Single Reviews 21/08/11

This week on the Single Reviews, we lay into a Britpop pioneer doing whatever the opposite of pioneering is; a so-called twat in a hat; an actual twat, who’s not in a hat, but has really noticeable hair plugs and a nails-on-chalkboard voice; and a generous heap of praise for a band we’ve already heaped generous praise upon approximately 237 times this calendar year so far. Sitting comfortably? Good.

We open with a surprisingly impressive new release from Olly Murs featuring Rizzle Kicks, the vastly contagious Heart Skips A Beat. Think a more cheery Dub Be Good To Me as reimagined by the Ordinary Boys – on paper, it sounds grim, but the results somehow make for Murs’ best single thus far. Unfairly, ol’ Olly seems to be the target for a heavy dosage of disdain, and yet the odious Joe McElderry can do no wrong (apart from, y’know, his musical output). This song might’ve changed things were he not dancing like an utter bellend in the video.

Another reality alumnus who’s crafted something above and beyond what we’ve come to expect is Will Young, whose truly atrocious chart spell looks set to be broken with Jealousy. The melancholic refrain and subdued, seductive beats courtesy of Richard X make for a track which easily overshadows all his previous efforts. And yet, there’s no disguising that infuriating, unlistenable, seagull-playing-a-vuvuzela voice, which, however you dress it up, could still grate concrete from half a mile away.

Serial recipients of Single of the Week and general hope for indie in 2011 The Vaccines clock up yet another of our hallowed awards with the sharp, speedy merriment of Norgaard. Admittedly, had we not wanted to be pointed and laughed at by the rest of the internet, it might’ve gone to Olly Murs, but Norgaard’s inviting bounce makes The Vaccines more than worthy recipients. Even if it does only last a rather pathetic one minute and 39 seconds. ONE MINUTE AND THIRTY-NINE SECONDS.

And finally, to the surprise of precisely no-one, the more talented Gallagher brother trumps the less talented one in their respective post-Oasis musical hissy-fits. Beady Eye obviously aren’t much competition, but there’s a lot to be said for The Death of You & Me, the debut single from (full pretentious title alert) Noel Gallagher’s High-Flying Birds. It’s essentially The Importance of Being Idle 2.0, but the measured, untroubled strum, memorable chorus and quietly madcap instrumental tick all the boxes. All the same boxes for the past 15 years, but they’re ticked nonetheless.

Single Reviews 14/08/11

‘Sup. It’s a rather busy one this week in terms of pop culture – aside from the traffic-stopping event that is the Single Reviews, it’s the return of both The X Factor (minus its two worst judges, but also its best) and Celebrity Big Brother (evicted from its semi-detached new build and rehomed in a council estate). We may do something in the way of liveblogging, dependent on whether we can be arsed, so keep an eye on the Twitter/Facebook feeds. For now, enjoy some songs being torn into...

As healthy and exciting a notion as The Voice is, it’s produced a rather grim side effect in the pairing of Maroon 5 featuring Christina Aguilera. Admittedly, the majority of Moves Like Jagger is decent enough, meeting Maroon 5’s original remit of funk-laden, rhythmic rock, a welcome return after their lengthy spell as stalwarts of Magic FM. But the entirely superfluous middle eight from Xtina sits awkwardly, weakening the song significantly and bringing the princely sum of fuck-all to the party. Can’t she just admit defeat and do Celebrity Big Brother instead?

Single of the Week is awarded to Aberdeenshire singer-songwriter Emeli Sandé, whose introduction came as hooksmith to a selection of interchangeable grime children. Thankfully, debut solo single Heaven is light years away from her bland chorus appearances. The refined, inconspicuous beats conjure up memories of vintage Massive Attack, while Sandé herself boasts that rare achievement in having a belter’s voice where there’s genuine, soulful character amongst the big notes. More of this, please.

The monumental blandness that drab Irish girlband Wonderland have peddled thus far somehow surpasses itself, with new single Nothing Moves Me Anymore outdoing all previous beigeness with its slow, lacklustre insignificance. There are some impressive vocals on display, sure, but when you build an entire concept around the privileged wife of the worst Westlife member, the results are never going to be particularly appealing.

And finally, if you thought our reviews of Wonderland and Christina Aguilera were negative, you’re in for a rude awakening and a veritable tsunami of bile, as the Arctic Monkeys have another sorry offering out this week. If you can get past the disgustingly pretentious title, Hellcat Spangled Shalalala is by no means their most loathsome effort, relatively deferential and arrogance-lite. And it does boast something resembling a melody, even if it’s looped until it becomes unbearable. In short: nice try, but fuck off. Many thanks.

Honking Box Review: Thundercats

Nostalgia is a dangerous thing. A television show two or three decades old can be remembered with a fondness few shows of today can replicate. And aside from the warm ‘n’ fuzzy aspect, it’s big business. Bagpuss merchandise, Rainbow club nights with DJ Zippy, the reboots of Charlie’s Angels and Knight Rider and The Bionic Woman. And of course, the lucrative DVD releases, such as the long-awaited Thundercats boxset.

And it’s here where nostalgia shows its ugly side. Turns out your memories were replaying through a quality filter, masking the fact that it was actually quite shit the first time around. Thundercats, which some would argue was the defining cartoon of the 80s, has not stood the test of time. Shoddy animation, weak dialogue and wafer-thin plotlines may not have been a concern to our 6-year-old selves, but the act of revisiting Thundercats saw the rose-tinted spectacles brutally devoured by the Living Ooze.

So with the Cartoon Network giving the series a from-scratch overhaul, there’s not actually a lot hanging on it. Sure, it’s a big deal, but in terms of matching the original, they’ve not got much to worry about, particularly if the first three episodes are any indication.

Visually, it’s very nice indeed – a slick anime style which maintains its quality, unlike the inconsistency of the original which very clearly revealed when the animators were due their tea breaks. Each character’s image has been largely upheld, save for a few appropriate tweaks here and there. Oh, and they all have hairy shoulders.

Thundercats purists will perhaps be a tad irked by the fact it’s not quite canon – where the original series saw an established team of Thundercats escaping Thundera for a life on Third Earth, the reboot sees the actual formation of the group in a convincing hotch-potch manner, as they trek across Third Earth (on which Thundera is merely a walled city) in search of the Book of Omens. Following? Good.

Lion-O and Tygra are now brothers; WilyKit and WilyKat are a pair of street urchins; Snarf, mercifully, cannot talk; Lynx-O makes a fleeting appearance, in the interests of political correctness; Cheetara is some sort of ballsy second-in-command to Jaga, who is not dead but imprisoned by Mumm-Ra, whose partner in crime is rogue Thundercat and all-round bit-of-a-git Grune; and Panthro is dead. Panthro! Dead!

It’s all well and good picking out the details of the update, but overall, it just feels far more intelligent. There are undercurrents of terrorism and segregation, without being overtly moral, and the general narrative is one that forces you to give a bit more of a shit than the original ever did. It salutes the original concept with grace, yet stands alone as an entity in its own right. There’s no word as yet regarding any UK transmission dates, but some creative Googling will allow you to judge for yourselves. Whether it’s going to captivate a generation of kids in 2011 the same way the original did is the big question, but for those of us who should know better 24 years on, it’s definitely worth cracking open another crate of Berbil candyfruit in celebration.

Single Reviews 07/08/11

Amongst the line-up for this week’s Single Reviews: a really good artist doing quite a crappy song; a really crappy artist doing quite a good song; and a boring song being really good, in a strange sort of way. It’s all rather back-to-front, truth be told. The kind of bizarre parallel universe type stuff where, say, something like Swagger Jagger can be on course for Number One. *shudder*

Charlie Simpson – yes, he of the choreographed jumps and mile-wide dental gap – somehow produces something remarkably good to kick us off. Parachutes ditches the manufactured stabs at emo in favour of an out-and-out Coldplay tribute, and with surprisingly decent results. It’s a shame his voice still conjures up the same feeling of polystyrene being roughly diced with a knife and fork. And when a song by Cheryl Cole on the same subject trumps yours, it’s time to accept you’ll never achieve the muso credentials you’re so desperate for.

After several years floating in a dreary limbo of overproduction, Britney Spears clawed her way back to brilliance with her last single Til The World Ends. Sadly, the quality takes a dip – albeit only slightly – with I Wanna Go, all tinned beats and housey twiddles and jittery vocal effects. The whistle hook adds a nice something, though, and serious kudos must be awarded for the best video she’s done in a long while.

Perhaps we’ve put a bit too much stock in their return, but the comeback of Kids In Glass Houses is a largely disappointing one. Animals is dripping in character and packed with an untouchable fervour, and there’s definite progression which should be praised. However, the bizarre fusion of dirty Kasabian moments and amplified poodle-rock doesn’t make for a wholly enjoyable affair, and hopefully is not too strong an indication of their upcoming third album.

The newly-slinky Jennifer Hudson – because all coverage of her must reference her weight loss – gets all neck-snappy with the understated feline strut of No-One Gonna Love You. It’s unflappable and it’s sophisticated, but somewhere amongst the vocal runs and handclap beats and layers of ad-libs and Alicia Keys-esque tinkles, there’s a tune dying to make itself heard. But that’s probably true of most R ’n’ B, so within that particular sphere, ol’ J-Hud is one of the less guilty parties.

And finally, we wind down with our Single of the Week, which comes courtesy of Elbow. The unruffled, quiet splendour of Lippy Kids may not be the stuff of repeated plays, and for a single, it’s perhaps a tad on the lifeless side. But within its own sphere, its piano-led stillness makes for an intriguing, assured but humble indie mantra. Plus it’s easy to believe Elbow were probably desperate to do something which wouldn’t become a clichéd soundbed anthem for decades to come.

Little Jackie - Made For TV

It seems each time we dissect a new effort from New York songstrel and general bastion of brilliance Imani Coppola, we’re berating the criminal underperformance of her previous work. So, in keeping with tradition, 2008’s first outing from Little Jackie – Coppola’s exceptional pairing with entrancing production alchemist Adam Pallin – sold a fraction of fuck-all. Seriously, do you people not have ears?

But, resilient as ever, Little Jackie follow up the barbed magnificence of The Stoop with the independently-released Made For TV. And while its sudden appearance may be a surprise, the towering quality within is most definitely not.

The rhythmic, frantic horns of Take Back The World sets the tone instantly, an album of bouncy brass covering subjects no-one else could even dare to pull off: from the acceptance of cougar status on 21st B-Day Party to the joys of a marriage of convenience on The Pact, it’s social commentary with an entirely individual voice.


The Bond-theme slink of 31 Flavors takes proceedings from Bedford-Stuyvesant to Monaco on a sonic level, yet lyrically, it’s unashamedly mischievous and radiantly human. Such impudence is something explored further on Cockblock: “I made a promise to my pussy that next time I’d wait / I’ll just sit home and masturbate.” A touch of the Lil Kims on paper, perhaps, but the breezy, carefree delivery of Coppola turns it into a comical, congenial reflection.

In fact, throughout Made For TV, Coppola’s matchless brand of screwball genius shows no signs of dissolving, although once again, it’s balanced skilfully by the absorbing, authentic beats of Pallin. The zany substance of solo albums Chupacabra or The Black & White Album prove Coppola’s wondrous waywardness knows no limits, but when tethered firmly to NYC by Pallin’s classic compositions, the results, frankly, are pure genius.

Not that this is news to us. The Stoop demonstrated an unparalleled flair, and while its numbers may have been few in terms of sales, those lucky enough to encounter it know of its positives all too well. And Made For TV forms the perfect follow-up; it carries all the same components, but bedecks proceedings with a more lush, even slightly more settled atmosphere. Whether it’ll turn heads on any large scale is sadly a question for the insular, back-slapping world of radio, but decades from now, Made For TV has the potential to be unearthed as an early 21st Century classic. And should this very blog still exist somewhere in ghost form, we’d like to take this opportunity to smugly say we told you so.

Single Reviews 31/07/11

We had planned to squeeze in some sort of little tribute to Amy Winehouse here, but given this week’s Single Reviews come in the form of an X Factor Special, it’s safe to assume she wouldn’t be too chuffed with that. So let’s just push on with dissecting the selection of X Factor alumni who are flooding the singles market in one go. Mind you, we reckon only one at a push will even make the Top 40, so it’s not what you’d call a monopoly. With no further ado, it’s time! To face! The music! *roll titles*

Opening the show – in the death slot, no less – are Belle Amie, hotch-potch girlband from 2010, albeit one member down. The fact they’ve even reached a debut single despite having no identity as a group or apparent cohesiveness with each other is impressive; Girls Up itself is most certainly not impressive. The objective is apparently a quirky, catchy, uplifting girl power anthem – but the result is a disarray of awkward, artificial, tuneless irrelevance. Geneva Lane had a very lucky escape indeed. It’s a no from us.

Faring slightly better are fellow 2010 contenders The Reason 4, the blue-collar manband ditched at Judges' Houses. On the strengths of debut single Take It All, there’s some definite talent on board – soaring choruses and glossy production make this a power ballad very much in the vein of Nu Take That, even if they do have a penchant for a lyrical cliché here and there. It’s intriguing to consider what they might have achieved had they been given an opportunity in place of the appalling groups that did make the cut.

Single of the Week is bestowed upon Ruth Lorenzo, a singer we have no problem labelling as our favourite X Factor finalist of all time. Yes, even greater than Addictiv Ladies. However, we’ve not let that cloud our judgement – debut single Burn wins our approval entirely on its own merits. An earnest, passionate, timeless rock ballad with a captivating melody, it perfectly accommodates her impressive pipes and genuine artistry. It’ll probably sell diddly-squat, but Lorenzo makes a lot more sense doing this than having to kneel down in front of Simon Cowell.

Next is a member of the Hard-Done-By Winners’ Club paired with a faceless dance diva. Must Be A Reason is a peculiar entity courtesy of J Pearl featuring Shayne Ward, though the credits went the other way round when it was merely an album track from the Series 2 champion. Based heavily on the Wamdue Project’s 1999 hit, it’s a house-lite summer stomp with vocals so tweaked it sounds like a swarm of bees got into the studio. And while the chattering, breakneck vocals, which teeter on the verge of rapping, showcase an interesting side to Shayne, it’s probably too little too late.

And we close with perhaps the most talked-about song of the year. A track which doesn’t even polarise opinion so much as stir up venomous hatred across the whole of humanity. Yes, it’s Swagger Jagger, the unreservedly shocking debut from the unmistakeable Cher Lloyd. From its Western folk sample to its electro-twizzle breakdown to its social media lyrical splurge, it’s all hideous stuff. And yet, it feels like that was the intention from the outset. With millions of views, people casually (if ironically) quoting from it left right and centre, and Cher Lloyd’s name on everyone’s lips, mission accomplished.

Amy Winehouse 1983 - 2011

Understandably, the blogosphere is awash with tributes to the late Amy Winehouse. And it's difficult to know exactly how to handle it. We've specifically steered clear of Twitter with its tributes and its accusations that certain tributes aren't fitting and its rants that the accusations about the tributes are inappropriate.

Frankly, her music is the best possible tribute in itself.

However, we'd quite like to pay homage to the fact she was really, really fucking hilarious. Enjoy this episode of Never Mind The Buzzcocks from 2006:





RIP Amy. x

Single Reviews 24/07/11

Welcome to the Single Reviews, in a week where news of a Captain Planet live-action movie is announced, Brian Dowling returns to the Big Brother trainwreck, and Steps declare they’re planning a comeback. Judging by this pattern, we can expect the next couple of days to reveal the relaunch of the Sinclair C5, a whole new series of Ice Warriors commissioned, and that Vanilla are reforming for the Opening Ceremony of the London 2012 Olympics.

Opening this week’s releases, She Makes Me Wanna is a wretched, hands-in-the-air thud-along courtesy of JLS featuring Dev. It’s hard to remember how fresh and exciting Beat Again felt on its release, as JLS have gone on to peddle some of the most trite, predictable ‘in da club’ R&B pigswill imaginable. It also employs that annoying habit of interchanging city, country and continent, whilst Dev’s contribution just sounds like Nicole Richie reading the football results.

Joshua Radin, of all people, scoops a begrudgingly-awarded Single of the Week with the perpetually happy I Missed You, crafted specifically to dampen a stadiumful of American housewives. It’s so chirpy, so bouncy, so cloyingly nice, it’s impossible not to feel some sort of Grinch-like disdain for it. But the rockabilly beats and mesmerising vocal hook prove an incredibly powerful force. God help us all if this makes it to radio.

The first major release for overtouted newcomers Six D comes in the form of the high-velocity pop thumper Best Damn Night. It’s actually quite an effective introduction, blending rap and a candyfloss chorus atop a pulsating backdrop, and there’s a synergy amongst them that certainly comes across. But take away the sizeable online buzz, the try-hard ‘urban’ leanings and the slick choreography, and the question arises: are they really any different to Boom?

And finally, Maverick Sabre shows us exactly what a hybrid of Hackney and Wexford sounds like. Remarkably, it’s not a fiddle-de-dee jig with a brap-laden chorus. Let Me Go houses a brassy, addictive, hip-hop beat beneath some interesting vocals which channel Finley Quaye (with an unfortunate snifter of Amy Winehouse). You’d be hard pushed to walk anywhere in London without tripping over male singer/rappers of this ilk, but there’s just enough of an edge here to outline his individuality. Just.

Honking Box Preview: The Apprentice

Another series of The Apprentice, another nation of sofa cushions raised in excruciating discomfiture. From episode one, with the genuinely frightening, near-psychotic tendencies of Edward “DON’T FIT THE MOULD” Hunter, it was pretty clear this was going to be a classic series.

Since then, we’ve had semi-racist iPhone apps, illogical refuse collections, opera gloves during business presentations, Hip Replacement magazine for the over-60s, the most unappealing biscuits ever created, June Sarpong being robbed of her title of World’s Most Annoying Voice by Melody, and a few hundred thousand superfluous uses of “yeah?” courtesy of Natasha. So what are we left with?

Susan Ma

Who she? The whiny little one with the eternal woe-is-me complex.

Background: Susan set up her own business at 17. “JUST LIKE YOU, LORD SUGAR! We are THE SAME! HIRE ME!” Susan’s particular specialism, however, was cosmetics. A darn sight more lucrative than The E-M@iler.

Series highlight: Questioning whether the French love their children. In fairness, we understood what she meant, but it didn’t half come out ham-fisted.

Specialisms: Buying; selling; shiny things; ‘putting ingredients together’; being shouted down by her teammates; acting as a human doormat; a general victim mentality.

Likely business venture: Given Susan’s ongoing insistence that she’s a successful businesswoman already, perhaps Lord Sugar sees something lucrative in the skincare market. And anyone who’s watched The Apprentice in HD will know he could certainly use a staff discount.

Jim Eastwood

Who he? This season’s strongest contender for the Katie Hopkins/Alex Wotherspoon passive-aggressive poisonous bitch role.

Background: Having started out in his dad’s fish and chip shop, Jim’s success later came in one of those stupid business sales solutions management e-nonsense jobs no-one (a) understands, or (b) gives a flying fuck about.

Series highlight: Sounding like a one-man Punch & Judy show as he flogged an array of cheap, nasty merchandise to the good folk of Shepherds Bush Market.

Specialisms: Argument-diffusing; massage; talking utter shite to an often-successful end; worming his way out of trouble; blame-shifting; being an eel in human form.

Likely business venture: A consultancy that works with new businesses to create imaginative, dynamic company titles. Titles like Everydog and Caraca’s. Then, when said businesses flop as a result of Jim’s awful name choices, he’ll liquidise his consultancy, set up a new one and do it all again. Repeat ad nauseum.

Helen Louise Milligan

Who she? Silent-but-successful Sugar-bot with a near-perfect win record.

Background: Executive Assistant to the Grand High Overlord of Greggs the Bakers. Much has been made of Helen’s absence of drive or independence in the workplace, but which of the other contestants can boast they play a part in bringing steak bakes to the masses?

Series highlight: Smashing the existing boardroom sales record by flogging kiddie seats to the French, thus also answering Susan’s question about whether the French actually like their kids...

Specialisms: Pitching; strategising; spray-tanning; keeping any form of emotion well under wraps.

Likely business venture: Assuming that Lord Sugar doesn’t have any interest in investing in the greasy pastry market, Helen could make a fortune opening a training academy for the next generation of silent, stealthy business ninjas.

Tom Pellereau

Who he? The Michael-Sheen-a-like boffin with the missing bottom jaw.

Background: An inventor who supposedly came up with the idea of a curved nail file. Cos, y’know, they haven’t been available from any bogstandard pharmacy across the world for decades, or anything.

Series Highlight: ‘Qype’ into ‘Mypy’ – the beautiful mistake that saw a dim-witted misreading of a sign turned into a successful, pie-shifting takeaway brand.

Specialisms: Being right; being ignored; losing; sighing; skin-shreddingly bad roleplay.

Likely business venture: We’ll rule out Tom setting up a drama school following his shambolic BixMix presentation, so perhaps a new branded exercise program, a la Zumba or BodyPump, which strengthens, tones and conditions entirely from nodding techniques.

The probable winner? The smart money is on Helen: professional, intelligent, and – let’s face it, she’ll be working for a forceful megalomaniac with a Napoleon complex – subservient. But honestly, we’d quite like it to be Susan. As annoying as she has been, there’s a real underdog quality to her, and Lord Sugar appears to have seen something in her that perhaps the cameras haven’t yet picked up on.

The final, which sees the interview round promoted to final task and once again invites back Her Majesty Margaret of Mountford, airs this Sunday (that’s Sunday, not next Wednesday) at 9pm. And hey, if Lord Sugar wants to use it as an opportunity to announce his retirement and put Margaret front-and-centre next series, that wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

Single Reviews 10/07/11

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

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

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

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

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