Reverend & The Makers - The State Of Things (Wall of Sound)

It’s been a while since anyone successfully married the exceedingly-unattached genres of dance and indie together. Garbage nailed it briefly before flushing it for good; Bis gave it a fantastic shot, if slightly cutesy for it; the Klaxons, for all their achievements, cannot be forgiven their spray-on red jeans. We won’t even acknowledge Bodyrockers…

So, with the release of The State of Things, the debut album from boorish Sheffield numbskulls Reverend & The Makers, it seems that any triumphant fusion of the two genres is a long way off. As demonstrated by lead single Heavyweight Champion of the World, thumping house beats coupled with wheedling riffs does not a blissful mix make, particularly when saturated with fleapit terrace overtones.

Oafish, clumsy and screaming out for a metaphor, it’s the soundtrack to a million regurgitated alcopops splattering the pavements outside a nightclub in an out-of-town entertainment complex. And yet, the titles alone underline that this is exactly the market they‘re aiming for - Sex With The Ex, 18-30, What The Milkman Saw… it’s enough to induce a shiver of embarrassment on behalf of these dense, discordant fools, and that’s even before you’ve given them a listen.

It just all feels very calculated, with the rock and dance sensibilities sitting very uncomfortably with one another throughout. In effect, it’s one big intentional gimmick. Even the instances where the pace tapers down to a more subued, mid-tempo air, grating bleeps and vocoders are awkwardly stuffed in to keep the novelty rolling.

Reverend & The Makers, in spite of all their links and inexplicable acclaim, have more in common with Ultrabeat than they do with Oasis or Ian Brown. Primitive, inept, hackneyed and incredibly uncomfortable, there’s no place in 2007 for an album as gutless as The State of Things - and what a complete fucking state things are in.

Honking Box Review: Nigella Express

Fucking hell, we absolutely worship Nigella here at The Sloppy Dog. Not only did she introduce us to the ironic ambrosia that is Coca-Cola Ham, but we heart the fact that she seemingly writes her recipes in the style of Chaucer. Sure, it means we have to keep a dictionary handy whilst attempting to prepare St Tropez Chicken, but it's hard not to respect that kind of unnecessary wordsmithery.

But if there's one thing that's reminded us just how unbelievably ace Nigella is, it's her new show Nigella Express. Supposedly a whizz through a wealth of instant dinner solutions, Nigella Express is akin to watching a science fiction show, it's so far removed from normality.

"These are all things you'll have in your freezer," coos Nigella in a tone that makes the M&S ad orgasmo-voice sound like the vocal ship's horn of June Sarpong. "Shell-on king prawns, prime unicorn fillets, platinum-dipped rainbows..."

As escapist fantasy goes, you can't get much better than an untouchable kitchen deity talking you through the whimsical contents of her larder, as though it's the stockroom of a Diagon Alley spellmonger's. Hell, she has a LARDER, for Christ's sakes. That's near-mythological in itself, regardless of the content of it.

Let's not forget that this is a woman who picks up her son from his mate's house in a black cab. Her son who, incidentally, looks like an infant Klaxon. You can just picture Nigella once the cameras have stopped rolling: "Now Bruno, be a darling and take off those preposterous neon skinny jeans. You know Mummy doesn't like nu-rave at the supper table. And do brush your hair - it'd be ghastly should you get Chantilly cream in your fringe."

Seriously, who else on television could talk about entirely habitually about an octopus salad, as though it were a bag of Walkers? And who else could sneak to the fridge in the middle of the night to wrap a lamb chop in a slice of ham - a snack worthy of Homer Simpson - and devour it on the spot, yet somehow make it look elegant?

This is why we heart Nigella. She's not a real person. She's like the greatest sketch show character ever devised, living in a make-believe world of oils and liqueurs and thesaurus-speak. That said, some friends of The Sloppy Dog attended a wedding recently, where Nigella herself had made the wedding cake (a lemon sponge with coconut icing, if you're interested in the specifics). Their review? "Surprisingly average. But Nigella looked immaculate". Ah, Nigella Lawson: truly the stuff of legends.

Single Reviews 17/09/07

Greetings, Sloppy Dog enthusiasts. Apologies for the minimal updates lately, rest assured a full service shall resume shortly. In the meantime, we feel we must address this week’s events, specifically the appearance of a certain female at the MTV Video Music Awards in Las Vegas. Yes, ladies and gents, Sarah Silverman, Patron Saint of Laughter, who we officially heart. Go Sarah, etc etc. Oh, and Britney? Sort yer shit out, love, there’s a good girl. Single Reviews, y’all?

First up are Peter, Bjorn & John with the ubiquitous Young Folks, which gains an inexplicable re-release this week. Let’s pretend it hasn’t been rinsed to bejesus by each and every radio station and music channel since its initial release. Let’s pretend it hasn’t been used as a soundbed on every factual entertainment show for the past 12 months. Let’s pretend it’s not regularly whistled on scaffolding right across the Western world. Makes quite a good Single of the Week, dontcha reckon?

Proper serious rock band Fightstar bestow us with the proper serious rock anthem We Apologise For Nothing. Hey, it’s almost as if that title is aiming for some suggestion of rebellion! Heaven forbid we’d think this was a talentless, in-bred boyband cuntrag posturing alongside some unwashed session musicians, but of course, that’s not the case because Fightstar are the best band in the world, ever. Their music shall bring about universal harmony. They’re not at all an entire fucking waste of oxygen and Marshall amps, oh no.

Elsewhere, the Foo Fighters apply their unmistakeable sound to new single Pretender to full effect, which frankly is a nice way of saying it’s practically identical to everything they’ve ever put out. By no means bad, but we’d say Foo fans have every right to feel slightly cheated and royally pissed off. Thankfully, we’re not fans, so we’ll politely suggest they get themselves some new ideas.

Finally, what better way to round off a rather negative selection of reviews than with… well, another negative review? But hey, it’s 50 Cent featuring Justin Timberlake - surely you wouldn‘t expect anything less? That said, Ayo Technology is two of the most tiresome artists in contemporary music teaming up for a song about wanking. This shit pretty much reviews itself.

Single Reviews 10/09/07

Well, what a funny old week it’s been, eh? While professional ho-bag Jodie Marsh willingly takes herself off the market and dedicates herself to one sole man, the squeaky-clean Vanessa Hudgens (y'know, her out of the dire High School Musical) gets her flaps out all over the web. Still, in a world where everything appears to be going doolally, at least you can rely on the Single Reviews to be consistently ace…

Claiming our Single of the Week are the Chemical Brothers, with perhaps the most peculiar, uncharacteristic track of their career. And yet, one of their greatest. The Salmon Dance, though easily dismissible as a novelty number, is intensely likeable, pleasantly idiosyncratic, and overall, great fun. What more do you want out of a song?

Pipped to the post for Single of the Week are Ash, although we’re sure they won’t be too bothered, having already won it twice this year. Although it’s more likely they won’t be too bothered by the simple fact they’ve probably never heard of The Sloppy Dog. A blend of hummable harmony, jittery R&B undertones, and a towering rock chorus, End of the World functions just as marvellously as single material as it does being the standout track of Twilight of the Innocents.

Anyone remember Clock? Those of you that don’t, we’ll save you the trouble of bothering Wikipedia - a mid-90’s duo who released a seemingly endless string of horrific dance covers. Well, it would seem they’re alive and well in the form of Booty Luv. This time, it’s Lucy Pearl’s Don’t Mess With My Man that’s given the extreme make-under, reducing it to filler on a Big Mix ‘96 3CD compilation.

Presenting us with another sparkler plucked from the treasure trove that is A Tale Of Two Cities are Mr Hudson & The Library. How such a masterpiece of an album evaded the Mercury judges altogether is beyond us, although given we usually feel the shortlist is a pile of shite, it matters not. Either way, Picture Of You should hopefully educate a few more people of the majestic wonder that is The Library.

Single Reviews 03/09/07

So, a male Alice The Goon who conned the nation into believing he’d never heard of Shakespeare won the most pointless series of Big Brother yet. Hell, that’s almost on a par with someone who plays up to his mental illness and claims his dead friend visited him and told him he’d win the show, coincidentally revealed just in time for the opening of the final voting lines. Roll on BB9! And until then, enjoy the Single Reviews…

We begin events this week with a soothing lullaby courtesy of Grace. Having already won us over with the uplifting Slowly, the theme is carried over into Sink Like A Stone effectively - perhaps, if anything, too successfully. Still, better to have two great songs produced from the same mould than making something different for the sake of it. If only the same could be said of the next of this week's singles...

Having finally squeezed the last drops of life out of the same rehashed idea, Girls Aloud are having to dig a little deeper on their newie, Sexy! No No No. Sadly, they’ve seemingly only encountered questionable titles and grammar. And while it appears to be entirely devoid of anything resembling a chorus, points are nonetheless awarded for the gale-force rock undercurrent and the most brazen use of a vocoder since Posh ‘n’ Dane.

Underlining DanceX as the most clueless talent show in televisual history are the as-yet-unnamed Winners Of DanceX Wot Won The Show And Were Bruno’s Team, with the repugnant Dancing In Repeat. A dated, awkward, sub-Sash mess featuring feeble, tinny vocals, not even the presence of in-show luminary Rana can act as a plus point. A future staple of Emap channels Top 20 Reality Losers music blocks.

Single of the Week goes to Hellogoodbye, thanks to the charming, clumsy, dulcet Baby It’s Fact, an effective move away from the Euro-stilton cringe-inducer Here (In Your Arms). Significantly more American, with an almost Wheatus-esque college rawk nuance, yet ultimately, it’s simply a gifted pop anthem.

The Noisettes place their electro-screechery on the back burner to bring us The Count of Monte Cristo, a comparatively dawdling, downtempo number amidst their catalogue of buoyant lunacy. A nice way to punctuate a frenetic album with a quick breather, but not necessarily single material.

Finally, hold aloft your cans of Elnett for the huge-haired metal of Nightwish, whose new single Amaranth nods to the most embarrassing 80’s rock sensibilities without a modicum of shame. Fair play to them, mind - it carries a degree of unaffected sincerity, although you’ve got to wonder who’ll buy it… anyone willing to part with money for this is already bound to have The Best of Bonnie Tyler knocking about.

Single Reviews 27/08/07

This time last year, we were using the Single Reviews to highlight our support for Queen Aisleyne, the true winner of Big Brother 7. With this year’s final less than a week away, we feel we should do the same once again. Except there’s no-one worth drumming up support over. Maybe the twins at a push. Meh. Here, just read this lot instead…

Plain White T's start us off this week with a slice of drippy acoustica in Hey There Delilah. It’d make the perfect closing track of a great album, but is about as suitable as a lead single pushed in the hope of launching a new act as Jodie Marsh is a spokesperson for the Salesian Sisters. God knows what the rest of the album sounds like if this is the initial hope. It’ll do for now, mind.

Having realised there was no market for an awkward Home Counties boy uncomfortably stuffed into Abercrombie & Fitch styling in order to flog his sunburnt soul, Jamie Scott got himself a pretend band and reinvented himself as Jamie Scott & The Town. And yet, When Will I See Your Face Again is the same inexpressive, dull jazz-lite muzak he peddled before. Particularly unpleasant is the scat ad-libbing - if only there was some joke relating to the word ‘scat’…

If anyone in 2007 is going to outsell Rihanna and her fucking Um-ber-ella, it’s Sean Kingston. A congenial blend of reggae and doo-wop with a knockout melody, Beautiful Girls is the kind of thing Eamon would have absolutely killed for after Fuck It. Y’know, if he had any discernible talent. We’d probably have awarded it Single of the Week if we weren’t certain we’ll be absolutely sick of it within a fortnight.

...Instead, the Single of the Week honour goes - and not just by default - to Athlete, who’ve seemingly found their niche after a patchy debut and a safe second album. A decent balance of buoyant force and compelling melodies, Hurricane is everything it ought to be after the promise of Half Light, Tourist and Twenty-Four Hours.

And lastly, the return of Hard-Fi and the rise of Kate Nash have cemented that we’re not too keen on literal lyrics. It’s certainly where Natalie Imbruglia’s Best Of lead-in single Glorious falls down, as there’s not much to fault otherwise. A sunlit, upbeat pop song with unpretentious rock nods, it’s a nice way to bookend a career that’s seen a bit too much in the way of wistful stabs at credibility.

The 'Ump: The Sheilas

Ordinarily, we wouldn’t give donate any portion of our schedule to novelty records. They come around, you hate them for a wee bit, then they’re gone, only to emerge again on clip shows hosted by Jimmy Carr. But every so often, a novelty song comes along that cannot go unnoticed. IT MUST BE STOPPED.

Not content in providing us with the single most annoying advertisement on television (although it must be said, only because the Frosties ad with the little cunt on the cherry-picker isn’t airing at the mo), the three “Aussie” scutters from the Sheila’s Wheels ads have signed a record deal, the fruits of which are inexplicably getting rotation across several music channels.

A joke too far, you might think. But it would seem that it’s no joke - because everything Pete Waterman does is a sincere and momentous endeavour of artistry and musicianship. Yes, fucking Pete Waterman is to blame for this abomination.

This is a man who still believes that some form of foul play resulted in One True Voice being beaten to Number One by Girls Aloud. Of course, it could never be the fact that a genre-forging, iconic behemoth of a pop anthem towers a thousand miles above an anaemic, piss-smelling cover of a Bee Gees Z-side. No, it was definitely something sneaky and underhanded.

Is there perhaps a way of getting an injunction of some sort, that prevents Pete Waterman from ever setting foot in a recording studio for the remainder of his years? Of course, we needn’t worry about him bothering any kind of live venues - God forbid he saw what a live instrument was and regretted all that convincing synthy goodness.

So be warned, dear readers, for not only will your ad breaks continue to be sullied by the twin-headed beast of aural and comsumer rape courtesy of Sheila’s Wheels, they’ll be infiltrating show content, possibly airwaves, and undoubtedly minds. Be very, very afraid. And - if you’re the lucky owner of a vagina - maybe think about getting your car insurance somewhere that isn’t intent on murdering pop music…

Single Reviews 20/08/07

Yes, the Single Reviews are late. Very late. What, you want your money back or something? We’re actually recovering from the second leg of what we’re calling Weddingfest ‘07, where we learned that (a) Goan people know how to throw a party, (b) alcohol = bad, and (c) we finally live in a world where a Robbie Williams song clears a dance floor - jeez, longest wait for a backlash EVER. Anyhoo, on with proceedings, this week brought to you in association with Nurofen…

Hard-Fi are back (presumably having made it ‘back’ on the bus, where they jumped the fare, sat next to a crackhead, got into a fight with a skinhead, and pulled a right fit blonde in the process). Yes, they’re peddling the same old metaphor-free working-class schtick in Suburban Knights, although, as with Stars of CCTV, there’s also a sturdy melody and crunching, beefy guitars. Lyrics will be the death of Hard-Fi, mark our words.

Single of the Week is awarded to a young lady who’s already turned our heads, resulting in a pulled neck muscle, in the enchantingly blue Fed Up. However, Remi Nicole has cranked up the glee-o-meter for the memorable Go Mr Sunshine, a delightfully twee Britpop stomp-a-long that’s hopefully the mark of a future success story.

Calvin Harris continues his catastrophic spiral into utter shitdom with the laborious Merrymaking At My Place. Initially we thought perhaps he was a competent knob-twiddler that just hadn’t fully gotten accustomed to a microphone, but further exposure to his career has shown us that he is, in actual fact, Urban Cookie Collective in the body of an Etonian sixth-former.

Finally, having duetted with Kelly Rowland and come out the other side with a career intact, Eve deserves our respect as a given. Bearing in mind she was the sole good point in the aforementioned duet and Gwen Stefani’s Rich Girl, you’d think Tambourine would warrant champagne, fireworks and a national holiday. But, in reality, it’s just good. That’s all.

Honking Box Preview: The X Factor

Jeez, has this been a long time coming or what? With DanceX about as interesting as Kara-Louise from Big Brother, and Big Brother itself about as interesting as… well, Kara-Louise from Big Brother, the return of The X Factor couldn’t have come at a better time. Actually, it could have, as we’re attending a wedding on Saturday. Curses!

Still, the good ol’ hard-disk recorder can take care of that. Besides, we’re more concerned with the overall series, and the changes that’ll hopefully give the show a bit of a kick up the proverbial. Out goes Kate Thornton, and in comes Dermot O’Leary. Out goes Louis Walsh, in comes Dannii Minogue. Then in comes Louis Walsh again, bringing an entirely coincidental tidal wave of publicity with him.

Mind you, we’re sceptical about the new categories, in which kids as young as 14 can enter. And just a wee bit unenthusiastic about the presence of spazflaps supreme Fearne fucking Cotton taking over the ITV2 coverage.



Love or hate The X Factor, we’ve come up with a viewing method which will heighten the experience during the good bits, and hopefully drown out the bad bits altogether. Behold, the X Factor Drinking Game!

One sip if:

• Coldplay’s Clocks or Snow Patrol’s Chasing Cars are used in the soundbed at any point throughout the show
  
• Someone performs Umbrella by Rihanna using a prop of the same name
  
• Simon tells a contestant they’re the worst singer he’s ever heard
  
• Louis focuses on the geography of a contestant in order to garner regional popularity


• Sharon mispronounces a musical term, e.g. a capella becomes acapello, vibrato becomes vibratio, harmonise becomes harmonify


• A drink is thrown by any party


• Dermot tells someone he is “loving their work”


• A sped-up shot of a snaking queue is used


• Fearne fucking Cotton makes the official hand gesture for ‘rock’
  
• Simon blames the parents

Two sips if:

• A backstory relating to an illness is told (either the contestant’s own, or that of a relative)
  
• There’s a montage of auditionees performing Kylie songs, featuring a selection of cringes from Dannii


• Sharon is called away to an emergency of some description
  
• A blubbery mum with a home perm and tits under her arms storms in, claiming the judges were wrong
  
• A contender from DanceX, Britain’s Got Talent or Any Dream Will Do makes an appearance
  
• Tony, Official X Factor Meathead, is dispatched to ‘escort’ a contestant from the audition room

A huge gulp if:

• Brian Friedman gets more than five minutes of screentime


• The choirgirl who was too young last year doesn’t get fasttracked to Boot Camp
  
• Addictiv Ladies make a return
  
• Simon makes an allusion – however vague – to Louis’ sexual preference

Down the entire glass if:

• A contestant performs a track by Elephant Man, Ani DiFranco, N-Tyce or Gorky’s Zygotic Mynci
  
• Steve Brookstein’s name is uttered
  
• Sinitta dresses demurely
  
• Sharon wins
  

[The Sloppy Dog advises that alcohol should be enjoyed in moderation, and that you play the X Factor Drinking Game responsibly. However, it should also be noted that getting utterly shitfaced is far more fun.]

Single Reviews 13/08/07

Hey, bored office workers! Fed up of numbers and reports and in-trays full of shit? Pissed off to bejesus because The Man has banned Facebook at your company? Fear not! Flock to The Sloppy Dog, where you can compensate for your lack of cyber-socialising with our wondrous Single Reviews. Mind you, we pride ourselves more on making enemies than adding friends, but still.

Amy Winehouse heads up this week’s singles with the first-rate Tears Dry On Their Own. While she pushes herself more and more into the public consciousness as a coke-addled, skeletal pisshead, her music continues to underline her significance and inimitability as an artist. A summery Sixties masterpiece, and a decent enough swansong should she drown in the next few months (either in Regent’s Canal or neat vodka).

The frenetic rock genius of the Pigeon Detectives is showcased perfectly in Take Her Back. It’s certainly less than a million miles from the superb I’m Not Sorry - in fact, they’re practically sharing a sleeping bag - but we can forgive a touch of repetition when the quality levels are this lofty. And hey, at least they’re consistent.

The return of The Polyphonic Spree is cause for celebration any day of the week, but comeback anthem Running Away is reason enough to burst an additional party popper. A somewhat less loony offering than previous material, yet still achieves that unique balance of raucous and choral. Admittedly, we prefer when they’re just a tad more crackers, but it’s a clear Single of the Week all the same. Hurrah, etc.

Lastly, having provided us with arguably the greatest album of 2007 so far, Ghosts don’t have to do much to win our approval. Which may go some way to explaining the release of one of the less remarkable tracks from The World Is Outside, the eponymous Ghosts. Sure, it’s an inspired work of brilliance… it just isn’t Stop, Mind Games or Musical Chairs. Yeah, yeah, everyone’s an A&R man these days…