Single Reviews 28/02/11

Hey, are you lot excited? It’s Oscars Night! Yes, a whole load of people we don’t really care about voting for films that are probably far too highbrow for us. And just FYI, if The Social Network wins an award, the entire concept of cinema is a complete farce. If it was called Poke!: The Movie, people would realise how lame an idea it is. But enough tearing strips off films – it’s time to tear strips off music...

We open up with a bright burst of happy-clappy cosiness from Hackney indie-diva-in-waiting, CocknBullKid. Granted, the roundabout optimism and high-pitched happiness of Hold On to Your Misery might be a tad saccharine, almost as though it should soundtrack a Flora ad, but there’s promise of a rather interesting artist at the heart of things.

Postcards From A Young Man, the title track of last year’s triumphant tenth album from the Manic Street Preachers, gets a push as a single, and rightly so. A direct, engaging melody equipped with swathes of sentiment make for one of their greatest releases in years, and a deserving Single of the Week. And we’ll guess that the strings sounding near-identical to those from Melanie C’s Northern Star was a mere coincidence.

Louis Walsh resurrects the ghost of Bellefire in patchwork five-piece Wonderland, PURELY COINCIDENTALLY featuring Jodi out of Girl Thing, Hollyoaks, and Kian Egan’s bed. The beige, country-flecked Not A Love Song cleverly stands out from the spate of attitudey new girlbands, but you wonder who’ll actually part with money for such plain, lacklustre material.

Bob Sinclar employs the distinctive vocal of Sean Paul to add a smidgen of ragga to the diseased house horror of Tik Tok, which almost unbelievably, samples No Limit by 2 Unlimited. One can only assume 2 Unlimited’s noxious reach didn’t make it as far as Jamaica, else Sean Paul wouldn’t put his name to such a grim dishonour of the entire dance genre. Samples aside, it’s pretty much a big ol’ Euro-cacophony that’ll come and go quicker than, well, Wonderland.

Honking Box Review: Episodes

Well, a round of applause for Episodes, then. Even leaving the content aside for a moment, the fact it was allowed even reach the end of its run at a time when the BBC are brutally clawing shows from the schedules left, right and centre is a real accomplishment in itself. Bravo, seriously.

But let’s save the true applause for the brilliance contained within, for Episodes turned out to be quite the little gem. The Showtime/BBC co-production had set itself something of a challenge – aside from the ‘too many cooks’ ethos that turned the latest series of Primeval into a total shark-jumping shitshower, the high-profile and very apparent presence of Matt LeBlanc was another dangerous component.

Post-Friends vehicles for the Golden Six seem to attract a disproportionate amount of criticism. And while such scrutiny for Joey, a direct spin-off, might be understandable to an extent, it's largely meant some real gems have hit the commissioners' dumper far quicker than is justifiable.

And Episodes, an incredibly daring vehicle in which LeBlanc bravely plays an unflattering, distorted parody of himself, is no exception. Critics and fans tore it to shreds just minutes into the pilot, but having seen the series through to its climax, it was in fact, something of a triumph.

Admittedly, the sceptics had a point in wondering how good ol' British irony would stay above water in this curious transatlantic teaming, but the execution was actually quite an impressive achievement, choosing to play up to the cultural differences on-screen rather than a clumsy stab at a compromise.

And while the first couple of episodes might have taken a while to get going – the saving grace being the genuinely hilarious expressions of Daisy Haggard – the overall arc was sturdy, smart and hugely engaging, while all the little quirks within ranged from the shrewd to the uproarious to the touching to the gloriously un-PC.

But it seems those little quirks weren’t quite enough to win over viewers at large, and more’s the pity. The subtleties of Lisa Kudrow's short-lived but now cult series The Comeback failed to capture the drooling masses gagging for a burst of "WE WERE ON A BREAK!" familiarity. And while Episodes was a far more accessible vehicle, with its slapstick and its comfortable Friends references, there's a real danger that its gentle irony, its invitation to find your own humour amongst its nuances, and its free use of the word "cunt" might have scared off enough viewers to get the axeman sharpening his tired blade. Does Episodes serve a second series? Absolutely. Will it get a second series? Sadly, we fear the commissioners will be hovering somewhere around “I don’t wanna see that!” or thereabouts.

(...A quote which, if you failed to recognise, proves the point nicely. Can we interest you in a “How YOU doin’?” instead, perhaps?)

Single Reviews 21/02/11

This isn’t just any old Single Reviews. Oh no, this is a very special post, as it’s our 400th. Momentous, huh? And to celebrate, we bring you an exclusive interview with Lady Gaga, preview clips of the Abba comeback album, and an affidavit from Justin Bieber stating he’ll never record another song ever again. (Not really. We’ve just listened to some new releases and commented on them.)

The ongoing barrage of accusations that Oasis were little more than a Beatles tribute act must have been taken as a compliment by a naive Liam Gallagher, as Beady Eye have not only taken the baton but put it in a pair of round glasses and sat it upright in a bed next to Yoko Ono. The Roller is, aside from its Beatles leanings, a fairly watery radio-rock ditty with a disappointing shortage of character, and hardly the stuff of launch singles.

Birmingham-based buzz-gatherer Clare Maguire lives up to the generous mentions bouncing around the music press with The Last Dance, an atmospheric demi-house number that puts to use some seriously impressive pipes. In fact, she almost sounds rather like Cher when her face still moved. That’s proper Cher, by the way, not Cher Lloyd. Her face moves too much. But we digress – thumbs up for Clare Maguire.

Coming out of leftfield with a pseudo-military, social-commentary, electronica-enhanced anthem are Take That, although not to great results. Mark Owen gives a largely weak vocal, and the attempt at cheeky bravado was best left at the bottom of the septic tank with Rudebox. Aside from that, Kidz gains kudos for the stabs at such a daring new direction, and for the apparent lack of contribution from Robbie Williams.

And lastly, Morning Parade claim our Single of the Week with the difficult-to-resist immediacy of A&E. Alluring, bewitching verses make way for a forceful chorus, all displaying a clean, measured boisterousness and an innovative mélange of skilful rock and thumping dance sensibilities. Now if they could hurry their asses up and give us an entire album of this stuff, we’d be eternally grateful.

The Sloppy Dog LiveBlog: The Brit Awards 2011

Good evening, and welcome to our momentous 399th post! Had we realised sooner, we'd have bothered to do a Single Reviews last week to round things up for this liveblog. But hey, we're not here to celebrate the ramblings of a sparsely-updated blog, we're here to celebrate the British music industry. Apparently. Yes, it's the Brit Awards 2011, and we shall be covering the shenanigans for your entertainment, because the show itself is likely to be as entertaining as a Jiffy bag. And as you may have noticed, we're not using the fancy-schmancy liveblog software we used to tear The X Factor to shreds this evening, so keep hitting refresh for updates.

20:01
Take That open proceedings, doing Kidz. It's not their strongest, and Mark Owen sounds like someone doing a really bad impersonation of David Bowie, but crucially, Robbie Williams is not front-and-centre. He's essentially the Tina Barrett of Take That tonight, and rightly so.

20:08
Potentially the most exciting thing to happen all evening: Internet Explorer just froze. Mind you, there wasn't a whole lot of action to comment on in the meantime. James Corden hosting, sans Mathew Horne and Kylie Minogue this time, and Dizzee Rascal presenting the Best British Male to Plan B - a deserving winner whose music is thankfully nowhere near as dull as his acceptance speeches.

20:11
Oooh, clumsy stuff, ITV HD! Cutting to the clock! Hardly professional! Says the person whose laptop just had a mini-stroke in the middle of a liveblog. James Corden introduces "the beautiful Adele" with an entirely straight face. Perhaps we haven't given Adele a fair chance, as much of our disdain for her comes from the hideous Chasing Pavements, but she's yet to release anything that acts as much of an apology.

20:16
Is this still going on?

20:18
James Corden IS WELLING UP. At Adele! Welling up!! Grow a pair, you massive jessie. This year, they're peppering the show with little pretentious VTs building up to Best British Album rather than just getting on with the bleeding award. First up, Mumford & Sons, sitting in a cornfield. Cos that's how they roll, yo.

20:20
Who the fucking fuck invited Justin Bieber?! Is he actually going to win something?! Disgusting. James Corden is getting all paedo on him, and it's deeply, deeply unpleasant. And sticking with the theme of deeply unpleasant entities, it's Fuck Off Fearne Cotton! Or a highly-exaggerated parody of Fearne Cotton anyway, as she's declared her love for Adele and "her friend" Justin Bieber in a manner so sycophantic you honestly think she's taking the piss.

20:23
And the winner of Best British Breakthrough is Tinie Tempah. That's right, ladies and gents, lyrics about keeping your clothes at your aunt's house is what wins awards these days.

20:25
For precisely no reason, Boris Becker is here to announce Arcade Fire as recipients of Best International Album. They seem genuinely chuffed, which is nice to see. And how often do Canadian acts win these things? Only sometimes-ish. That's how often.

20:27
James Corden introduces Rihanna with a joke about wanking, which, let's face it, is the only reason she's still got a record deal 216 singles after the dreadful Pon De Replay. She's doing Only Girl In The World underneath what looks like that sacred tree out of Avatar.

20:29
Ah, but now it's skeeving off into S&M, ensuring the front page of many a scabloid will be adorned with her gusset in 10 hours' time.

20:31
And now it's morphing into fucking What's My Name, arguably the worst thing she's ever done. Let's face it though, this woman's only ever bearable when she's humping Matt Cardle's leg.

20:36
An advert for the Justin Bieber movie! How utterly disgusting. Who's up for picketing any cinema dumb enough to show this tripe? It'll be like the cinema protest in Father Ted, complete with "Careful Now!" placards.

20:38
It's time for the Critics' Choice Award, or to give it its correct title, Brits School Graduate of Note Award. In fairness, Jessie J seems a fairly decent choice, if you can overlook the repugnant Do It Like A Dude. She claims to be speechless, which is pretty fucking stupid given that she's known about this award since December.

20:41
It's time for another gushy VT for Best British Album, this one showcasing Tinie Tempah. Now, he seems a nice chap, doesn't he? But we do not 'get' him. Do you have to be an actual pubeless schoolchild to understand his appeal?

20:43
Mind you, at the other end of the spectrum, it's a live performance from Mumford & Sons. It's actually quite refreshing to see an unrefined, adult-oriented, tweed-clad folk act in the same category as ageing boybands and fly-by-night rappers. Mumford & Sons have, on paper, absolutely no right to have done as well as they have, and for that reason, they wholly deserve to be on that stage.

20:44
It's pretty fucking dull, though.

20:47
Lewis Hamilton has escaped the vile clutches of Nicole Scherzinger for the evening to announce Best International Male, a category his aforementioned girlfriend would probably have been nominated for prior to the operation.

20:48
Result! Cee-Lo Green takes the award. Very well deserved it is too. Hey, did you lot catch his performance on the Grammy Awards? It had Gwyneth Paltrow and The Muppets. GWYNETH PALTROW AND THE MUPPETS. Yes folks, star of Market Kitchen on Good Food, Gwyneth Paltrow. And The Muppets. YouTube it if you haven't yet had the pleasure. It'll be a damn sight more entertaining than anything on this stage tonight, that's for sure.

20:54
Alan Carr presents the award for Best British Single, and it's one hell of a sorry category. It's sponsored by Capital FM - how exactly have they totted up ten nominees when their playlist is comprised of only four songs?

20:56
And the winner is Tinie Tempah. Once again, we ask you - the aunt's house lyric? Seriously?

20:57
Tinie Tempah is stood in total silence while he waits for Labrinth to join him onstage. Labrinth does not come. Tinie Tempah continues to wait. Alan Carr looks awkward. No sign of Labrinth. Tinie Tempah plods on anyway. RIVETING STUFF.

20:58
A selection of Duran Duran personnel are on hand to crown the Best International Group, a category which somehow includes the Black Eyed Peas, the aural version of a septic collective of conductors of backstreet abortions. Luckily, they don't get it, and it's just as well, as they'd just melt the award down to make some stupid fucking oversized sunglasses or a metal bra for Fergie's heaving plastic chest. Instead, it's a second win for Arcade Fire.

21:02
Plan B is demonstrating why his win earlier was a much-deserved one, via an impressive live performance of She Said, which segues dramatically into Prayin'. There's a big choreographed riot taking place on stage, although a tenner says Paloma Faith misses the joke completely and hides under the table to call the police.

21:06
Next to get the Best British Album video-eulogy are The XX, a band so frighteningly pretentious they almost go full-circle and come all the way back round to 'quite good'. Only almost, mind.

21:08
James Corden is kissing up to Cee-Lo Green. It's not quite as creepy as when he put his ickyness all up in Justin Bieber earlier, but it's highly unnecessary stuff.

21:12
While the hidden persuaders shift their wares to us, here's a question: does anyone else feel like today's pop is starting to pass them by? Granted, it's a worrying notion for a sometime music writer still (just) in his twenties, but something like tonight's Brit Awards just cements the fact. It's just all a bit anonymous and... meh... is it not?

21:14
It's funny how Will Young can stand next to Avril Lavigne - a girl with extensions and pink and green streaks - and still be the one with the most artificial hair. They're here to announce the Best International Newcomer...

21:15
...Justin fucking Bieber. A shrill shrunken lesbian whose entire career hinges on the hysterical hype of a billion retarded social networking baboons. That lyric about the aunt's house sounds like the stuff of an Ivor Novello right about now.

21:17
Boy George is here to announce Best British Female. Go on, make a joke about Bieber...

21:18
Bah. No such luck. Instead, we're treated to a few million Britons making "whuh...?" noises at Laura Marling and Rumer.

21:19
See the above "whuh..." noises and multiply them by about a thousand, as Laura Marling has just scooped it. Wouldn't you love to hear Cheryl Cole's thoughts right about now? Actually, it's probably just a stream of pound signs and Chupa Chups and images of Simon Cowell from a suspiciously low angle.

21:22
And here to cap their double win are Arcade Fire. They're really quite good, considering the performances this evening have been rather lame on the whole. Don't you long for the days of an awesome mimed Who Do You Think You Are?

21:25
And following a largely irrelevant chat with Mark Ronson, who's rocking the Shakira-circa-Underneath-Your-Clothes six-inches-of-jet-black-roots look, it's a VT of Take That talking about how they let the Duke of Pontins back in.

21:32
Cheryl Cole is presenting Best International Female. However will she cope when faced with an actual singer?

21:33
No such worries. It's Rihanna.

21:35
James Corden talks up the Tinie Tempah performance so much you'll be disappointed unless an apparition of the Virgin Mary rocks up and does the Written In The Stars hook.

21:37
Some very nice lasers there. *waits for something big*

21:38
*continues waiting*

21:39
Is this a whole theme Tinie Tempah is peddling this evening? Waiting around for fuck-all? First the blank nothingness while Labrinth was taking advantage of the hospitality, then a straightforward performance which is nothing more than a straightforward performance.

21:40
Still with us? Not feeling too old, are we? Ah well, as if to prove the point that music is passing by everyone who's not in One Direction, here are the Best British Group nominees: Soupy's Elk Party; Shirlee & The Rattlesnake; Humbugz; Bricksniff; and The Wet Jealousies.

21:42
Not really. Take That win, and have an onstage love-in with the Fat Dancer, who thinks it's appropriate to say "shabba" a number of times. Hey, however old you might feel, at least you're doing it with dignity and not saying "shabba" in front of millions of viewers. It's like the world's worst dad-dancing condensed into one solitary word.

21:46
James Corden has a conversation with Plan B so insanely boring it prompts four-fifths of the Brits viewership to flick over for the end of Big Fat Gypsy Weddings.

21:50
Ha! The new Downing Street cat scratching fuck out of an ITN reporter. Maybe it thought she was Kay Burley.

21:51
But back to the Brit Awards, and Roger Daltrey is here to crown the winner of Best British Album. Having trailed it so heavily, it better be someone good. But bearing in mind it's in association with Daybreak and The Sun, whoever gets it probably won't even want to touch it lest it give them a rash of some sort.

21:54
And the winner is, somehow, Mumford & Sons. Fair play to 'em. They cement the difficulties of an awards ceremony staged in the round, as none of them know which way to face. James Corden hurries them off stage to welcome Cee-Lo, presumably without Gwyneth or Muppets.

21:56
Bah. Why do the Grammy Awards get the big fun performance, and we're stuck with a load of dancers channelling Emma Bunton's Maybe video? Probably because the Grammys actually count for something, in all fairness.

21:57
Oh dear. It's Paloma Faith, sounding horribly off-key. Mind you, she's a sort of hybrid of woman and Muppet, so at least they've attempted to recreate the magic, even if the result is like a chemical spill at a special school Christmas concert.

22:00
And it's only now that the credits have rolled that we've realised there's no Outstanding Contribution this year. Maybe because there haven't been any artists worthy of such an accolade recently? Never mind, The Wanted, there's always next year to talk your boss into twisting the industry's arms. Thank you all for joining us this evening, and if there's one thing you've learned, it's to only buy enough clothes to store in your own house. Your poor aunt. :o(

Single Reviews 31/01/11

Stuck for how to spend that iTunes voucher a whole month after Christmas? Baffled by this clunky new “on air, on sale” concept? Then allow our Single Reviews to guide you, featuring a key example of the latter, as well as two soloists masquerading as bands, and the originators of the renowned catchphrase “foight loike me da as well”. Diverse line-up, huh?

Jamiroquai open proceedings this week, with the largely-iffy, brass-flecked nothingfest of Lifeline. For a performer who’s (a) best known for innovative, quirky offerings, and (b) so quick to berate others, it’s surprising that Lifeline sounds like a Toploader B-side that’s been dredged out by a shrewd A&R for a One Direction novelty swing album.

And another returnee from the 90s – albeit a significantly more bizarre one – comes in the form of The Barbarellas, namely 50% of B*Witched. The intense electro-squelch of Body Rock certainly deserves props for attempting something so strikingly different, but there’s no masking the nasally vocals of Edele Lynch.

On the eve of a supposed retirement, The Streets’ final comeback seems fairly poignant. That said, it’s most likely a Lily Allen-style attention-sponge exploit, so don’t get too upset. Going Through Hell sees a more developed, thought-out style from Mike Skinner, plus a select contribution from The Music’s Robert Harvey, all sat atop a crunching riff to great effect.

Single of the Week, perhaps surprisingly, goes to a woman whose launch single put her firmly in the ‘no’ pile. However, Jessie J fully redeems herself with Price Tag, an infectious, mid-tempo portion of genius boasting an appearance from B.oB. and a killer scandichorus. And while the latter may give it a slight identikit feel, there’s personality in abundance, and serves to warrant the colossal hype far better than Do It Like A Dude ever could.

Honking Box Review - Mary Portas: Secret Shopper

Broadcasters, it seems, often dive into new projects without looking. Unfortunately, this isn’t the case when certain struggling writers are trying to get a show commissioned (COMEDY COUGH NOISE), but when talent exclusivity is involved, it’s generally a case of sign now, worry later.

Remember when the BBC snapped up Johnny Vaughan on the wave of his post-Big Breakfast sovereignty, and had no clue what do with him? Or when they signed Graham Norton, tried a load of clumsy formats on him, then eventually ended up with a carbon copy of his Channel 4 show five years later? Or how about ITV’s unqualified misfire in their snaffling of Trinny and Susannah?

Unfortunately, a similar issue has arisen in Channel 4’s rash new deal with Mary Portas, with whom they’ve not quite crashed and burned, but on the strength of the first episode of Mary Portas: Secret Shopper, they’ve certainly not got their money’s worth.

BBC Two’s Mary Queen of Shops saw her championing the independent shops and striving to get the individuality back into retail. And to give Mary her dues, she absolutely nailed it. Well, with the exception of the renowned Bakery Bitch in New Malden, but presumably she’s paying the price with no-one wanting to touch her sticky buns since.

And let’s not forget Mary Queen of Charity Shops, not only a worthwhile exercise in changing people’s perceptions of the charity shop, but introduced a cast of lovable old dears who Mary bounced off brilliantly.

That said, Mary Portas: Secret Shopper did unveil a fun side in which Mary donned a particularly lame disguise and matched it with a peculiar Northern accent. Let’s hope this is a key theme from week to week – perhaps next week she can put on a fat suit and be Scouse, or the following week she could nip into Mothercare in a yashmak with a dodgy attempt at a Pakistani twang. A bit of development and we might have found Mary Portas her very own comedy sketch format.

Admirably, the retail guru – for no mention of Mary Portas can be made without addressing her as such – went headlong into the challenge, starting right at the armpit of the high street: Primark. Although her later efforts saw her working alongside Pilot to achieve some positive results, her trudge through the elasticated doldrums of Primark and attempts to underline its problems was brave, if a tad foolish.

Let’s consider the typical Primark customer. They don’t care about customer service – they know that when they’re paying £2 for a blouse, the corners are going to have to be cut somewhere. They don’t care about the piles of clothes flung across the shop floor – they’re the ones who put them there. And if that doesn’t give some indication of Primark’s clientele, perhaps this clip will provide an even clearer illustration:

It sort of makes the whole exercise feel a tad futile, does it not? It’s one thing trying to polish a turd; it’s another thing altogether trying to polish a bubbling vat of diarrhoea. But this is a retail brand who are turning over absolute squillions every year, and people know what they’re getting from it. It’s hardly a revelation, and certainly not something worth dedicating a primetime format to.

And yet, Mary Portas remains one of the most level-headed and likeable individuals on television. But thanks to Channel 4’s clumsy attempt to cash in on that, it’s a shame to see her skills wasted on organisations who don’t actually require them. Now, where are those khaki harem pants...?

The Sloppy Dog 2010 Honours List

Well, that’s 2010 done and dusted. A bit awesome, a bit disappointing, and overall, very cold indeed. So assuming that we’re not on the eve of a new and unforgiving Ice Age, we hope to see you in 2011. And to see in the New Year, we unveil our newest entrants into the Sloppy Dog Hall of Fame for services to pop culture...

Mel & Sue
A duo whose daily servings of Light Lunch were the cause of many a break in frenetic essay-scrawling for students in the late 90s, it was a joy to see them reunited for The Great British Bake-Off. Everyone crowing about the supposed Chiles/Bleakley chemistry needs to take a look at Mel and Sue in action to see how an on-screen partnership is really done.


Edgar Wright
The story of Scott Pilgrim vs The World was obviously a great starting point, but in bringing it to life on the big screen, Edgar Wright proved to be a true artist. A flurry of beautiful, simple blink-and-you’d-miss-it quirks; a visual feast for indie gamer geeks across the globe; and an explosion of colourful, gripping, brilliantly unpretentious action, it was the mark of a unique British director capable of knocking Hollywood’s trite principles right out of the park.


Gamu Nhengu
Not only did Gamu prove to be one of the most talented participants in this year’s X Factor, but what she had to consequently endure at the hands of the British press via Autotune-gate and the deportation saga made her a truly admirable figure. Plus, if nothing else, her unreasonable dismissal at the Judges’ Houses stage inadvertently brought about a much-needed backlash for the so-called Nation’s Sweetheart.



Tomasz Schafernaker
Three cheers for the creatine-guzzling weather legend who’s made the daily forecasts as entertaining as a Catherine Tate Christmas Special. Aside from the now-infamous middle finger incident, or his beaming pride at pronouncing Ejyafjallajökull, this brilliant queeny strop at a sarky news gimp is the perfect example of what Britain needs in its weathermen.



Sam Pepper
While Big Brother bowed out on a low thanks to its hideous Ultimate series, one housemate in Big Brother 11 helped make it one of the most entertaining in years. To live with, the barbed, plain-speaking irritant that was Sam Pepper would’ve driven anyone insane, but to watch, his droll commentary and razor-sharp one-liners proved absolutely brilliant.


Victoria Coren
Truth be told, we have a hard enough time figuring out the Egyptian hieroglyphs on Only Connect, never mind the questions. Thankfully, the deadpan hilarity that comes from its modestly-dazzling, panache-riddled presenter gives the show a whole other level on which it can be enjoyed, and regularly spills over into La Coren’s similarly mirthful Twitter feed.



We Are Scientists
Keith Murray and Chris Cain can seemingly do no wrong. Committed to record, their output is exceptional. In the live arena, they’re the perfect mix of electrifying and flawless. And in terms of personality, you’d be hard pushed to encounter musicians as naturally hysterical. Combine the three, and in We Are Scientists, you’ve got the ultimate popstars.


Nicolo Festa
While his X Factor career was never going to be a lengthy one, his refreshing honesty since his elimination has been hysterical (without reaching Brookstein levels of bitterness). Highlights include openly calling Simon Cowell a motherfucker, and, following Katie Weasel’s eventual chop, the legendary tweet “Go back to Eastwick and take your STDs with you.”



Leslie Nielsen
Although the latter part of his film career centred on cameo parts in the bold red font parody sub-genre, Leslie Nielsen’s legacy as a comic actor is impossible to contest. The Naked Gun series and the uproarious Airplane! were the perfect demonstration of Nielsen’s talents, and provided us with arguably the most quotable actor of his generation.



Nigella Lawson
We’ve always loved Nigella round these parts, but via this year’s series of Nigella Kitchen, she’s gone to new levels of aceness. Managing to take a simple cookery format and relocate it to the twin camps (camp being a key phrase, actually) of soft porn and ingenious comedy, there’s nobody who can do food quite like our delightful Nige. All hail!

The Sloppy Dog's Best of 2010: Albums

While the singles market has been saturated by utter pigswill this year, it’s not been a bad twelve months for albums. Notable omissions from the list this year include a venture back to form from Feeder; a joyous, pop-heavy indie gem from the Manic Street Preachers; a semi-acoustic strumalong delight from Val Emmich; yet another masterpiece from Sia; and the mightily good debut offering from Delphic. Also, we had compiled this list prior to The Boy Least Likely To’s Christmas Special, which is more than deserving of a mention. But alas, there can only be ten...

10. Kids In Glass Houses – Dirt
Not content with claiming the title of Best Single of 2010, Kids In Glass Houses followed through with a solid pop-punk masterpiece in the form of second album Dirt. And perhaps Undercover Lover was a slight misfire, but on the plus side, it was the mark of a rock band unafraid to experiment or to embrace their more day-glo side. Overall, made of win.

9. The Like – Release Me
In a year where you’d be hard pushed to find a lone decent track from any girl group, it falls to Los Angeles quartet The Like to represent the ladies. Mind you, this summery indie-rock offering was a million miles from the likes of The Splendabots, combining lilting Sixties harmonies with heavy, poised licks, seamlessly bridging the gap between VV Brown and a non-shit Arctic Monkeys.

8. Lostprophets – The Betrayed
It would’ve been easy to replicate the titanic choruses and instantaneous licks of Liberation Transmission and still emerge with a brilliant LP, but Lostprophets chose to take things a shade darker with a generous dose of coarse realism. The result? A distinctive, accomplished fourth album which underlined their place as genuine British rock heavyweights.

7. The Bluetones – A New Athens
With frontman Mark Morriss doing amazing things via his 2008 solo record Memory Muscle, the Bluetones hiatus was an easy enough period for fans to undergo. However, their smart, assured comeback album A New Athens, which brought all the best bits of classic Bluetones into a fresh, contemporary setting, revealed to us just how much we really missed them.

6. Skunk Anansie – Wonderlustre
And another 90s institution making a triumphant return this year were Skunk Anansie, whose first studio album in 11 years was a definite illustration of growth. Wonderlustre was slick, shrewd, mature and affecting, but crucially, not at the expense of any of the unrefined fire that made them such an exciting prospect in the first place.

5. Two Door Cinema Club – Tourist History
Going some way to cancel out the sullying of Northern Ireland’s musical output courtesy of the dreadful Nadine Coyle, the Bangor three-piece injected some liveliness and excitement into proceedings. Specific mention must be made of the outstanding Eat That Up, It’s Good For You, helping explain why Two Door Cinema Club were easily one of 2010’s best new bands.

4. We Are Scientists – Barbara
Keith ‘n’ Chris are quite the oxymoron. Solid, consistent and ever-reliable; yet they’re far from predictable in their output, and getting bored of them seems a complete impossibility. Third album Barbara proved to be a perfect demonstration of their talent, their ingenuity, their humour and their overall awesomeness.

3. Codeine Velvet Club – Codeine Velvet Club
Technically released three days before 2010, but we won’t let such pernickety details detract from a masterpiece of an album: bright, lush and cinematic whilst simultaneously grounded and raw. Their split barely a year after their emergence was disappointing, but at least Codeine Velvet Club left a captivating – if diminutive – legacy in their wake.

2. RPA and the United Nations of Sound – United Nations of Sound
Following a somewhat clumsy Verve reunion in 2008, Richard Ashcroft managed something pretty special with his comeback-turned-overhaul via the experimental United Nations of Sound project. A brave move perhaps, but one that paid off – a snifter of hip-hop, a dash of gospel, but all bearing the hallmarks of the rich, soulful indie only Ashcroft can pull off.

1. Fyfe Dangerfield – Fly Yellow Moon
And claiming the highest accolade – with stiff competition, so it’s quite the achievement – is Fyfe Dangerfield, whose first solo outing far outshines anything released under the Guillemots umbrella. Fly Yellow Moon flows between delicate balladry and lush, uptempo anthems, but is tied together skilfully by the common themes of lovestruck sincerity and unmistakeable character. Most definitely one to splash the inevitable gift of a HMV voucher on.

...thus concludes our round-up of the last twelve months in popular culture. The annual Sloppy Dog New Year’s Honours List will be published next week (sneak preview: Jan Moir does not feature). Until then, have an ace time forlornly lurking around frozen train stations and airports, and/or fighting with family members over the remote and gorging yourself with Quality Street. Merry Christmas! xx

The Sloppy Dog's Worst of 2010: TV

It’s a funny thing compiling a list of the year’s worst television. Unlike, say, the worst songs of the year, avoiding the TV you hate is a lot easier. So, while this list may not be necessarily the ten biggest piles of crap to reach British screens in 2010, they’re the ten worst we happened to see. Although, bear in mind, we’re rarely wrong about anything. On with the roll-call of repellence!

10. Masterchef
As a format, Masterchef works rather nicely, if a tad predictable. Our main gripe with the series – be it Celebrity, Professionals or regular – is the presence of Gregg Wallace and John Torode. Or more accurately, their excruciating volume. Yes, we know it’s got to be tasty, it’s got to be succulent, it’s got to be this, that and the other. YOU DON’T HAVE TO FUCKING SHOUT IT.

9. Don't Stop Believing
It came as no surprise that there’d be numerous cash-ins on the popularity of Glee, and Channel 5 were first off the mark with their hunt for Britain’s best showchoir. However, their haste proved to be their downfall, with a clumsy, unprepared monstrosity of a show, with missed cues a-plenty and, somehow, Duncan James granted a position of authority.

8. Eastenders
Yet again, Eastenders proved to be the benchmark in lazy, ineffective complacency, with weak characters and even weaker storylines, all executed very, very badly. Obviously, the addition of Tameka Empson to the cast creates a sizeable improvement, but sadly, Eastenders has to go some way to undo a decade of inept, foolish shark-jumping.

7. Ultimate Big Brother
With a surprisingly good Big Brother 11, the flaws of Ultimate Big Brother were only heightened. A peculiar line-up of ‘favourites’, rules seemingly made up on the spot, hugely biased editing, a blind eye turned to some staggeringly severe bullying, and another inexcusable bout of unprofessionalism from Davina McCall made for some truly awful TV – never mind the sickening choice of Brian Dowling as Ultimate Housemate. Still, such a dreadful swansong makes parting a whole lot sweeter.

6. So You Think You Can Dance
It was no surprise that such a big hitter internationally finally made it to UK shores, but far too much reliance was placed upon the success of the US format, hence the clunky, unexciting, lazy nature of it. Such flaws meant it was impossible to engage with the host, the judges or the contestants, just about stopping short of utter catastrophe.

5. The Jeremy Kyle Show
A programme we strive to avoid where possible, but sadly a couple of minutes’ worth leaked onto our screens while channel-hopping. That was enough to cement its inclusion in the list, and let’s face it, Kyle himself isn’t getting any less cunty. However, props must be given to the toothless chav that chucked a paternity test envelope at his head. Bullseye!

4. Sky News
It’s a wonder how such twisted, prejudiced coverage can call itself news, but the right-wing phonyfest that is Sky News continues to shock, disgust, and generally act as a TV counterpart to the Daily Mail. Specific props must go to the repugnant Adam Boulton and the genuinely hateful Kay Burley, together forming the twin-headed zenith of broadcasting cuntishness and truly representing what Sky News is.

3. Daybreak
With the amount of inexplicable expectation placed on the shoulders of Christine Bleakley – a decent enough host, sure, but by no means the televisual behemoth of brilliance she was so heavily reported to be – clearly Daybreak was on wafer-thin ice from the get-go. Add to that the rubber chops of Adrian Chiles, a cold and clinical set, and a distinct lack of worthwhile content, there was no mystery as to why viewers flocked in their near-squillions to BBC Breakfast.

2. Grandma's House
The terminally-unfunny Simon Amstell being given his own sitcom obviously had alarm bells ringing round these parts, but we thought we’d at least give it a try before dismissing it. Alas, it was even more deplorable than we could have foretold. Passable scripts and a more-than-decent supporting cast were sadly defecated upon by Amstell’s perplexingly bad acting – even more embarrassing when you consider he was supposed to be playing himself.

1. Lost
To think Lost made our Best TV lists on two separate occasions is testament to its maddening qualities, but nothing could have prepared us for the devastating disappointment that was the final episode. In fairness, the final series – and even the final episode – boasted some genuinely beautiful moments, but the amount of time wasted weaving intricate backstories only for it to be clumsily wiped in what was on a par with a Year 7 “it was all a dream” English assignment was sickening. 120 hours of high-quality, gripping drama amounting to such a weak, unimaginative cop-out ending provided the worst television not just of 2010, but for quite some time.