Single Reviews 12/05/08

So, yet another week passes without us writing a single thing. Let’s see what the excuse can be this time… London mayoral elections… Bank Holiday bandwidth sluggishness… bloody Thatcher, maybe? Oh, bollocks to it. It’s nice outside, is that not reason enough!? Either way, we’re very sorry, and have made this week’s Single Reviews extra wonderful by way of apology.

Ashlee Simpson heads up the offerings this week, with the Stars In Their Eyes take on Gwen Stefani’s entire solo catalogue, Outta My Head (Ay Ya Ya). Although it’s positive to see some form of envelope-pushing (within her own sphere at least), it sounds like Timbaland threw this together on the tour bus using his Blackberry. A step in an interesting direction, if not necessarily the right direction.

Single of the Week is awarded to the magnificent Ladytron, who continue their quiet supremacy with Ghosts, a space-age, vodka-drenched nursery rhyme with riffs and squelches in all the right places. Managing a peculiar yet admirable balance of prominent humanness and detached sci-fi psychosis, it’s the perfect advertisement for a band worthy of the kind of hard sell reserved for the Ting Tings. Oh, look who’s next…

Having been gushed over by eternal bandwagon shareholders Radio 1 and the NME for what feels like a decade, it’d be fair to have developed a loathing for the Ting Tings already. However, they’re not as dire as the hype they may have been contaminated by would suggest. Sounding like a cross between Shampoo and M.I.A. (roughly as transitory as the former, and significantly less cunty than the latter), That’s Not My Name is fresh, fun and fucking annoying.

Finally – and this isn’t an aspect of popular culture that we ever thought we’d be addressing in a musical context – comes Chanelle Hayes with a paradigm of sweaty desperation in the form of a recording career. While she provided one of the lone high(er) points in a catastrophic series of Big Brother, and while she may miraculously possess a semi-decent voice, I Want It is cordially invited to rot alongside Sandi Thom in the bowels of Hell. Speaking of, guess who’s back in next week’s Single Reviews… *evil grin*

Honking Box Review: The Apprentice

When we covered the first episode of this series of The Apprentice back in March, we had yet to determine which candidates would fulfil which roles. And we were disappointed at an apparent lack of disapproving looks from Margaret Mountford and Nick Hewer (undoubtedly the key pleasures of the show). However, last night’s show provided enough Mountford/Hewer Specials to last the entire season, and firmly cemented that no other series of The Apprentice has ever presented the viewers of Britain with such a vicious, dislikeable array of utter, utter cunts.

Given the task of designing a new range of greetings cards, not only did the contestants demonstrate their ample nasty streaks, but also their unfathomable stupidity. As if having climate change rammed down our throats by every retailer, media outlet and precocious schoolkid wasn’t enough, Jenny Celerier – the only woman on Earth capable of pleasuring herself with her own chin – somehow thought the public would buy into the concept of preaching the message via a greetings card. Who did she think would actually part with money for such vacuous crap? Hell, why not just send a turd in the post? It’d get the “I fucking detest you” message across far clearer (plus you’d be saving the paper that the card would’ve been printed on, never mind that you’re also recycling your waste).

While it would have been hugely satisfying to see Jenny crash and burn last night, it was rightly the weak, naïve Kevin who got the boot after his catastrophic failure as team leader. And although you’d imagine feeling a degree of guilt at seeing the Pillsbury Dough Boy get the pwning of his life, Kevin proved himself a big enough tosspot to justify every last hyperbole flung at him by Yesralan. Nevertheless, the episode still served to highlight exactly what a putrid bitch Jenny is. I think it’s safe to say we’ve determined this year’s Katie Hopkins.

Even early favourite Lee McQueen, who stood out as one of the few good guys, proved himself – in the space of a 30-second period at the end of last night’s show – to be a vile, bullying scumlord. His tag-team assault on Sara along with nasal, hateful pussy-boy Alex Wotherspoon made for seriously uncomfortable viewing, and proved that his approach as salt-of-the-earth barrah-boy is merely a mask for his true self as an evil, revenue-hungry business demon. If only he could mask his inch-deep pockmarks as easily.

But it’s Alex himself who takes the title of Candidate Most Deserving of a Multitude of Uppercuts. You can’t help but wonder what he’s plotting when he’s silently chewing the inside of his cheek as pandemonium unfolds all around him. Still, maybe it’s not as sinister as all that – he may just need something to do to keep his forked tongue occupied when it’s not firing poison at the weaker contestants.

Strangely, early nobber Raef has proved himself to be quite the contender. In spite of the Etonian fop-nob exterior, Raef seemingly has a fairly level head on his shoulders, and more importantly, plays fair – an even more admirable quality amidst such a hideous gaggle of villains. But of course, special mention must go to the endearingly soft Lucinda, whose steadfast refusal to stray from her cushion-collecting, cat-owning flower fairy manner has to be seen to be believed (never mind the fact that she turns up for tasks dressed as Penny Crayon).

So we’re officially throwing our weight behind Lucinda “The Legend” Ledgerwood as she strenuously and unfalteringly flies the crocheted flag for that ever-shrinking minority, nice people. A minority which, after that rant, we’re probably no longer part of…

Single Reviews 28/04/08

We begin this week’s Single Reviews with an Official Sloppy Dog Health Warning. It has emerged this week, through extensive research here at Sloppy Dog HQ, that playing Mario Kart Wii can induce perilous fits of rage, resulting in the Wii Wheel being embedded in your TV screen and/or someone’s skull. We care about you, readers. Don’t let a stray red shell ruin your life.

Starting us off this week are Brit & Alex, effectively the Sweet Valley High twins with dummy mics. The semi-beige, R&B-lite debut Let It Go is heaving with big Dallas Austin-y synths, yet it can’t detract from the bland, session musician style vocals. All well and good for shifting units of Sheer Blonde, but unlikely to dent many a chart. Next!

Having already gifted us with one of the year’s greatest singles thus far, One Night Only make an ever-welcome appearance at The Sloppy Dog. Unfortunately, It’s About Time doesn’t quite display the candour, maturity and overall magnificence of Just For Tonight, but is nevertheless the mark of a band deserving of the kind of music press gushage normally reserved for the fucking Arctic Spunkbubbles.

Next comes the unlikely pairing of Will.I.Am and Cheryl Cole. Given the Peas’ inability to craft anything halfway decent since Shut Up – solo, band or otherwise – it’ll come as quite a surprise to see Heartbreaker claim our Single of the Week. Achieving new levels of catchiness, we can only attest this track’s guilty greatness to the presence of Cheryl, even if she did seemingly phone in her contribution.

Last up is a woman as annoying as she is unaesthetic, with a track as pointless as it is lame. Admittedly, Robyn went to great lengths to excuse her wishy-washy R&B past via the stunning With Every Heartbeat, but each successive single only serves to dilute that good work further. Who’s That Girl is no exception, not least for its grating lack of question mark. Sort out your grammar, love. Then your eyebrows.

Single Reviews 21/04/08

We thought we’d get a bit more done around these parts this week, but sadly every chance we’ve had to do any form of writing has been dedicated to reviewing the new Tindersticks album for another website. Who’d have thought we’d have such difficulty finding a diplomatic way to say it’s the dullest, most depressing heap of badger-spunk ever to disgrace our ears? Thankfully, the Single Reviews require no such diplomacy…

First in the firing line (and let’s face it, it’s not a target you’d miss easily) is the miserable sack that answers to Adele, with thankfully a track that pisses over her vile, hateful Chasing Pavements. The comparably outstanding Cold Shoulder, although Mark Ronson by numbers, provides a far more agreeable showcase for an impressive voice. And yet, in the bigger picture, it’s still largely unremarkable. Long way to go yet, love. Looooong way.

Without You is the second offering from The Feeling’s slow-burn gem Join With Us. A pleasantly pensive ditty, it’s a perfect follow-on from the frenetic farm-giveaway of I Thought It Was Over. And although you may be sick of us griping about the nonsensical semi-Americanised pronunciation, we’re even sicker of hearing it. Apparently, it’s raining haRRRRd in Nawth Veh-ginia.

As the owner of what is arguably one of the most distinctive and identifiable voices in modern music, Sia is always going to receive the red carpet treatment here at The Sloppy Dog. So it’ll come as no surprise that The Girl You Lost scoops our Single of the Week. Stomping piano leading a largely Sixties swing, it may be a far cry from her unique brand of wistful chillout hymns, but it works magnificently. How global superstardom has evaded this woman is a mystery.

And lastly, The Wombats could do with taking their lead from Sia’s example, and stepping outside the box now and again. Mind you, while it may have sizeable sniffs of their previous singles, it’s otherwise difficult to fault Backfire at the Disco. Hugely catchy, heavy on personality, and above all, entertaining, we can forgive the soundalike aspect quite easily.

Single Reviews 14/04/08

Oops. Yes, another week has passed without one measly update, and we can only apologise. We could probably start cutting and pasting the same apology every fortnight really, but we’re striving to get our shit together. This week’s excuse – a trip to Ireland which did not allow ample time to conduct any form of online bitchery. Soz and all that.

Opening the Single Reviews this week is a behemoth of a collaboration on paper, yet a mushy heap of roadkill in practice. Madonna and Justin Timberlake team up for the preachy, obtuse 4 Minutes, a song so contrived and calculated, each time Timberwank sycophantically sings the word “Madonna”, you can’t help but think he’s fighting the urge to sing “McDonalds”.

Having collaborated with both of the aforementioned (one musically, one squelchily – although after that VMA kiss, that’s questionable), the serial car-crash that is Britney Spears manages a third single from Blackout in the form of Break The Ice. Nowhere close to Piece of Me, it’s a significant drop in both quality and personality, yet still far greater than 4 Minutes, which must be some form of compensation at least.

Single of the Week is bestowed upon Scouting For Girls, with the cheerfully infectious Heartbeat. It’s strange that after just a handful of singles, they’ve already cemented themselves with such a determinable sound, although a pessimist could justifiably claim this just means it all sounds the same. Nonetheless, Heartbeat is an endearing, memorable ditty that might just help paper over She’s So Lovely. (Actually... no, it’s not that good.)

And we close with the most pointless re-release in the history of recorded sound, although it feels like we’ve awarded that title to pretty much every re-release in the history of The Sloppy Dog. Toca’s Miracle 2008, a barely discernible re-jig of the 2000 chart-topper, offers precisely fuck-all (new or otherwise), and should be avoided at all costs. Shame on you, Fragma. Although, it is a reminder that chesty vocal-troll Coco was evidently the blueprint for Fergie…

Single Reviews 31/03/08

Oh lookit, we’re a bit late with the Single Reviews this week. Well, it’s on purpose. Yes, it’s all part of some lame-ass April Fools joke that has no real punchline. Actually, do April Fools jokes even have punchlines? They’re just sort of there.

Opening on a positive note, it’s our Single of the Week, which comes courtesy of the Courteeners. While not perhaps as excitement-inducing as One Night Only, it’s reassuring to encounter another new band not dripping in manufactured gimmickry. Not Nineteen Forever simple and classic, yet simultaneously, a trainee anthem with masses of promise.

The delightfully barking Roisin Murphy is snapping at the heels of the Courteeners this week with the sublime You Know Me Better. Truth be told, it’s all a bit sliced white in comparison to her kookier moments, as was the case with Let Me Know, but nevertheless is a chilled, intelligent invoker of pressing dancefloor convergence.

Certainly not one to add to your party playlist is the unapologetically grim Nude, an aural representation of a hospital mortuary courtesy of Radiohead – albeit with a capable display of innovation, such is the band’s trademark. Mind you, it not only lives up to their celebrated stereotype of misery, it sets it at a new high. Or low, technically.

Finally comes Touch My Body, marking the pre-album semi-comeback of Mariah Carey. It’s oddly unsettling how much emotion she puts into singing “YouTube” – if only she’d applied the same sentiment to 95% of her back catalogue. What’s more worrying though is the heartfelt honesty in the “I will hunt you down” lyric. The song itself is a pile o’ pish – but Mariah, you crazy old bastard, it’s good to have you back.

Honking Box Review: The Apprentice

You can’t blame the Beeb for their staunch uber-boost of the fourth series of The Apprentice, nor can you hold it against the gazillions of media outlets resultantly frothing at the genitalia in anticipation. If last night’s opening episode was any indication of the series to come, the hype was more than justified.

Of course, it’s hammered in pretty early that Sir Alan Sugar is the be-all and end-all of the series – nay, the world – and the contestants are merely his playthings in this demented circus of unintentional hilarity.

Overall, the mix seems interesting enough. 16 people of all shapes, sizes, colours, ages and with varying levels of cuntishness, but all connected by the fact they’re each more interested in conference rooms, spreadsheets and meeting requests than in friendship, family or any form of social existence.

The whippersnapper contingent has been upped significantly, with a higher proportion of post-pubescent business rugrats than in any previous series. But the early standout contestant for us was Lucinda, whose choice of attire for meeting Sir Alan and her fellow opponents was an inexplicable tribute to Eurovision-era Scooch. It’s safe to assume, even at this early stage, that Lucinda will prove to be full-on batshit crazy.

Although this year's Official Bitch has yet to be identified (though let's face it, she'll be hard-pushed to match the part-human, part-lizard poisonfest that was Katie Hopkins), we've already filled Rory's naff Sloanite loafers with the impossibly even more smug Raif, a foppish fuckwit who seemingly believes it's charm that he's oozing from every pore, as opposed to putrid, smarmy ectoplasm.

Sadly, Raif survived to blow his own trumpet another week, as we bid adieu to Nicholas de Lacy Brown, owner of the ponciest name since Sir Marmaduke Hussey. Still, the firing of NDLB was no great loss – partially because he had a breakout of gayface so far advanced, he made American Idol’s David Hernandez look like Geoff Capes; and partially because he was a smug, annoying shite-hawk.

Rather disappointingly, Nick Hewer's immeasurable assortment of facial expressions all displaying befuddlement were not on show. However, this bunch appear to possess more than their fair share of all-out idiocy, so no doubt we'll see the full range before the third episode is done. Yes, we’re going to stick our necks out and predict that we’re going to enjoy this series of The Apprentice – in fact, we'll be watching this round Nice Old Black Lady From The Market's house, to enjoy a nice bowl of eel face broth. Mmmm...

Single Reviews 24/03/08

Last year, our Easter weekend Single Reviews invited you to find a hidden Easter egg within the article. And even though a disclaimer at the end informed you that it was in fact a joke (no shit), news reaches us that a young South African woman is still – one year on – clawing away at her monitor, desperate for the aforementioned chocolatey treat. There is no chocolate, Jessica. We’re sorry.

Today’s first single pays a visit to Spain – or more aptly, a naff backstreet ‘Spanish’ restaurant run by an ex-pat couple from Rotherham. All things considered, the White Stripes actually manage to craft quite a skilful rock anthem in Conquista, it just all feels rather gimmicky. The musical equivalent of a straw donkey, albeit quite a good quality one.

Next up, Chris Brown is subjected to a severe case of producer fatigue via With You, an identikit Norwegian mid-tempo strumalong. Seriously, Stargate, there is an outside to the box as well, you know. Each “gotta see you, boo” is interchangeable with a “to the left, to the left”, a “just like a tattoo” or a… well, however that new Leona song goes. She’s too boring to pay any real attention to.

The most easily-awarded Single of the Week this year so far is lavished upon Estelle and Kanye West, with the stupendous American Boy. Much has been made of the Britisms within the song (WAGs, Ribena, bloke, rubbish, yadda yadda yadda) but don’t allow that to detract from the true star of the show – Estelle herself. Although if she’d gotten Kanye to say “butters”, we would have had to actually marry her.

And finally, another welcome return in the form of Gnarls Barkley, though it must be noted their comeback barely registers in comparison with Estelle’s offering. Run is disappointingly unoriginal, with gargantuan elements of Gone Daddy Gone throughout. It’s by no means poor or shoddy, but from such an innovative band, you’d expect a great deal more.

Danity Kane - Welcome To The Dollhouse (Bad Boy)

Imagine, for a moment, if Girls Aloud were suddenly dragged kicking, screaming and frothing at the gobs back to Popstars: The Rivals. Hell, they have a job getting Nadine to acknowledge she’s even in the band on a good day, let alone participate in something that would set their careers back half a decade.

And yet, dispatching fellow reality alumni Danity Kane back to square one seems to have done them one hell of a favour. Perhaps the demands of crafting their second album entirely in front of the cameras has pushed them to surpass their debut, or perhaps Diddy has proved himself to be a constructive, motivational, compassionate boss? No, it’ll definitely be the first one…

Welcome to the Dollhouse, the sophomore album from the one true success story of Making The Band thus far, is a far cry from the non-specific, bottom-drawer nothingness of the first record. Granted, it had its high points, but a strenuous amount of digging was required to locate them. No such exertion is needed here.

The opening line of Damaged – the potentially-immortal “Do you got a first aid kit handy?” – lyrically embodies the exact sentiment of femstravagant pluck that the first album was so bereft of. (It’s also a reminder of the existence of Shannon Bex, who could no longer be mistaken for Ashlee Simpson missing her cue and wandering onstage into the hub of an R&B girl group.)

And from there, the triumphs just keep coming, most notably in Bad Girl, a thundrous lunar lullaby which gets more than its money’s worth from a Missy Elliott cameo. The R&B rulebook has certainly been consulted though, with every urban cliché ticked at least once. The majority of tracks cover that habitually-visited subject matter of rutting like bunnies on a conjugal visit, albeit draped in all manners of swingbeat gloop.

The balladry hasn’t been abandoned altogether – let’s face it, they’d be deported for crimes against the genre for even thinking it –yet it doesn’t act as a minus, merely a stop-gap from the overtones of thrusting, flexing and ladyjiggling.

That said, the overall tone of the album is a far cry from the American standard. Welcome To The Dollhouse is a tidy inventory of Danity Kane as artists, dressed up with sufficient fizz ‘n’ bullion to give it that vital international push. Harder beats married with distinct melodies, the correct amount of fresh foibles, and most importantly, masses of attitude make for, frankly, the record that should have been their debut.

Single Reviews 17/03/08

Well readers, we’re pleased to be here in one piece after the ‘storms’ this week. They’re actually the reason behind the lack of Single Reviews last week, and not at all anything to do with the fact we were busy doing other stuff. The ‘storms’ were to blame. And the ‘earthquake’ from the other week. That too.

With arguably the strongest album of their career, Girls Aloud have a wealth of potentially chart-mounting gems from which to choose their singles. However, they’ve opted for Can’t Speak French, a reasonably fun number but by no means a head-turner, which finds that Girls Aloud evidently don’t do saucy as well as they do thundering bollock-crushage.

Already making a sizeable dent in the charts is Flo Rida with the insanely catchy Low. Had this not been an official – if unintentional – Sloppy Dog holiday anthem back in January, it’s safe to assume we wouldn’t have given it a particularly warm reception. Effectively a slice of upbeat crunk with truly absurd lyrics, it should somehow be diabolical. And yet, it’s our Single of the Week. We’re so, so sorry.

The Guillemots have to tread carefully round these parts. We’ve not forgiven them for spoiling us with the overwhelmingly brilliant Trains To Brazil then crapping out a dire album, resulting in a bigger disappointment than the expulsion of Addictiv Ladies. Still, they’re back on track (Guillemots, not Addictiv Ladies) with the buoyant, pop-heavy Get Over It, with a level of quality that’ll hopefully be carried over into album #2.

Closing proceedings this week are the Sugababes, who, unlike Girls Aloud, don’t have much to choose from on their somewhat lukewarm current album. Nonetheless, Denial is tuneful, mildly idiosyncratic, and typically Sugababes. Perhaps too much, in fact – this is likely to follow Shape, Change and Soul Sound as one of their ‘meh’ singles. Hell, at least it doesn’t follow Easy as one of their ‘fucking abysmal’ singles.

Oh, and Happy St. Patrick's Day! Tá m'árthach foluaineach lán d'eascainn.