartily endorse Jack Seale on the Radio Times, or Stuart Heritage on the Guardian. Or, if you’ve got a real boner for hyperbole, stating the bleeding obvious and general gutter-journalism, there’s always Digital Spy.</span></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Still, no doubt we’ll be tweeting the bejesus out of it. After a horrific start to the series, with scripted conversations and contrived hashtags, it’s at least picked up as it’s progressed. But even then, it’s safe to say <em>The X Factor</em> has finally gone off the boil. Then again, in all fairness, how good can anything that’s not <em>The Great British Bake-Off</em> actually be?</span></div>
alhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01689576441127942633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23881771.post-83158121341981057322012-07-16T16:57:00.002+01:002012-07-16T16:57:23.914+01:00Single Reviews 15/07/12<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh5maKsemfHzCiiyisCIfAmFHEh2ULM4_1Tr81peD233LVEbcFSWDPdLqpBww7jH-2JYkMiM40mDNskJjDG1nZeGidtRl1YPd9m6X15YuT3z0PPBXFmS4jBIiZAORCtZ6urQln/s320/img011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img $ca="true" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh5maKsemfHzCiiyisCIfAmFHEh2ULM4_1Tr81peD233LVEbcFSWDPdLqpBww7jH-2JYkMiM40mDNskJjDG1nZeGidtRl1YPd9m6X15YuT3z0PPBXFmS4jBIiZAORCtZ6urQln/s320/img011.jpg" /></a><strong>Sorry for the sparse updates these days – we’ve been so busy organising the London 2012 Olympic Games, coaching Andy Murray on how to express emotion in public, and masterminding Hard Rock Calling. By the way, Macca and The Boss, apologies for that thing with your mics the other day, but hey: when your phone needs charging, it doesn’t matter what’s plugged in. Anyway, <span style="color: orange;">Single Reviews</span>, anyone?</strong></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiR1x2UxrXaAuzUI2k6aBfseJUzi88jM9Lu3RM2_K90C2VGbSCAeympz73ouSqm8oH-ftObv4o68Bo7VcUqcEBG5NhSw-7KKlYG_ZeIca1ty_GbaOn8Q0rhgCwLcnShbMP0cQO/s1600/kasabian.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img $ca="true" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiR1x2UxrXaAuzUI2k6aBfseJUzi88jM9Lu3RM2_K90C2VGbSCAeympz73ouSqm8oH-ftObv4o68Bo7VcUqcEBG5NhSw-7KKlYG_ZeIca1ty_GbaOn8Q0rhgCwLcnShbMP0cQO/s1600/kasabian.jpg" /></a>First up, it’s <strong>Kasabian</strong>. For a band whose sound is so quickly-identifiable, it’s a surprise – and a good one, at that – to hear something that takes such a bold step away from the norm. <em><strong>Switchblade Smiles</strong></em> proves a much more desk-twiddled affair than previous material, understated and dark, with Tom Meighan’s vocals just sitting above the unremitting white noise. Somehow, it works. Whether it heralds a whole new direction is unknown, but it’s a pleasing departure all the same.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWffMcXmJIuVTpt-VKuNefG_l3j18REIEARq3hkiFtb0q-v86oFQJpHppQvPcfw5JwNszzd44FX1Vk6ihpBCAW5iNanRnUpTJoWgQXHRuq-tBSoh_ReY0alGuaRBhDg5pBrHQn/s1600/danielpowter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img $ca="true" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWffMcXmJIuVTpt-VKuNefG_l3j18REIEARq3hkiFtb0q-v86oFQJpHppQvPcfw5JwNszzd44FX1Vk6ihpBCAW5iNanRnUpTJoWgQXHRuq-tBSoh_ReY0alGuaRBhDg5pBrHQn/s1600/danielpowter.jpg" /></a></div>
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<strong>Daniel Powter</strong> – of all people – makes a comeback this week, with the inoffensive melodies and cheesy strum of <strong><em>Cupid</em></strong>. And yes, it inevitably does rhyme ‘Cupid’ with ‘stupid’. There’s very, very little to say about it. It’s every bit the hackneyed Jason Mraz sound you’d expect, and the few ears that might actually respond positively won’t even hear it, as you’d be hard pushed to find a single radio station that might consider it relevant. *disappears in puff of smoke*</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUl1Q2nmWS9oAfL6t15u4vlkDVbEwF9BjuM4rvpAdq2HukDmLLY18Yb9sUjBYNYrKqNDmLt3BdCXsOfGFxPf1XcyyRqqDw-m9jMT_A-yY6clHGqq_-OwoplcW6RQ6NorcvEGio/s1600/mishab.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img $ca="true" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUl1Q2nmWS9oAfL6t15u4vlkDVbEwF9BjuM4rvpAdq2HukDmLLY18Yb9sUjBYNYrKqNDmLt3BdCXsOfGFxPf1XcyyRqqDw-m9jMT_A-yY6clHGqq_-OwoplcW6RQ6NorcvEGio/s1600/mishab.jpg" /></a><strong><span style="color: red;">Single of the Week</span></strong> is bestowed upon one of the few genuine talents in last year’s <em>X Factor</em>, the refreshing <strong>Misha B</strong>. Her debut release <strong><em>Home Run</em></strong> begins life as a gushy, soul-heavy Jennifer Hudson tribute, but kicks in after mere seconds with a fistful of pure attitude and an electro-dancehall backdrop. No wonder Tulisa turned to underhand tactics to deny Misha of viewer votes – <em>Home Run</em> absolutely tears the diabolical <em>Young</em> to shreds without even breaking a sweat.</div>
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And finally, an act who are about as country-and-western as the UK will allow, and even then, it takes a Gary Barlow/Cheryl Cole rendition to get noticed. Yes, it’s <strong>Lady Antebellum</strong>, who try to hurry things along from <em>Need You Now</em>’s resurgence with the AOR ballad <strong><em>Wanted You More</em></strong>. It’s hardly groundbreaking stuff, but a slightly rockier, larger sound, complete with grand strings and an engaging piano riff bring the whole thing to quite an impressive climax. Who saw <em>that </em>coming?!</div>
<br />alhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01689576441127942633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23881771.post-86392116673875055402012-06-25T11:02:00.003+01:002012-06-25T11:05:00.774+01:00Macy Gray - Covered (429 Records)<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuLGQABLpfnO-8D0dVWD4EdS-0DBkZFeT3XOREdLkgYGPJhNcp3RghXrTcnEDxxktVA1XhYP7hGfqKxLAatuTfPxjzdMV6e4PHzkGLmT66VeDEoxjiOqieVTnP3CMZc67nY7aa/s400/img008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" rca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuLGQABLpfnO-8D0dVWD4EdS-0DBkZFeT3XOREdLkgYGPJhNcp3RghXrTcnEDxxktVA1XhYP7hGfqKxLAatuTfPxjzdMV6e4PHzkGLmT66VeDEoxjiOqieVTnP3CMZc67nY7aa/s320/img008.jpg" width="320" /></a><strong>Rewind 13 years, and it was hard to picture Macy Gray achieving anything less than world domination. The acclaim flowed thick and fast, the sales figures rose quicker than river levels in a UK “drought” period, and her mantelpiece heaved under the weight of many an award.</strong></div>
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But for whatever reason, things petered out for Macy Gray, and pretty quickly. So after a decade of non-starter albums and a ropey stint on <em>Dancing With The Stars</em>, she’s decided to return with what can either be described as a clever move or a desperate gimmick: a covers album.<br /><br />A subdued start via Eurythmics’ <em>Here Comes The Rain Again</em> may not be the huge, audible bang needed to kickstart a record, but it’s a tender, affected and stirring rendition. There’s no overall theme on <em><strong>Covered</strong></em>; merely a selection of tracks given the once-over, and for the most part, successfully.<br /><br />It’s a fairly predictable exercise on Radiohead’s <em>Creep</em>, but in all fairness, there’s little that can be done with Creep without it verging on sacrilege. Similarly, it’s no huge surprise on Metallica’s <em>Nothing Else Matters</em>.</div>
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However, her take on My Chemical Romance’s <em>Teenagers</em> is truly inspired. The melody is adhered to strictly, but a plinky, jazz-lite arrangement almost gives it a bizarre lullaby quality. And the frenetic, quickening race through <em>Maps </em>by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs is brimming with character.<br /><br /><em>I Try</em> makes an appearance in the form of an ill-advised skit, in which the odious Nicole Scherzinger rips the piss out of Alanis Morissette, Shakira and Britney Spears. It’s hard not to wonder whether the latter comes from some <em>X Factor</em>-related sour grapes, but whatever the hell it is, <em>Covered</em> isn’t the place for it.<br /><br />On the subject of <em>I Try</em>, it was a track which, in spite of its successes, proved to be quite the albatross. There were those who identified its classically-brilliant songwriting but didn’t take to the package Gray offered as a performer; and since, there’s been those who have stamped her with the one-hit wonder tag.<br /><br />What <em>Covered </em>does is underline exactly what Gray can do as an artist. These are songs that are (largely) well-known and much-loved, and thus, the only scrutiny to apply to the project is based solely on the choices Macy Gray makes as a vocalist. And while the Marmite quality is still indubitably there, <em>Covered</em> is an album of personality, of intelligent choices, and of tracks which showcase a genuinely unique talent rather nicely indeed.</div>alhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01689576441127942633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23881771.post-78975002504067442442012-06-15T13:54:00.001+01:002012-06-15T13:57:48.426+01:00Single Reviews 17/06/12<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh5maKsemfHzCiiyisCIfAmFHEh2ULM4_1Tr81peD233LVEbcFSWDPdLqpBww7jH-2JYkMiM40mDNskJjDG1nZeGidtRl1YPd9m6X15YuT3z0PPBXFmS4jBIiZAORCtZ6urQln/s320/img011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" pca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh5maKsemfHzCiiyisCIfAmFHEh2ULM4_1Tr81peD233LVEbcFSWDPdLqpBww7jH-2JYkMiM40mDNskJjDG1nZeGidtRl1YPd9m6X15YuT3z0PPBXFmS4jBIiZAORCtZ6urQln/s320/img011.jpg" /></a><strong>Welcome to this week’s <span style="color: orange;">Single Reviews</span>. And completely by accident, it’s a ballad special here on The Sloppy Dog. If this were a late-night radio station, we’d be introducing it as ‘back-to-back love songs’ in a deep, husky voice, inviting you to get squelchy with your significant other until a vulgar ad for 118 Maureen curtly interrupts proceedings.</strong></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZdTmd_c6TmNreetVzGiVaf5R9wv88Ix7j_90SkLPltiileiEEVTTIQQ3-wGor75ZwcwGXPuakINr7hQI7vHZ0QpWd16nsQ2OGMlx7Tsr5do-GBYqbjQqFgZuYay5I9rTHxm0k/s1600/fionaapple.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" pca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZdTmd_c6TmNreetVzGiVaf5R9wv88Ix7j_90SkLPltiileiEEVTTIQQ3-wGor75ZwcwGXPuakINr7hQI7vHZ0QpWd16nsQ2OGMlx7Tsr5do-GBYqbjQqFgZuYay5I9rTHxm0k/s1600/fionaapple.jpg" /></a>We’ll ease you gently into the Single Reviews with <strong>Fiona Apple</strong>, whose comeback starts with the hushed, fluffy <strong><em>Every Single Night</em></strong>. In fact, it’s barely even there. Obviously, this <em>is</em> Fiona Apple – no Dr Luke production or Flo Rida cameos here, but even within the sphere of what she can do, it’s hard not to be perplexed by the melody-lite stillness. And it doesn’t say much about her musical legacy when the first thing that comes to mind is an Officer Barbrady quote.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh73gM3l7hAsOdSJLDHZJqZ-FG67vYUkqjiso93AGrOPZ_PHW8HUDGS1mcr2ex9PXEMawseRdDGoy0AeIoZHq457ND3mgAIgpBSq9ZSSFSyIFT_AYHCfFifnEf3eIElHakxmvNO/s1600/stooshe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" pca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh73gM3l7hAsOdSJLDHZJqZ-FG67vYUkqjiso93AGrOPZ_PHW8HUDGS1mcr2ex9PXEMawseRdDGoy0AeIoZHq457ND3mgAIgpBSq9ZSSFSyIFT_AYHCfFifnEf3eIElHakxmvNO/s1600/stooshe.jpg" /></a><strong>Stooshe</strong>’s second single (or fourth, depending on your perspective) comes in the form of <em><strong>Black Heart</strong></em>, a Shaznay Lewis-penned ballad with Motown leanings and huge vocals. After the noise made by <em>Love Me</em>, it does well to show a different side to them, but ultimately, isn’t quite up to the same quality. Still, in a world where The Saturdays are the UK’s biggest girlband, a group like Stooshe are a very welcome proposition.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgAdRBnX4gxDA6V2lNTcvDG8Oy49Jy9TCXfPKlnzl1euq_3PPVMPGdDW7_G-p6-3Ppo3CDa4KblN0ukcx3fJMldbNWB9RxCC41u4Lauq2MszxduvNwF5VTT24kOBK1uQoo9rm7/s1600/ONEDIRECTION.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" pca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgAdRBnX4gxDA6V2lNTcvDG8Oy49Jy9TCXfPKlnzl1euq_3PPVMPGdDW7_G-p6-3Ppo3CDa4KblN0ukcx3fJMldbNWB9RxCC41u4Lauq2MszxduvNwF5VTT24kOBK1uQoo9rm7/s1600/ONEDIRECTION.jpg" /></a>From an exciting, ballsy pop group to... well, <strong>One Direction</strong>. Aside from <em>What Makes You Beautiful</em>, you’d be hard pushed to recall anything else they’ve done. Unless you’re a rabid 14-year-old Twitter-hijacker, that is. They’ve not done a bad job on <em><strong>More Than This</strong></em>, a melodious ballad precision-engineered to induce tears in females under a certain age. And hey, releasing a slowie gives them an excuse to not dance. Y’know, aside from the fact they CAN’T dance.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7S2QaMIh3uTJPlsxdH9DrlkwHFhTTpQ8AvbYaQm-E6DU3ts2qWVJhiSr6HvEEg20NE6i_Ayo-YHcvQQBCo4ZXzjU1Kx9_LBTMpuv6T0v3yaPIUBJOoyx9Rx5uJDAhZBGllOJ5/s1600/futureheads.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" pca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7S2QaMIh3uTJPlsxdH9DrlkwHFhTTpQ8AvbYaQm-E6DU3ts2qWVJhiSr6HvEEg20NE6i_Ayo-YHcvQQBCo4ZXzjU1Kx9_LBTMpuv6T0v3yaPIUBJOoyx9Rx5uJDAhZBGllOJ5/s1600/futureheads.jpg" /></a>And off the back of that, it’s ironic that an indie band can do vocal harmonies better than a boyband. Case in point: <strong>The Futureheads</strong>, with their frankly peculiar acapella single <strong><em>Beeswing</em></strong>. Save for the occasional finger-snap, it’s nothing but voices, as is the case with the entire <em>Rant </em>album. It’s a strange move, but <em>Beeswing</em> is blokey, full of character, and unashamedly Geordie. And bravery deserves rewarding, so it’s a well-warranted <strong><span style="color: red;">Single of the Week</span></strong>. </div>
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<br /></div>alhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01689576441127942633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23881771.post-35863913286180529232012-06-02T12:08:00.000+01:002012-06-02T12:15:48.911+01:00Honking Box Preview: The Voice Final<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTshlAEldulpcsXs92sfw2yd0e5REu-Rnx5bdObunTxrG3opUYrB_Qs2UfjZusVlolLaFP7w_bSs3OxQHBDVQ9y8NnR_ms3o5n5ygiUNuYxBrGSGd0P-m-5fX4-g8ir5OLCHsb/s1600/honking.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="192" rba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTshlAEldulpcsXs92sfw2yd0e5REu-Rnx5bdObunTxrG3opUYrB_Qs2UfjZusVlolLaFP7w_bSs3OxQHBDVQ9y8NnR_ms3o5n5ygiUNuYxBrGSGd0P-m-5fX4-g8ir5OLCHsb/s320/honking.jpg" width="320" /></a><strong>Amidst all the fanfare about the Diamond Jubilee, the onslaught of the Olympics, and the impending European Championships, the fast-approaching final of the inaugural series of <em>The Voice UK</em> hasn’t quite grabbed the attention of the nation. But is it that it’s gotten lost amongst the numerous other events, or has the show itself gotten it all wrong?</strong></div>
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When the series was first announced, our main worry was that the BBC wouldn’t give it the budget or the hype that it required, following in the limping footsteps of <em>So You Think You Can Dance</em>. But, in fairness to Auntie, the show has been gifted a healthy, impact-making budget, and a real sense of event.</div>
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So where exactly has it failed? Or has it even failed at all? Of course, detractors (and rabid Will Young devotees) are quick to call it a flop, and the ratings do give that theory some credibility, but it’s certainly got the nation talking, and numbers-wise, has hardly plummeted in a pattern emulating <em>Celebrity Wrestling</em>.</div>
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The main problem seems to be that the series is back-to-front – it begins with the most exciting component, and goes downhill from there. The blind auditions caught everyone’s attention, and wiped the floor with <em>Britain’s Got Talent</em>. The battle rounds were pretty clumsy, but still made for an interesting twist. Then we come to the live shows, and it’s pretty much <em>Fame Academy</em> all over again.</div>
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Quite how we’d do Series Two differently, it’s hard to say. Where it’d take all of 20 minutes to come up with a lengthy and detailed list of how to improve <em>The X Factor</em>, it’s difficult to determine exactly what needs to happen to <em>The Voice</em>. It’s entertaining, it’s found some great talent, but it’s lacking that certain something you can’t quite put your finger on... that ‘x’ factor. Cripes.</div>
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Back to Series One, and the final is looking fairly interesting, in that at least 75% of the acts have a decent shot at an actual music career. It’s a shame the exceptional Ruth Brown fell at the last hurdle, but it was hard to overlook her shambolic version of Emeli Sande’s <em>Next To Me</em> the previous week, in which she contorted her face into that of Pumbaa whilst taking a massive dump all over the concept of enunciation.</div>
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So, who are we left with?</div>
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<strong>Tyler James</strong></div>
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Heading up Team Will – and far more deserving of a place in the final than Jaz Ellington, whose backdrop of his wife’s 15-foot-high face was irrevocably tasteless – is nu-blues proto-crooner Tyler. The most we know about Tyler as far as the show’s official storyline goes is that he was mates with Amy Winehouse. They’ve failed to mention he supported her on tour numerous times, and has a selection of Top 40 hits under his belt. But he’s got something fairly special, and <em>The Voice</em> might just give him the break he very nearly had six years ago.</div>
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Likely position: <strong>2nd<br /><br /></strong><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCoFYApioinDGR0GdLWceiXkaTK6i_BVIe4kx918ljJ6wfd92ROyU4Ji8oh8s_u-T44Cq_WVDZrW35L3hC0nTSdD6uj-Hux73Sm3CORb5Ut4ylHuk8PioxYB2VpNLeGq8B23tr/s1600/leanne.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; height: 193px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; width: 212px;"><img border="0" rba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCoFYApioinDGR0GdLWceiXkaTK6i_BVIe4kx918ljJ6wfd92ROyU4Ji8oh8s_u-T44Cq_WVDZrW35L3hC0nTSdD6uj-Hux73Sm3CORb5Ut4ylHuk8PioxYB2VpNLeGq8B23tr/s1600/leanne.jpg" /></a><strong>Leanne Mitchell</strong></div>
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Team Tom was never the most contemporary line-up, a point proven by its last hope, Leanne. She boasts some impressive pipes, but everything about her screams cruise ship. The best she can hope for beyond <em>The Voice</em> is a half-decent stage career – a touring production of Blood Brothers, perhaps? Or, more realistically, the Fairy Godmother in Cinderella at the Stockport Garrick opposite Gary Lucy and Siren from <em>Gladiators</em>?</div>
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Likely position: <strong>4th </strong></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB_fYK32kBWeaHd58DSK84sMeJsxbvwLtiDBHY-dtD6WztQFp39F0vbNvhLh4OMgclKnze6vPzXMOXDu0U0pW6L3CTMrPi2ZYQR20p-cs4gpcbOm6VhK1cIB8kFHiLGugtwTWk/s1600/vince.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" rba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB_fYK32kBWeaHd58DSK84sMeJsxbvwLtiDBHY-dtD6WztQFp39F0vbNvhLh4OMgclKnze6vPzXMOXDu0U0pW6L3CTMrPi2ZYQR20p-cs4gpcbOm6VhK1cIB8kFHiLGugtwTWk/s1600/vince.jpg" /></a><strong>Vince Kidd</strong></div>
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...Or, to go by the name on his birth certificate, the little one from Futureproof. But Vince has been proof of just how stifling <em>The X Factor</em> is, unleashing an outlandish, gritty, shamelessly camp musician. A good representative for Team Jessie, Vince probably offers the most unique qualities of all the remaining acts, but that could well go against him. Come on – do you really see Middle England voting for the peroxide dwarf in the wife-beater and the vinyl leggings?</div>
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Likely position: <strong>3rd </strong></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihscjOWI9sXHrfHQh3LwZZsz5pR4_7oxc2LDOMv0VjIJNBmGBbmTVOcFma_pAyCTly52rsHQCGYjo1LBXBAkEF9JII3ZaAW6BElUMSkO0KaDBZJY-EHnVacDzEm2geJ0fAKg_K/s1600/bo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" rba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihscjOWI9sXHrfHQh3LwZZsz5pR4_7oxc2LDOMv0VjIJNBmGBbmTVOcFma_pAyCTly52rsHQCGYjo1LBXBAkEF9JII3ZaAW6BElUMSkO0KaDBZJY-EHnVacDzEm2geJ0fAKg_K/s1600/bo.jpg" /></a><strong>Bo Bruce</strong></div>
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Maybe Danny O’Donoghue had the right idea filling his team with interchangeable pubescent white boys – it only served to highlight the brilliance of Bo Bruce. She’s been likened to Diana Vickers, Dolores O’Riordan and Alex Parks – all of which are fair comparisons – but there’s a real sense of quiet artistry about Baroness Bo that should see her crowned the winner, and a deserving one at that.</div>
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Likely position: <strong>1st</strong></div>
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But where Bo will go from here is the real acid test. Will she rush-release a clunky covers album to cash in on the series, or take her time to cultivate her sound until the public have forgotten her altogether? Presumably, they can’t get it as catastrophically wrong as Syco manage to get it, year in, year out, but it’s worth noting that, as far as the public are concerned, the mark of a talent show’s success isn’t ratings or column inches. It’s talent. And if <em>The Voice</em> can handle that talent correctly, it should set itself up pretty nicely for Series Two, and beyond.</div>
<br />alhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01689576441127942633noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23881771.post-56536627809863773712012-05-28T23:03:00.001+01:002012-05-28T23:05:18.528+01:00Single Reviews 27/05/12<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh5maKsemfHzCiiyisCIfAmFHEh2ULM4_1Tr81peD233LVEbcFSWDPdLqpBww7jH-2JYkMiM40mDNskJjDG1nZeGidtRl1YPd9m6X15YuT3z0PPBXFmS4jBIiZAORCtZ6urQln/s320/img011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" qba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh5maKsemfHzCiiyisCIfAmFHEh2ULM4_1Tr81peD233LVEbcFSWDPdLqpBww7jH-2JYkMiM40mDNskJjDG1nZeGidtRl1YPd9m6X15YuT3z0PPBXFmS4jBIiZAORCtZ6urQln/s320/img011.jpg" /></a><strong>Yikes. We’re a bit late with the ol’ <span style="color: orange;">Single Reviews</span> this week, eh? Nice weather plus birthday celebrations equal slight tardiness. That’s a hint to send well-wishes, by the way. Under scrutiny this time around are a piss-weak ‘we’re-not-a-boyband’ boyband, some 90s bastions of brilliance, the return of an art-rock popstrel, and the rare sight of an <em>X Factor</em> winner with a record deal. So, without any further ado...</strong><br />
<strong><br /></strong><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhCJs0o2RrbvYPjmmVP4bgvgkTDP-t51NUr9J2oLToZrFqag-6R3xLJHZmd9lcrO0Evg2qw9ez3oo43ZMoigAs_FgDIgjd6S5FjOFYnl1g4abHLN4rRzKMIg08hiBFKlLBFgxQ/s1600/ladyhawke.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" qba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhCJs0o2RrbvYPjmmVP4bgvgkTDP-t51NUr9J2oLToZrFqag-6R3xLJHZmd9lcrO0Evg2qw9ez3oo43ZMoigAs_FgDIgjd6S5FjOFYnl1g4abHLN4rRzKMIg08hiBFKlLBFgxQ/s1600/ladyhawke.jpg" /></a><strong>Ladyhawke </strong>starts us off this week with <strong><em>Sunday Drive</em></strong>, which somehow outclasses even <em>My Delirium</em> as her best offering yet. A heady fusion of cheeky piano and dizzying electro-swizz makes the perfect backdrop for a swooning, covertly-striking, melancholic chorus. The greatest thing to come out of New Zealand since... since... <em>The Almighty Johnsons</em>? Nice backdrops for Hollywood films? Bloody Kimbra? Actually, it’s not all that complimentary, is it?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMAp5RF9lXH65wXK4vMxNJAW1p4F1AHue5fegfEXup4NgpS_55TDLHJPawQKd_cC1suSeje4OEF2o0JPCXnDA0FYyqgEUrlQ3pRIhWSWlWDD521EcAoD7KBk3CTF2kWzxEF4qx/s1600/lawson.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" qba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMAp5RF9lXH65wXK4vMxNJAW1p4F1AHue5fegfEXup4NgpS_55TDLHJPawQKd_cC1suSeje4OEF2o0JPCXnDA0FYyqgEUrlQ3pRIhWSWlWDD521EcAoD7KBk3CTF2kWzxEF4qx/s1600/lawson.jpg" /></a>Meet <strong>Lawson</strong>, another dreary British boyband who think a few instruments conjures up immediate credibility. Granted, they’ve got more substance than One Direction or The Wanted, but <em><strong>When She Was Mine</strong></em> is a miserable mid-tempo marshland, beyond bland and stuffed to bursting point with tired ideas. Trying to do what BBMak did better 12 years ago probably isn’t the greatest starting point for a career.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPehTVzJDUDBtKC13_qW4W1tgxP03avccZUG-6wxfyvFR2W-bB4y5a6kAL-BFT76eLnhHDfgruCT8PpXpA2gn4RZX8-EmFLpKS8w_KfAD1BD8z0-HGUAMEeif3Mmil_pGu98Vc/s1600/st+etiene.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" qba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPehTVzJDUDBtKC13_qW4W1tgxP03avccZUG-6wxfyvFR2W-bB4y5a6kAL-BFT76eLnhHDfgruCT8PpXpA2gn4RZX8-EmFLpKS8w_KfAD1BD8z0-HGUAMEeif3Mmil_pGu98Vc/s1600/st+etiene.jpg" /></a><strong><span style="color: red;">Single of the Week</span></strong> is proudly awarded to a band whose output never seems to falter in quality. After a good couple of decades in the proverbial biz, <strong>Saint Etienne</strong> have got their craft of sophisticated synth-pop down to a fine art, with <em><strong>I’ve Got Your Music</strong></em> the perfect example of infectious but understated house-lite indie we’ve come to love them for. Whose head to we have to put a gun to for this sort of thing to make it onto a playlist?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF-u840ao_jcH7yE51Ysx2gTmRjOPaSG-gqOmkP5mAPMwypG50RTGvmezGLxTi5Qebtb4-IZfyeanuXQWZN7aiKwbq0nVFFvDArOQqAVQd8IG7jAgeCRttKAU21Y9v-2LBbzrf/s1600/alexandra.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" qba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF-u840ao_jcH7yE51Ysx2gTmRjOPaSG-gqOmkP5mAPMwypG50RTGvmezGLxTi5Qebtb4-IZfyeanuXQWZN7aiKwbq0nVFFvDArOQqAVQd8IG7jAgeCRttKAU21Y9v-2LBbzrf/s1600/alexandra.jpg" /></a>And finally, the foray into strident Euro-noise continues for <strong>Alexandra Burke</strong>, and it actually suits her rather well. <em><strong>Let It Go</strong></em> has a marginally more recognisable appeal than previous single <em>Elephant</em>, but overall it’s fairly unimaginative stuff, and has to rely pretty heavily on the personality Alexandra injects liberally into proceedings. Christ knows what dreary results we’d get if Leona Lewis had to tackle the same problem.</div>
<br />alhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01689576441127942633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23881771.post-46766124359020627882012-05-18T13:22:00.004+01:002012-05-18T13:27:00.704+01:00Single Reviews 20/05/12<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh5maKsemfHzCiiyisCIfAmFHEh2ULM4_1Tr81peD233LVEbcFSWDPdLqpBww7jH-2JYkMiM40mDNskJjDG1nZeGidtRl1YPd9m6X15YuT3z0PPBXFmS4jBIiZAORCtZ6urQln/s320/img011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" kba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh5maKsemfHzCiiyisCIfAmFHEh2ULM4_1Tr81peD233LVEbcFSWDPdLqpBww7jH-2JYkMiM40mDNskJjDG1nZeGidtRl1YPd9m6X15YuT3z0PPBXFmS4jBIiZAORCtZ6urQln/s320/img011.jpg" /></a></div>
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<strong>Oh, it’s you. Sorry, didn’t see you there – we were busy toasting marshmallows on the Olympic Flame. Well, what else is it good for? On the <span style="color: orange;">Single Reviews</span> this week, a good band, a crap band, a rather annoying pop diva doing something quite good, and a former Ash member doing something a bit rubbish. It’s all very unsettling...</strong></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8XFztg9-5AwZWT27Z0bnKmh2V5_9K4489oSdwZY3MN9YQ1ahUgLm1lsDNJKti_njmhNJs4tkCkuZRgDJ2G8pfscg3s8QtlZYMWDj02_SHis678hBD1KFG-kJRkrq13DLCN10E/s1600/sylvertongue.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" kba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8XFztg9-5AwZWT27Z0bnKmh2V5_9K4489oSdwZY3MN9YQ1ahUgLm1lsDNJKti_njmhNJs4tkCkuZRgDJ2G8pfscg3s8QtlZYMWDj02_SHis678hBD1KFG-kJRkrq13DLCN10E/s1600/sylvertongue.jpg" /></a>The amazing Charlotte Hatherley unveils her peculiar electro sort-of-alter-ego <strong>Sylver Tongue</strong>, although anyone hoping for another <em>Bastardo</em> will be truly gutted. The busy, fieldmousey keyboard squeaks of <strong><em>Creatures</em></strong> carries precisely no melody – or perhaps it’s about 54 different melodies, we’re not sure yet – and overall makes for a seriously difficult listen. We want to love it, really. But we’ll have to concede this one’s passed us by.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRKufDPrx2TIOOaiH7BnR93SF6Asto8pTrkaR-i69McNiNAehCxUR5kWxLg7kYmibLRAYINVlXyo7c67r9znJZeXPkhj6fzVAHIR3h_8DFhCRZjke2Zrct1Up82yRipwORLWCa/s1600/spector.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" kba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRKufDPrx2TIOOaiH7BnR93SF6Asto8pTrkaR-i69McNiNAehCxUR5kWxLg7kYmibLRAYINVlXyo7c67r9znJZeXPkhj6fzVAHIR3h_8DFhCRZjke2Zrct1Up82yRipwORLWCa/s1600/spector.jpg" /></a><strong><span style="color: red;">Single of the Week</span></strong> is brought to us by London five-piece <strong>Spector</strong>, with the dynamic stadium indie of <strong><em>Celestine</em></strong>. It boasts immediate wallop, but from there, goes via bouncing guitars and dirty breakdowns to a soaring climax. Sounding rather like Editors after a few too many Red Bulls, and yet still boasting a vibe all their own, there’s a good chance their upcoming debut album could well be a 2012 highlight.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ76WD-wVbq7qKOQhRdP4NxEmobQo7QXA9jjA_UUplgm0l7_S4h9jOSy_Yaa7SsiTraIiPJmblZq7J8pXqSWxlgoWqK1zoxm4H8GfBflMefhKd3tyft3f67nyj66VS1AZbwclL/s1600/j-lo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" kba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ76WD-wVbq7qKOQhRdP4NxEmobQo7QXA9jjA_UUplgm0l7_S4h9jOSy_Yaa7SsiTraIiPJmblZq7J8pXqSWxlgoWqK1zoxm4H8GfBflMefhKd3tyft3f67nyj66VS1AZbwclL/s1600/j-lo.jpg" /></a><strong>Jennifer Lopez</strong>, of all people, pulls the proverbial rabbit out of the proverbial hat with the surprisingly impressive <strong><em>Dance Again</em></strong>. Alas, it gives yet a further platform to serial collaborator and all-round rap-bore Pitbull, and the whole thing is Red One by numbers, but its tune is strangely spellbinding, and makes for a high point in a career of wishy-washy, overtwiddled R&B. Reluctant kudos awarded.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqj6GLNJQwLAbR7EfjKOF6fKhCsYMKVyleCkfVL-dg5rzI15Q7SFa_FRM-S8WEn2Hw65BDU3IeOikebDf8IELRbe_X8LVp9wCEHjRlPfMTr_XqEoivu58dnoYugEhz8w4m_56e/s1600/thewanted.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" kba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqj6GLNJQwLAbR7EfjKOF6fKhCsYMKVyleCkfVL-dg5rzI15Q7SFa_FRM-S8WEn2Hw65BDU3IeOikebDf8IELRbe_X8LVp9wCEHjRlPfMTr_XqEoivu58dnoYugEhz8w4m_56e/s1600/thewanted.jpg" /></a>And finally, <strong>The Wanted</strong> kindly provide yet another example of how not to do pop, with <strong><em>Chasing the Sun</em></strong> every bit as predictable and forgettable as everything they’ve done post-<em>All Time Low</em>, all off-the-shelf house beats and a chorus of ohs and whoas. And let’s also address the video, in which they play vampires. Wow! That’s such a bold move! As daring and as original as the song itself. Now do fuck off, please.</div>
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<br /></div>alhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01689576441127942633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23881771.post-85179116459043966822012-05-11T15:13:00.001+01:002012-05-18T13:27:54.397+01:00Single Reviews 13/05/12<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh5maKsemfHzCiiyisCIfAmFHEh2ULM4_1Tr81peD233LVEbcFSWDPdLqpBww7jH-2JYkMiM40mDNskJjDG1nZeGidtRl1YPd9m6X15YuT3z0PPBXFmS4jBIiZAORCtZ6urQln/s400/img011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" dba="true" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh5maKsemfHzCiiyisCIfAmFHEh2ULM4_1Tr81peD233LVEbcFSWDPdLqpBww7jH-2JYkMiM40mDNskJjDG1nZeGidtRl1YPd9m6X15YuT3z0PPBXFmS4jBIiZAORCtZ6urQln/s320/img011.jpg" width="320" /></a><strong>Welcome to the <span style="color: orange;">Single Reviews</span>, on a week Great Britain learns it has a Prime Minister who doesn’t even know what ‘LOL’ means. Hell, that’s even worse than the fact he was schmoozing Rebekah Brooks in the first place. As a nation, we are truly doomed. Still, if you’re looking for recommendations for your apocalypse playlist, then read on, as we can offer a fine selection...</strong></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3v16KNtXBSc9KM-Pzleh98mSLhj7jiurzbu5XelY_FABVMrHy33cvF-IUAul4VUxjU3_yTuR8ZqfGaRGeJ2fD5-xsY7eG89IQViYoyQ5oYbhqS_4exIwOCLGJnL64QpyDLgEE/s1600/dbanj.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" dba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3v16KNtXBSc9KM-Pzleh98mSLhj7jiurzbu5XelY_FABVMrHy33cvF-IUAul4VUxjU3_yTuR8ZqfGaRGeJ2fD5-xsY7eG89IQViYoyQ5oYbhqS_4exIwOCLGJnL64QpyDLgEE/s1600/dbanj.jpg" /></a>Nigerian rapper <strong>D’Banj </strong>is up first, with the hypnotic thump of <em><strong>Oliver Twist</strong></em>. Nonsense lyrics about arse-shaking and listing celebrity ladies he’d like to bone may not be the most appealing aspect of a song, but it’s hard to resist the mesmerising tribal beats and brilliantly daft rapalong chorus. Mix that with the lucrative Kanye West stamp of approval, and it’s safe to say we’ll be hearing <em>Oliver Twist</em> for some time to come.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJpLlsR1-6oufnwDCb9g-V-yS8CkhGJsq84WnyxQooN7KGvzXgJKuhhPIbj3U21uRvG1eSLkWWvaPzqeU_AHrFtaR21iqa4w5oscNSA7Sl3pzVWxp3_rY5N9aQ0cV6MO-h9W4M/s1600/bloodredshoes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" dba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJpLlsR1-6oufnwDCb9g-V-yS8CkhGJsq84WnyxQooN7KGvzXgJKuhhPIbj3U21uRvG1eSLkWWvaPzqeU_AHrFtaR21iqa4w5oscNSA7Sl3pzVWxp3_rY5N9aQ0cV6MO-h9W4M/s1600/bloodredshoes.jpg" /></a><strong>Blood Red Shoes</strong> score a <strong><span style="color: red;">Single of the Week</span></strong> with the robust rhythms and brooding licks of <strong><em>Lost Kids</em></strong>. For the most part, it’s a solid, if fairly standard, indie-rock effort, but the intense, growing chorus brings <em>Lost Kids</em> into its own: a sharp-edged, attitude-laden anthem from one of Brighton’s brightest. If rock has any fighting chance of returning to the charts, it bodes well that it’s got Blood Red Shoes in its corner.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNfP-xIlvBAkQy6sGEBIinIZaKJ3pB2pegrElRS4Nn93YnRpku3OejkZRV8bwPcDk8UdBf7fgU3XXiP1j4EJZygXHvWP1TXiRu-QfQY-JsVPtylq6ssRoeATUQ3NImujrvrvb8/s1600/neonhitch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" dba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNfP-xIlvBAkQy6sGEBIinIZaKJ3pB2pegrElRS4Nn93YnRpku3OejkZRV8bwPcDk8UdBf7fgU3XXiP1j4EJZygXHvWP1TXiRu-QfQY-JsVPtylq6ssRoeATUQ3NImujrvrvb8/s1600/neonhitch.jpg" /></a><strong>Neon Hitch</strong> drops a good few storeys in our estimations with the grotesque <em><strong>F U Betta</strong></em>, a messy, runny McHouse number with precisely zero relevance. She’s clearly going for some sort of legs-akimbo Rihanna skankfest, and she does achieve it on the most base of levels, but any vague credibility she may have once carried is lost amongst the overprogrammed beats, AutoTune hell and presumably whiffy quarter-leotards.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6tOhqhUEa7LjYBT6nW1UIN3wf8ORKIRZGggReq3VIwp5kz4Z8qpp3QPOQc8NNp_EjqP8uuO9gGicP1k0TmmwUTZAq3ZX9S45ANaqsw1Ci84OmtuCtS_tdCZZ-1fIeec-uRNTC/s1600/saturdays.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" dba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6tOhqhUEa7LjYBT6nW1UIN3wf8ORKIRZGggReq3VIwp5kz4Z8qpp3QPOQc8NNp_EjqP8uuO9gGicP1k0TmmwUTZAq3ZX9S45ANaqsw1Ci84OmtuCtS_tdCZZ-1fIeec-uRNTC/s1600/saturdays.jpg" /></a>And finally, <strong>The Saturdays</strong> miraculously turn out a good song in what’s become one of the most dull, personality-free girlband catalogues in music history. It’s not quite on a par with <em>Up</em>, but <strong><em>30 Days</em></strong> is playful, danceable, entertaining and a step away from the faceless, forgettable squelch that’s made up most of their recent output. (We’ll overlook the atrocious video shot in a motorway diner on a budget of £150.)</div>alhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01689576441127942633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23881771.post-31683071751402167232012-05-04T14:05:00.001+01:002012-05-04T14:05:09.901+01:00Single Reviews 06/05/12<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<strong>Some things you can always rely on, can’t you? Some shitty song by something called Carly Rae Jepsen top of the Singles Chart again; Louis Walsh returning to <em>The X Factor</em> again; the London Mayoral frontrunners a two-man shitshower again. But hey, just as well you have those things to rely on, cos the <span style="color: #e69138;">Single Reviews</span> have been rather intermittent of late. At least we managed it this week...</strong></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFHXjwFtsjy8tZPaNaRrX06epVyZGaybfML-l64GB2Ar60o8oldbY5Ab0uCIn4v6SxbXieKJuNd4hms3KKucxydrF6p54QW3-aG8RYYyCrrZXqG3ED9pRRphZwmu9Aq93aKWzT/s1600/kasabian_2011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" mea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFHXjwFtsjy8tZPaNaRrX06epVyZGaybfML-l64GB2Ar60o8oldbY5Ab0uCIn4v6SxbXieKJuNd4hms3KKucxydrF6p54QW3-aG8RYYyCrrZXqG3ED9pRRphZwmu9Aq93aKWzT/s1600/kasabian_2011.jpg" /></a></div>
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Opening the reviews this week are <strong>Kasabian</strong>, with the shadowy, menacing beats of <em><strong>Man of Simple Pleasures</strong></em>, yet another impressive cut from <em>Velociraptor!</em> (curse that naff exclamation mark). Tom Meighan’s vocals really come into their own on comparably mellower numbers such as this, and while it may not be obvious single material, it’s an intriguing new window into a band most people probably thought they knew pretty well.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiwpsZlIn1JA_jzplZ32yZ64yxKwMoqumDjRZjKBG1Gb1G5m0PFbly_vukT2lPwvHH3AVc-Ddb3Fv73_DXO-dYbnafVx-jrzx6WbXajT-gUZD_K3H8L-rD4c97rFQNpWkOq8Gs/s1600/Rita-Ora.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" mea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiwpsZlIn1JA_jzplZ32yZ64yxKwMoqumDjRZjKBG1Gb1G5m0PFbly_vukT2lPwvHH3AVc-Ddb3Fv73_DXO-dYbnafVx-jrzx6WbXajT-gUZD_K3H8L-rD4c97rFQNpWkOq8Gs/s1600/Rita-Ora.jpg" /></a>While the omnipresent dubstep trend has grown beyond tiresome, it’s been given a novel boost in the form of <strong>Rita Ora featuring Tinie Tempah</strong>, with the ballsy gusto of <em><strong>R.I.P</strong></em>. It doesn’t boast the same frenetic brilliance of <em>Hot Right Now</em>, and it’s hard to even pick out a chorus amongst all the industrial squelch, but the crystalline vocals and brawny attitude are testament to Rita Ora as an artist worth keeping a close eye on.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCY-_CJRHCvkKJHt7GZE7rHjabVgu95LIbwM7zGycBTrivsQfJxY6baIKKd-zhFzNx2Knc9jOc22mKqO3r4Vz4CVkuYLatjPQNXPSVDY83HqJuGiWLldzNqxiEPQ3yr1DHLTuV/s1600/carrieunderwood.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" mea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCY-_CJRHCvkKJHt7GZE7rHjabVgu95LIbwM7zGycBTrivsQfJxY6baIKKd-zhFzNx2Knc9jOc22mKqO3r4Vz4CVkuYLatjPQNXPSVDY83HqJuGiWLldzNqxiEPQ3yr1DHLTuV/s1600/carrieunderwood.jpg" /></a><strong>Carrie Underwood</strong> might finally get round to making her mark on this side of the pond with the charismatic, resilient <strong><em>Good Girl</em></strong>. The country twang is hard to conceal, but the overtones of oestrogen rawk and mighty vocals make it a much more appealing prospect – at least to British ears – than previous material. Prepare to see a whole lot of new album <em>Blown Away</em> gracing many a supermarket shelf. Whether it shifts or not is another matter.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ4eOj6R_N3Friqmk3eqA7xkuXN9TZynWmsy9FY1mCDoBTyLC57MemF8kRmjHugPRU-mcboWyaZUpvx_3fA_B3yW8SU57RtFRCJ3NHMjM99cnyTuxzVNE7O0M8RT0140mWSrB7/s1600/the-subways.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" mea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ4eOj6R_N3Friqmk3eqA7xkuXN9TZynWmsy9FY1mCDoBTyLC57MemF8kRmjHugPRU-mcboWyaZUpvx_3fA_B3yW8SU57RtFRCJ3NHMjM99cnyTuxzVNE7O0M8RT0140mWSrB7/s1600/the-subways.jpg" /></a>Finally, <strong>The Subways</strong> reinvigorate interest in the now-eight-month-old album <em>Money and Celebrity</em> with the first-single-worthy <strong><em>Kiss Kiss Bang Bang</em></strong>. You’re ensnared within a couple of bars, the mix of Billy Lunn and Charlotte Cooper’s vocals giving proceedings some extra clout. But it’s the chorus that truly sells <em>Kiss Kiss Bang Bang</em>, a forceful and compelling refrain that grants it <strong><span style="color: red;">Single of the Week</span></strong> status.</div>
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<br /></div>alhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01689576441127942633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23881771.post-13844065412444625302012-04-26T16:11:00.000+01:002012-04-26T16:16:45.968+01:00Single Reviews 29/04/12<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh5maKsemfHzCiiyisCIfAmFHEh2ULM4_1Tr81peD233LVEbcFSWDPdLqpBww7jH-2JYkMiM40mDNskJjDG1nZeGidtRl1YPd9m6X15YuT3z0PPBXFmS4jBIiZAORCtZ6urQln/s400/img011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="170" oda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh5maKsemfHzCiiyisCIfAmFHEh2ULM4_1Tr81peD233LVEbcFSWDPdLqpBww7jH-2JYkMiM40mDNskJjDG1nZeGidtRl1YPd9m6X15YuT3z0PPBXFmS4jBIiZAORCtZ6urQln/s320/img011.jpg" width="320" /></a><strong>Welcome to this week’s <span style="color: #e69138;">Single Reviews</span>, in which we find out which genre a one-man band is tackling this week, discover the reality TV ‘sad music’ of the future, slip in a negative remark about Rihanna, and try to review Tulisa without mentioning her sex tape. Although this probably counts as a reference itself, doesn’t it? Oh well, we blew that one. BA-BOOM-TISH! Thank you, we’re here all week.</strong><br />
<strong><br /></strong><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7R4NQ1febbhrfVX35wUADgjo8guCoxh3sabi3h3CnGEc0EO9uJnLjfv1-sEngRdijExuwMORmF83LMUSPSfd1_M18in2fab5bZTha0xlEIq0Ete7ZFylCOQCGqH8JnrMzrVny/s1600/tulisa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" oda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7R4NQ1febbhrfVX35wUADgjo8guCoxh3sabi3h3CnGEc0EO9uJnLjfv1-sEngRdijExuwMORmF83LMUSPSfd1_M18in2fab5bZTha0xlEIq0Ete7ZFylCOQCGqH8JnrMzrVny/s1600/tulisa.jpg" /></a>The debut solo single from First Lady of N-Dubz and Tiresome <em>X Factor</em> Misha-Baiter, the aforementioned <strong>Tulisa</strong>, is first on the chopping block this week. <strong><em>Young</em></strong> is a ‘hey-aren’t-we-crayzee’ Ibiza cliché-fest, all predictable keyboard stabs and constructed abandon. For all N-Dubz’ failings, at least they had a modicum of originality in their output. Were it not for the desperate attempts to amplify Tulisa’s profile, this would be eternally forgotten on the lamest of compilation house CDs.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn87mG8PqfuMPJoAhefZ_MviTmXUMELo50ANxprnK2f3sxw2CqvoS50QzgG4GnxAJ8WId4OCLorbRsScQWIMB1AjSqhR_PZLpRJjUkfi9agmjYTmJE1wRNMYtYwgMaWOlaWWdx/s1600/getcape.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" oda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn87mG8PqfuMPJoAhefZ_MviTmXUMELo50ANxprnK2f3sxw2CqvoS50QzgG4GnxAJ8WId4OCLorbRsScQWIMB1AjSqhR_PZLpRJjUkfi9agmjYTmJE1wRNMYtYwgMaWOlaWWdx/s1600/getcape.jpg" /></a><strong><span style="color: red;">Single of the Week</span></strong> is given to <strong>Get Cape.Wear Cape. Fly</strong>, with a strikingly different offering in the form of <em><strong>Daylight Robbery</strong></em>. Admittedly, Sam Duckworth has become one of the most unpredictable artists of recent years, switching from shoegazing indie to atonal drum ‘n’ bass without any warning. <em>Daylight Robbery</em> boasts an immediacy nothing in Duckworth’s catalogue can lay claim to, armed with an exhilarating pop hook that could well make the track his new calling card.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQFDrPAyGrBvCgmHuovlydf5Bf4Ir7rxKE5HJ0x7yw6600t_xRpl3gfuFaNsG3M85l2CmExj-TL-8eKUIWQew0uwSJNbI8M0GVEfA_ThS8uJNoXdEQfG9QEgk94LyMF_w2AxFG/s1600/snowpatrol.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" oda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQFDrPAyGrBvCgmHuovlydf5Bf4Ir7rxKE5HJ0x7yw6600t_xRpl3gfuFaNsG3M85l2CmExj-TL-8eKUIWQew0uwSJNbI8M0GVEfA_ThS8uJNoXdEQfG9QEgk94LyMF_w2AxFG/s1600/snowpatrol.jpg" /></a><strong>Snow Patrol</strong> unveil perhaps their most introverted, mellow single thus far, the modest but highly effective <strong><em>New York</em></strong>. The unassuming verses are made all the more effective when the final chorus swells into a refined crescendo, while Gary Lightbody’s voice presents a real poignancy throughout. Anyone desperate for another <em>Run</em> could do a lot worse than give <em>New York</em> a few repeated spins, but such comparisons would detract from what’s actually a significantly more mature offering.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_sZUj2JYNZSQ6vXtwKEtFQe4__sjgQgCzlm8nGWAobRhsHZe4oh9zuMwuLDwfvGEcoIH9tJu5Mwa7ItqQgbjQEj1XGtquoArUt3HyHOmFTGhIvTsOVxenNk-XV2phDxNLdBLD/s1600/coverdrive.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" oda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_sZUj2JYNZSQ6vXtwKEtFQe4__sjgQgCzlm8nGWAobRhsHZe4oh9zuMwuLDwfvGEcoIH9tJu5Mwa7ItqQgbjQEj1XGtquoArUt3HyHOmFTGhIvTsOVxenNk-XV2phDxNLdBLD/s1600/coverdrive.jpg" /></a>And finally, proving that a certain dead-eyed, atonal cumsponge is by no means the best Barbados has to offer (whoever could we mean?), <strong>Cover Drive</strong> follow up their Ashley Tabor-instigated Number One with <em><strong>Sparks</strong></em>, a hard-edged demi-ballad with a sweet, enchanting melody. The juxtaposition of male and female vocals is an effective one, plus there’s a real craft evident in what Cover Drive do. Plus, they’re mentored by Eddy Grant, which = ace.</div>
<br />alhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01689576441127942633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23881771.post-25663318105196108772012-04-13T16:00:00.000+01:002012-04-13T16:43:36.633+01:00Single Reviews 15/04/12<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh5maKsemfHzCiiyisCIfAmFHEh2ULM4_1Tr81peD233LVEbcFSWDPdLqpBww7jH-2JYkMiM40mDNskJjDG1nZeGidtRl1YPd9m6X15YuT3z0PPBXFmS4jBIiZAORCtZ6urQln/s400/img011.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 213px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh5maKsemfHzCiiyisCIfAmFHEh2ULM4_1Tr81peD233LVEbcFSWDPdLqpBww7jH-2JYkMiM40mDNskJjDG1nZeGidtRl1YPd9m6X15YuT3z0PPBXFmS4jBIiZAORCtZ6urQln/s400/img011.jpg" /></a><strong>Greetings, and a belated Happy Easter. And a belated Happy St. Patrick’s Day, and Happy Valentine’s Day too. Yes, we know updates have been sparse of late, for which we apologise, but... um... the dog ate our homework. Anyway, we’re here now, with some lovely <span style="color:#ff9900;">Single Reviews</span> just for you (and we can guarantee this is one of the few media outlets on the globe that isn’t harping on about the sodding Titanic this week).<br /></strong><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJCQ-0mpcCiirtlcygKDQqZGVJ6Zj8T9XGerMDSO_6NIXewzL_meGYWMDSrKs34_19bmyJjdx1tAA9CN3PtM3nGGpFBoAnedrnTdedeYLhNPXzUODsHzOdX4oxD1n-POrW8Err/s1600/marina.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 199px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 154px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5730911167780438674" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJCQ-0mpcCiirtlcygKDQqZGVJ6Zj8T9XGerMDSO_6NIXewzL_meGYWMDSrKs34_19bmyJjdx1tAA9CN3PtM3nGGpFBoAnedrnTdedeYLhNPXzUODsHzOdX4oxD1n-POrW8Err/s400/marina.jpg" /></a>Opening the show is (are?) <strong>Marina & The Diamonds</strong>, with what’s arguably the greatest track of her (their?) career this far. Seriously, these soloists with their stupid band-sounding monikers need to cut that shit right out. <strong><em>Primadonna</em></strong> jumps between a fluttering, perfumed ballad and a crunching electro beat, her high, dramatic vocals selling the story convincingly. In short, it’s impressive stuff.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_Ln2PU-dFxQAHWOZ2au3ZI1PY9fpjvUggKRC3qfwffIAvJ9_x5z2Gf_eAyBb4C6wt1Gllukl7YLbl1hj_zzcVdmJ9ZHf0ET_BymfeB3_ejafakpIAADWzRMLUHys4F6swDTIm/s1600/conor.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 189px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 151px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5730911091398616850" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_Ln2PU-dFxQAHWOZ2au3ZI1PY9fpjvUggKRC3qfwffIAvJ9_x5z2Gf_eAyBb4C6wt1Gllukl7YLbl1hj_zzcVdmJ9ZHf0ET_BymfeB3_ejafakpIAADWzRMLUHys4F6swDTIm/s400/conor.jpg" /></a>A slightly less appealing offering comes from Brighton newcomer <strong>Conor Maynard</strong>, whose tweenage chestnut-fest <strong><em>Can’t Say No</em></strong> is every Noughties boyband cliché squished up into one miserable song. Clearly, there’s some sort of boardroom-based attempt to forge a British Bieber here, but you can’t help imagine Maynard would be a whole lot happier doing something very, very different.<br /><br /><strong><em><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjJ8sEpiiP0wmeXCJ3aGGMY36caFEywJy1BW3J6_6OfVc_aqX3YYmQ9ICyA7FlypOaQgRPN7wDewxgs069jqgrlp2zxgetF6EZ03X3LWIRC7H-_GiiD0Hvli9bTOb8vjX8PGm_/s1600/lmfao.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 198px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 146px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5730911020580704018" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjJ8sEpiiP0wmeXCJ3aGGMY36caFEywJy1BW3J6_6OfVc_aqX3YYmQ9ICyA7FlypOaQgRPN7wDewxgs069jqgrlp2zxgetF6EZ03X3LWIRC7H-_GiiD0Hvli9bTOb8vjX8PGm_/s400/lmfao.jpg" /></a>Sorry For Party Rocking</em></strong>, the latest wretched, juvenile effort from <strong>LMFAO</strong>, has been doing the rounds for some time, but only gets its official release this week. Mind you, it’s hard to differentiate this from anything else they’ve recorded. Yes, you like girls and dancing and drinking. But let’s break this down to what it is: an uncle and nephew, both old enough to know better, dancing in their pants.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZRXfOeO3HthGk7AqXPQ_NeN9B4Te6TViFi3zPqv4OnOaq4C1bvfkD7_YY3VGLDsMupH18SYYyEg33LkzieRbnK539rJ4W0tfCv245e2rn1FO58EE3O_CvlhVNxN_XUnwtwiHM/s1600/fun.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 227px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 130px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5730910926093312882" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZRXfOeO3HthGk7AqXPQ_NeN9B4Te6TViFi3zPqv4OnOaq4C1bvfkD7_YY3VGLDsMupH18SYYyEg33LkzieRbnK539rJ4W0tfCv245e2rn1FO58EE3O_CvlhVNxN_XUnwtwiHM/s400/fun.jpg" /></a>And finally, a well-deserved <strong><span style="color:#ff0000;">Single of the Week</span></strong> is bestowed upon <strong>fun. featuring Janelle Monae</strong>, with the anthem-in-waiting <em><strong>We Are Young</strong></em>. Enjoy it while you can, because it’ll soon be sacrificed to the Gods of Overkill. The astonishing fusion of indie sensibilities and hip-hop wizardly, the atypical changes of pace, the gentle twinkle of Monae’s humble contribution, and the marathon chorus make for something very special indeed.alhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01689576441127942633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23881771.post-10446266163207905142012-04-03T10:00:00.001+01:002012-04-04T14:24:22.726+01:00Lostprophets - Weapons (RCA)<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuLGQABLpfnO-8D0dVWD4EdS-0DBkZFeT3XOREdLkgYGPJhNcp3RghXrTcnEDxxktVA1XhYP7hGfqKxLAatuTfPxjzdMV6e4PHzkGLmT66VeDEoxjiOqieVTnP3CMZc67nY7aa/s400/img008.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 400px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 251px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuLGQABLpfnO-8D0dVWD4EdS-0DBkZFeT3XOREdLkgYGPJhNcp3RghXrTcnEDxxktVA1XhYP7hGfqKxLAatuTfPxjzdMV6e4PHzkGLmT66VeDEoxjiOqieVTnP3CMZc67nY7aa/s400/img008.jpg" /></a><strong>Lostprophets are a band who’ve yet to produce an album anything close to sub-par. Their singles catalogue is a line-up of vigorous, charismatic Britrock gems, while their track record of albums is arguably even more impressive. Their brand of intense, brawny rock hasn’t waned for a single bar in a 12-year career, and fifth album Weapons suggests it won’t be happening anytime soon.<br /></strong><br />Admittedly, they could still get away with the raucous drama of <em>The Fake Sound of Progress</em> if they wanted, given they don't actually appear to age. But rather than opting to rest on their laurels, there's a definite progression on <strong><em>Weapons</em></strong>, and it does them good.<br /><br />It would be wrong to say they’ve mellowed – it's still heavy, it's still powerful, it's still assertive. The big licks of <em>A Song For Where I’m From</em> don’t hold back, while the confrontational call-to-arms <em>We Bring An Arsenal</em> has all the gusto of <em>Shinobi vs Dragon Ninja</em>. But as a band, they sound tighter than they've ever sounded, making for a clean, more immediate tone.<br /><br /><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 371px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 261px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5727534866565894914" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPAfCtxzapJ2iVfPsi1L2QkVC16l9rFqNwCPb8WreMTif0HGd4byTOsiXMHmP1D8Kbu-ftmxiSDIilpu-Y6W8WU6Tra5fh1ZX3vc7880znN-AdSavAPK6Ptsjuf0r2Yx7FGDUw/s400/lostprophs.jpg" /><em>Somedays</em> shows a softer tone to Ian Watkins' vocals, while the secret track tacked onto closer <em>Can’t Get Enough</em> balances melodic splendour with a balls-out metal screech. Meanwhile, the countless man-hours spent during promotional rounds in a post-Linkin Park world where the band were forced to explain how they weren’t rock-rap were evidently in vain, with <em>Better Off Dead</em> seeing Watkins spit a few unexpected verses. It’s novel enough, and functions nicely as a mid-album surprise, but hopefully it’s not a hint of a more permanent direction.<br /><br />But there’s little to be said about <em>Weapons </em>that isn’t sickeningly positive. As an album, it’s absorbing, it’s entertaining, it’s rousing, and it keeps Lostprophets’ perfect scoresheet intact. And they make maintaining this level of quality seem like a breeze. Everything that’s ever been great about Lostprophets is still very much in place, but it’s been honed and polished into an effective, engaging update. They must be frickin’ exhausted.</div>alhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01689576441127942633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23881771.post-39107896951978386302012-03-30T18:00:00.000+01:002012-03-30T18:32:45.114+01:00Single Reviews 01/04/12<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh5maKsemfHzCiiyisCIfAmFHEh2ULM4_1Tr81peD233LVEbcFSWDPdLqpBww7jH-2JYkMiM40mDNskJjDG1nZeGidtRl1YPd9m6X15YuT3z0PPBXFmS4jBIiZAORCtZ6urQln/s400/img011.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 213px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh5maKsemfHzCiiyisCIfAmFHEh2ULM4_1Tr81peD233LVEbcFSWDPdLqpBww7jH-2JYkMiM40mDNskJjDG1nZeGidtRl1YPd9m6X15YuT3z0PPBXFmS4jBIiZAORCtZ6urQln/s400/img011.jpg" /></a><strong>It’s been a while since we’ve put any singles under the microscope round these parts. Frankly, it’s pretty difficult when release dates don’t count for much anymore, and anything half decent has a battle to even chart, thanks to the Top 40 being clogged up with faceless dance and the endless torrent of Rihanna’s dead-eyed, off-pitch hogwash. Now, with that burst of negativity out of the way, maybe we can say some nice things in this week’s <span style="color:#ff9900;">Single Reviews</span>...<br /></strong><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf9L0fO7anL-F-BzN3dvf-rk6r_Dw2taAKQjF8GUBb-TlJAphrhoUQAtEh5E5EMNlY_Ey2VP44sCPz4jkg2hEY4xf5n2ZsTia0buTzLy5QR5m-e2Pcjqf-ZYgbE-RPI7ZTmQX8/s1600/horrors.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 223px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 160px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5725743978508810802" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf9L0fO7anL-F-BzN3dvf-rk6r_Dw2taAKQjF8GUBb-TlJAphrhoUQAtEh5E5EMNlY_Ey2VP44sCPz4jkg2hEY4xf5n2ZsTia0buTzLy5QR5m-e2Pcjqf-ZYgbE-RPI7ZTmQX8/s400/horrors.jpg" /></a>First to get the once-over are <strong>The Horrors</strong>, who pluck a more-than-decent offering from their <em>Skying</em> album in the form of <strong><em>Changing the Rain</em></strong>. It’s a laidback yet considered number, all lilting vocals and drowsy beats and ocean-like hums, a frankly unbelievable progression from their early material. Which, let’s face it, was shit. More of this, and we can even forgive them <em>Sheena is a Parasite</em>.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIlJr4X8kpr3SAT_axneFn_q92DokuaPUjolTQ_c7n4ce3iQzI2-gW4MhSGBFhyphenhyphenueZjP0tVvPLQECODGcB_vyJYbBfwyJi3OkqcLDIBGm2wC_7C1_udRrAOMCu0EgmrbvvinyX/s1600/ollymurs.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 211px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 163px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5725743610170656354" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIlJr4X8kpr3SAT_axneFn_q92DokuaPUjolTQ_c7n4ce3iQzI2-gW4MhSGBFhyphenhyphenueZjP0tVvPLQECODGcB_vyJYbBfwyJi3OkqcLDIBGm2wC_7C1_udRrAOMCu0EgmrbvvinyX/s400/ollymurs.jpg" /></a>The second album era has been a kind one to <strong>Olly Murs</strong>, flicking the critics away with ease via two first-rate No. 1 singles. Sadly, the momentum hasn’t carried through to the third offering, <em><strong>Oh My Goodness</strong></em>. It’s catchy and it’s fun, sure, but it all feels rather like a bit of a non-event, the stuff of a B-side perhaps (hey, remember B-sides, kids?). If you're looking for blame, you could do worse than point fingers at the truly atrocious video.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl6b5gRtuf8c3yg8cnY_6d4xuOqn-DyOnaENG2QIADL2fAjlD1NiOldGFs7kfAj8KQfZqseig6AzJxdbVZi4gCSho2p-GpvJtH0LdiOoF0l_7QlR5UWcV1flTJ7oSpEKrzpYXQ/s1600/rizzlekicks.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 224px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5725743686058525250" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl6b5gRtuf8c3yg8cnY_6d4xuOqn-DyOnaENG2QIADL2fAjlD1NiOldGFs7kfAj8KQfZqseig6AzJxdbVZi4gCSho2p-GpvJtH0LdiOoF0l_7QlR5UWcV1flTJ7oSpEKrzpYXQ/s400/rizzlekicks.jpg" /></a>Speaking of Olly Murs, claiming <strong><span style="color:#ff0000;">Single of the Week</span></strong> are his <em>Heart Skips a Beat</em> cohorts <strong>Rizzle Kicks</strong>, who manage to chase the addictive <em>Mama Do The Hump</em> with something equally impressive yet entirely different. The reticent, understated British rap of <em><strong>Traveller’s Chant</strong></em> has parallels with The Streets’ <em>Dry Your Eyes</em>, and is a welcome display of a UK hip-hop act that doesn’t borrow from skull-thumping Euro-cheese.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqBf1aQk3ys5t5uwvSK2-tmCGRbCqCkI8uC6LAIu9aMZAJomqAAkPeFTSIp7xdor2ZBNkB6WGG16QjCKpQ2ccNUUH4TSiKpAEJTufHBFk5DA0xCGBNmSDf5S81kjGZfImuThM4/s1600/madonna.jpg"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH4Ci6lyRLfhIeu7MNkQMDPCyWToKed4JAHTz5gwPtSId10EpYbFxMjj96bhg0BNCuLsd5eQRIn_T-EG20h5h345vkHrBd-p-RzfBZgFGNwl2yp9fEPTUIA4BbP4isS6bGpU9q/s1600/madonna.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 216px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 156px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5725743861767859634" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH4Ci6lyRLfhIeu7MNkQMDPCyWToKed4JAHTz5gwPtSId10EpYbFxMjj96bhg0BNCuLsd5eQRIn_T-EG20h5h345vkHrBd-p-RzfBZgFGNwl2yp9fEPTUIA4BbP4isS6bGpU9q/s400/madonna.jpg" /></a>And on the subject of cheesy house beats, it’s a shame to see a singer who’s so revered as a trend-setter dangling from the bandwagon, clinging doggedly on by her fingernails.<strong> Madonna</strong> manages a worrying mix of extraneous and derivative with <strong><em>Girl Gone Wild</em></strong>, a busy electro-mess where her vocals – and, if you can believe it, personality – are smothered. Another <em>Ray of Light</em> this ain’t.alhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01689576441127942633noreply@blogger.com0