Honking Box Review: Lily Allen & Friends

We’ve never been able to make a definite evaluation as to whether we like or dislike Lily Allen. At least a good three-quarters of her songs are likeable; she’s definitely got a personality on her; and she’s a far better candidate for flying the Union Jack in the US than, say, Natasha frickin’ Bedingfield. But there’s one thing we don’t like about Lily Allen.

When not ratting out her siblings via the medium of song, Lily’s favourite pastime is shooting her mouth off about anyone and everyone, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing in itself (hell, it’s the very foundations of our existence). However, whenever anyone bites back – as was the case with Dame Cheryl Tweedy – she decides to play the injured puppy, hammering out an immediate blog entry dripping with sanctimonious self-pity.

Sadly for Lily, such paradoxical hogwash is carried over into her new BBC Three show, Lily Allen and Friends, a programme that supposedly celebrates social networking yet, ironically, displays a complete lack of social skills. Lily looks like a Russ Troll in headlights whenever the banter deviates slightly from her appalling questions, which themselves are seemingly plucked straight from press releases and Wikipedia biogs.

Any scripted links are delivered with an aggravating up-down intonation, as is displayed by many a model, Big Brother contestant or low-rate sportsperson when attempting to tackle a jammily-landed presenting role, who seem to think it’s an adequate substitute for actual charisma.

And while we’d be reluctant to have the tiniest iota of faith in anything reported in a scabloid, it’s not difficult to believe that a chunk of the audience legged it halfway through recording. Sycophantically whooping and applauding at every single noun uttered must be entirely exhausting.

Oh, and look! It’s ‘internet sensation’ Chris Crocker! Seriously, for a show that was only filmed several days ago, this was the best they could come up with? Next week, Lily performs a duet version of Badger Badger Badger with the Dancing Baby, followed by a rendition of the Hamster Dance song by Lonelygirl15.

All in all, not a great way to relaunch BBC Three. Perhaps it’ll pick up a bit as the series continues, like The Charlotte Church Show did… oh hang on – that sucked hairy dog arse as well. And we’re no closer to figuring out whether we love or hate Lily Allen, although Lily Allen & Friends has confirmed that there are definitely now two things we don’t like about her.

Single Reviews 11/02/08

A wise man once said “the internet is for porn”. Except it wasn’t a wise man, it was a kick-ass pseudo-muppet. And it wasn’t said, it was sung. But we digress - last week’s joke mention of how Holly Willoughby’s norks would up our hits significantly proved frighteningly accurate. On Thursday alone, 79 separate perverts users stumbled across The Sloppy Dog by Googling “Holly Willoughby tits”. Well, sadly no visuals at this point, fellas, but do stay and enjoy the Single Reviews now that you’re here. And mind not to get it in the keyboard, you filthy wee bastards.

First up, three and a half minutes of absolutely sodding fuck-all, which comes courtesy of Goldfrapp. Jeez, at least their shittier material had a bit of substance - all bleeps and blips and arrogance and really, really weak attempts to cover up the ageing process. However, A & E is a short, slow, noiseless spurt of wind from the world’s dullest arsehole. If only it actually had a tune, or lyrics, or a beginning/middle/end, we could actually muster up some kind of aversion…

The Coral next, who provide am uncharacteristic gentle lull. While Put The Sun Back is undoubtedly a pleasant, dreamlike sway in its own right, it simultaneously serves to underline that The Coral do upbeat far better than mid-tempo summer lullabies - certainly no detraction from the song in itself, but you’d be hard pushed to better the likes of Dreaming of You.

God bless the Scott-Lee family. Although we genuinely like Michelle Heaton-Scott-Lee, the rest of them are a priceless objet d’art in irony, if something of an easy target. So we’ll be handling the debut single from Andy Scott-Lee with a pair of particularly spongy kid gloves. In fairness, Unforgettable is no worse than anything any solo boybander has put out, but it’s certainly not something that’ll be bothering the upper end of the charts anytime soon. Just to re-iterate, God bless ‘em.

And finally, we reach our hallowed Single of the Week. As a band who’ve been awarded the honour on no less than three occasions, it’s perhaps unsurprising that I Thought It Was Over - the comeback single from The Feeling - clocks up a fourth nod. And in spite of its merry refrain, insane catchiness and underlying house thump, we can find a fault - Dan Gillespie-Sells’ inexplicable Americanisation of the word “over” grates heavily, especially given his quintessential Englishness. But in the bigger picture of an engaging, superb track, we can just about overlook it. Bring on the album!

The Sloppy Dog Spicewatch

Truth be told, we didn't think we would ever be bollocksed to roll out another article for our short-lived SpiceWatch column. Aren't you lucky, then, that an article submitted to Record Collector magazine got rejected? Not so lucky for us, mind...

As the Spice Girls shift their nostalgia behemoth into fifth gear, it’s worth examining to what extent their phenomenon translates into strict 21st Century provisos. A greatest hits album, showcasing all nine number ones. A world tour, which, lest the press releases forget to mention for a millionth time, included London dates which sold out in 38 seconds. But how much does this high-yield homecoming project actually do the Spice legacy justice?

Early live reviews would suggest they’ve nailed it pretty well. All the classics are on show, some displayed in full 90’s regalia, others sympathetically updated for a contemporary audience. The Times called them “consummate entertainers”, the Toronto Globe & Mail said they “wowed fans with a tightly staged and ambitiously choreographed performance”, while the Evening Standard remarked “one has to conclude that this is ebullient pop music of a very high standard, presented with panache.”

Thumbs up all round, then. And yet their Greatest Hits album has failed to steamroller its way to Number One, as the above hype would’ve suggested. Admittedly, they probably hadn’t foretold a release the same week as champion robo-diva Leona Lewis, which goes some way to explaining a very respectable No. 2 placing, but it’s a far cry from the power-platinum debut that surmounted the globe.

Spice (Virgin, 1996), while heralded into play by the exemplary gaudy Wannabe, carried an overall sophistication far surpassing the playground chants of its lead single. The shadowy, near-macabre Naked and the raw comic feminism of Love Thing - never mind the fact that this album earned them a place on the Mercury Music Prize shortlist and an Ivor Novello award - were clear indications that early one-hit wonder labels couldn’t have been any wider of the mark.

Second album Spiceworld (Virgin, 1998) paradoxically feels less mature than Spice. A comprehensive take on a number of musical genres made for a friskier disposition overall. Nods to rock (Move Over) and Motown (Stop), via pseudo-disco (Never Give Up On The Good Times), Spanish lullabies (Viva Forever) and cringe-inducing brass (The Lady Is A Vamp), Spiceworld saw the phenomenon prolonged significantly, profitably transporting them to their first world tour.

And so onto the urban overtones of Forever (Virgin, 2000), complete with heavy vocal layering, harder beats and peppered with the chatter of Rodney Jerkins. Their first (and only) album without Geri Halliwell, Forever wasn’t received particularly well, in terms of critique or units shifted. However, it led the way for an R&B re-reading of Spice, which on revision, was similarly feline, soulful and slinky, albeit with a touch more twinkle. Ginger-absence aside, what was the major difference?

Examining Forever, it underlines a contradiction indicating that perhaps the British public won’t ever be happy. The Spice Girls have been all but sent to the Tower for comeback single Headlines (Friendship Never Ends), an archetypal golden-era Spice ballad, which has despondently imparted their worst chart performance to date - something which the tabloids have leapt upon with a morbid verve. It all sounds a bit “old”, apparently. And yet, when Forever was launched by the highly-fashionably R&B squelcher Holler, the girls were similarly panned for attempting to be something they weren’t.

But then, in seven short years, music consumption has changed drastically. Fly-on-the-wall talent shows, a la Popstars or Totally Boyband, coupled with insider-driven websites such as Popjustice have crafted a generation of backseat A&R men, littering messageboards with how much better they’d have handled the Greatest Hits project than Simon Fuller or EMI did.

The aforementioned Headlines, which redefines the term slow-burner, with the second new recording, the horrific Voodoo - an aural representation of a low-rent Blackpool hen party - just weren’t going to cut it. Cyberspace had been abuzz with far greater expectations. Where was the live favourite W.O.M.A.N., criminally never committed to record? The Elton John-penned My Strongest Suit, given a Spice-over for his 1998 Aida soundtrack? The Spice-era recordings Feed Your Love and C U Next Tuesday, initially shelved thanks to their somewhat objectionable titles?

Alas, the Sandra-Bernhard-in-The-King-of-Comedy-style followers have had to make do with the two supposedly sub-par new tracks. Still, for the more casual fan, or more importantly, the layman with one eye nonchalantly on the CD chart at Sainsbury’s, twelve memorable singles (plus the additional Pepsi anthem) makes for quite an impressive anthology of buoyant, quality pop songs.

Meanwhile, given that their respective solo projects are often dismissed at the first mention, it’s easy to forget that the Spice Girls clocked up a total of 13 solo albums between them. And while some (Brown’s kitchen-produced LA State of Mind; much of Halliwell’s cartoonish catalogue) are arguably deserving of such reproach, moments of pop magnificence shine out from a number of these records.

Bunton’s affable nods to Carnaby Street exquisiteness, showcased brilliantly in the 2003 single Maybe. Chisholm’s versatility and musicianship (This Time’s flamenco-inflected Don’t Let Me Go; Northern Star’s sincere, affecting Feel The Sun; or the strident call-to-arms Last Night On Earth from Beautiful Intentions) soundly elucidating her lead. And perhaps surprisingly, even the debut (and only) album from Beckham, an eponymous assortment of R&B-lite - if somewhat overtwiddled - pop pearls.

While their solo ventures vary from the ludicrous to the sublime, none are necessarily true bearers of the Spice kitemark, post-split. And yet, their effects as a band have still been very much felt during their non-attendance. Girls Aloud’s last tour saw them performing a Spice medley in tribute to their adolescent heroes. Less in-your-face girl groups such as the Sugababes and Destiny’s Child have each hailed the influence of the Spice Girls in their own careers. Even the aloof, icy superiority of All Saints would have been unlikely to turn many heads had it not been for the Spice Girls, acting as an antithesis to their day-glo pandemonium.

But for now, the original article is back to show us how it was done. It may only be for the duration of a (speculatively) farewell tour, but it’s nonetheless a fitting opportunity to revisit a catalogue of pop majesty that’s so often overshadowed by its own brand. Even if the Spice Girls are finally closing the book on their career as a group, there’s plenty of life in their Greatest Hits - and each preceding album - for a long while yet.

Single Reviews 04/02/08

We often like to make reference to the week’s events when introducing our Single Reviews. So, with that in mind - Holly Willoughby’s tits, Holly Willoughby’s tits, Holly Willoughby’s tits, Holly Willoughby’s tits, Holly Willoughby’s tits, Holly Willoughby’s tits, Holly Willoughby’s tits. We can’t stand the dim-witted blow-up bonehead ourselves, but that last sentence alone should send our hit counter into orbit.

30 Seconds To Mars lead the pack this week, with a characteristically whingy emo epic. Despite feeling as though it’s been languishing on Kerrang and MTV2 since 2006, From Yesterday finally gets its UK release. In fairness, it’s actually somewhat far removed from their emo contemporaries, and hides a killer refrain. In fact, it’s our Single of the Week, if somewhat reluctantly-awarded. We still can’t forgive anyone responsible in any way for the hormonal train-wreck of My So Called Life.

That’s How People Grow Up is approximately the squillion-and-ninth solo release from Morrissey, and still he’s yet to top First of the Gang to Die. Early operatic wailings make way for a quintessential Morrissey number - strapping riffs, taut melodies and a sizeable dose of self-pity. Unlikely to catch the ears of anyone outside his hefty circle of crazed stage-huggers, but there’s very little to fault.

Rihanna make a roundabout apology for the inescapable Umbrella and the truly dire Hate That I Love You by way of the far superior Don’t Stop The Music. An unashamed nod to house - a rare feat from a non-European artist - makes this an immediate winner. And yet, the DJ-addressing cliché is dragged out once again - we hoped she’d put that shit to bed with Pon De Replay. Seriously, that “play my song/turn the music up/please Mr DJ” crap is a major Sloppy Dog pet hate, almost up there with Mika.

And speaking of Mika, the first replica of the hairy helium horse-fucker finally hits the market. David Jordan, a man so atrociously camp he actually makes Mika look like Evander Holyfield, minces into the spotlight with Sun Goes Down. And although it’s an observation made by numerous sources (including Chris Moyles, which technically should therefore negate it), the similarities to the Wizbit theme tune are astounding. You’ll be hard pushed to escape this tripe - be warned.

Single Reviews 28/01/08

Happy New Year! 25 days into January, we know, but we’ve been enjoying the Florida sun, for which we make no apologies. But during our break we did determine the following: Radio 1 would do well to ship XL106.7’s Johnny & Jayde over to relieve Chris friggin’ Moyles of his breakfast duties; Low by Flo-Rida is alarmingly catchy, and is undoubtedly this decade’s Baby Got Back; and, based on the inescapable fawning, it would seem America does have a monarchy, headed up by one Miley Cyrus (no, us neither). So, now you’ve learned something, how about sticking around for the Single Reviews?

Having not provided anything form of bitching for nearly a month, what better way to kick off 2008 by releasing the bile? Elliot Minor offer themselves up as deserving targets off the back of Still Figuring Out, a track which proves any previous comparisons to McFly are way off - McFly wouldn’t wipe their permanently-exposed arses with this. Sounding rather like a bunch of choirboys royally pissing off the vicar by doing an impression of The Darkness, this is one CD destined to enter its new life as a pizza cutter very soon indeed.

In contrast, a tasty serving of uptempo elation is dished up by One Night Only, in the form of Just For Tonight. In spite of their average age of eight (or something similarly ridiculous), they’ve rolled out a winning amalgamation of towering vocals, superb electro-riffs and a constant teasing of high-hat, which collectively make for 2008’s first Single of the Week.

Next up, a rather impressive track from Hot Chip, a band we admittedly never really took to. However, Ready For The Floor is going to great lengths to change that. A far more progressive and vivacious offering than anything The Warning provided, Ready For The Floor is charming, different, and most importantly, free from the torrent of jaded twiddles and blips that have dominated their sound thus far.

Kelly Rowland takes another stab at pushing her disquieting non-starter of a sophomore album with Work, which is perhaps the first Freemasons rejigging that hasn’t been a work of utter butchery. Quite why the original even needed the once-over is puzzling, as either way we’re left with a generic R&B blehhfest. All of a sudden, Stole feels like a Lennon/McCartney behemoth as performed by actual angels. Ah, it’s good to be back…

The Sloppy Dog 2007 Honours List

And so we reach the end of 2007, a year in which our hit counter almost went into orbit off the back of a single post about Jodie Marsh; a year in which we found ourselves practically boycotting Big Brother out of sheer tedium; and a year in which our posts have been slightly scarce (mainly due to the fact we’ve been writing for other websites which pay us).

But of course, we couldn’t see in the New Year without paying tribute to some of our favourite pop culture icons of the past 12 months. We’ll be back in mid-January, post winter sun holiday - until then, enjoy (in no particular order) our Sloppy Dog Heroes of 2007...

Matt Groening
The man was responsible (however indirectly) for Spiderpig. Do you really need any further reason? That said, few people managed to see beyond the key joke used to push the Simpsons Movie worldwide, and while it was admittedly hysterical, the film overall was a complete triumph. And while other shows of the ilk can only wish for such consistency (we can barely watch Family Guy after South Park’s fitting manatee ‘revelation’), The Simpsons continues to go from strength to strength with Matt Groening at the helm.

The Spice Girls
Where to begin? The mere fact that the Spice Girls decided to reunite is reason enough for them to be exalted in our 2007 honours list. Add to that a criminally underrated single (which gains them pity points), a frank documentary, an unequivocal apology from the Ginger Deserter, and undeniably the best tour they’ve ever put on, it’s like the best bits of 1997 all over again, only with great big bells on and slightly better outfits. Whether they’re just back for a brief visit or are here to stay, we’re entirely ecstatic it even happened at all.

Charlie Brooker
Effectively, for saying what we wish we had the panache, originality, vocabulary, and frankly, the balls to say. Screen Wipe (which we’ve now decided is two words) continues to provide a hysterical - if somewhat bleak - look into the grim world of television, while his Guardian musings guarantee a week-on-week display of utter genius. The most caustic and hilarious critic in Britain today, we officially want to be Charlie Brooker if and when we grow up.

LOLcats
…or whoever was initially responsible for this barmy yet addictive - and lest we omit, entirely necessary - web marvel. It’s hard to pin down personal favourites, although the classic “I Can Has Cheezburger?” will take some beating. And while it’s most likely little more than this year’s Hamster Dance, it’s induced doubled-over laugher at Sloppy Dog Towers on multiple occasions. This is exactly what the internet was invented for. Ya, rly.

Kevin Smith
A second year running on our list for modern cinema’s greatest mind (no sniggering at the back, PT Anderson fans). Again, we’ve had little exposure to the fruits of said mind in any kind of screen format this year, but in the meantime, his blogs continue to entertain, enthral, and drum up all kind of excitement for Zack & Miri Make A Porno. And hey, we’re happy to watch Clerks on a continous loop in the meantime.

Grace Dent
Principally, TV scrutiniser extraordinaire Grace Dent makes an appearance for all the same reasons as Charlie Brooker, albeit with a tad less poison. But supplementary props must be awarded for her superb Diary Of A Chav books, the third instalment of which we await with potentially pant-wetting anticipation. And of course, managing to provide a witty, on-the-ball commentary of what was a genuinely excruciating series of Big Brother - surely the stuff of an OBE?

Will Smith
A late entrant into our Hall of Disrepute, mainly off the back of the breathtaking I Am Legend. Special mention must go to Vue Plymouth for bollocksing up the reel at a vital point, yet even this couldn’t detract from a tremendous performance from the man himself. And much like Richard Hammond in last year’s list, Will Smith also appears as a result of being, quite simply, a jolly nice chap. Sir, we cordially add you to our line-up of celebs we’d like to go for a pint with.

The Boy Least Likely To
Not content with creating the superlative single of 2006, The Boy Least Likely To continue to give us reason to heart them completely. We’ve forgiven them the DFS fiasco entirely, as their January stop at Komedia in Brighton provided the gig of 2007. And Kevin Smith’s MySpace posts aren’t the only welcome stop-gap blogs between projects - each of Jof’s pleasant ramblings reads like an Enid Blyton book for the digital age. At this rate, the new album looks set to be one of the greatest of 2008.

Sarah Silverman
Sarah Silverman’s annihilation of Britney Spears and Paris Hilton this year was the stuff of legend (BTW, let the record show we have nothing against Britney - but it was hard not to both laugh and find some accuracy in what was actually a much-deserved dose of The Slaegin). Furthermore, her TV show highlights her unmatchable comedy brilliance, yet falls foul of lazy scheduling. Sort your shit out, Paramount, we’d hate to see Sarah pwn you to Kingdom Come. Actually, who are we kidding? We’d love to see that…

Shilpa Shetty
It’s hard to believe it was less than a year ago that saw Shilpagate - an incident which already feels like a historical event - send the blogs, the gutter press, the broadsheets, the House of Commons and effectively Planet Earth into an enraged meltdown. But coming out the other side of the bedlam was a woman that handled gross maltreatment with immense new levels of dignity, indirectly ended the career of insufferable scum-pig Jade Goody, and generated perpetual legendary quotes (“your claim to fame is this” and “Duck Benedict sounds like a dish” to name a couple). Dame Shilpa, we salute you.

Happy New Year, everyone! See you in 2008. xx

The Sloppy Dog's Best of 2007: Singles

10. Chemical Brothers - The Salmon Dance
We’ll choose to ignore the fact that one half of the Chemical Brothers is voluntarily aiding the spread of the Allen tribe, given the sheer genius of their September single The Salmon Dance. Fresh, audacious and frankly, madder than a weasel in a crate of Koosh balls, it proved to be one of the definitive love-or-hate tracks of the year. No prizes for guessing which camp we fall into…

9. Klaxons - It’s Not Over Yet
On paper, you’d be forgiven for thinking that a nu-rave cover of a faceless 90’s dance choon was the worst idea ever conceived. Fair play then to the Klaxons, who managed to turn a bubbling cauldron of decaying cheese into a shadowy, thumping anthem of solitude. Quite an impressive feat, even if their day-glo hoodies and hideous religion-indicating skinny jeans detract heavily from any visual demonstration. Bleurgh, etc.

8. Spice Girls - Headlines (Friendship Never Ends)
We love an underdog here at The Sloppy Dog, yet we never expected that’s a term we could apply to the Spice Girls. In fairness, we can appreciate the lack of interest in Headlines, but given a chance, it’s proved itself to be an uplifting, sweeping ballad swathed in exemplary Spice loveliness (special props to Melanie C, whose verse completely owns the rest of the song,). As for its lacklustre performance? That only makes us love it more, rather like a three-legged puppy.

7. Mr Hudson & The Library - Ask The DJ
A high entrant in our Albums of 2007 list, Mr Hudson & The Library make another appearance in our End of Year flatter-fest, this time on the back of their ridiculously impressive Ask The DJ. Unfathomably, it didn’t come close to bothering the Top 40, but much like Headlines, that only serves to make it all the more appealing - perhaps the only time you’ll ever hear Mr Hudson & The Library likened to the Spice Girls…

6. Paolo Nutini - New Shoes
A feel-good grin-a-long that’s near impossible to find any kind of aversion to, New Shoes ceremoniously plucks Paolo Nutini from the tiring list of wistful singer-songwriters and shoves him into his own worthwhile, distinctive spotlight. A charming, tomorrow-can-wait idyll with an endearing simplicity, it’s testimony to a star far better of demonstrating Scotland’s talent than a certain talent show ‘winner’ is.

5. Kelis & Cee-Lo - Lil Star
Given that this track played a significant part in helping what was, in hindsight, a decidedly average album get named our fourth greatest album of 2006, you’d think we might hold a bit of resentment towards it. But it’s hard to feel anything negative when such a stirring sentiment, gorgeous vocals and adorable melody are concerned. Let’s hope Lil Star’s success has given the laziest woman in music something resembling a wake-up call…

4. Sugababes - About You Now
Surpassing All Saints, Girls Aloud and even the Spice Girls with the girl group gem of the year, the Sugababes’ return was triumphant, untouchable and completely filled any patchy Mutya-shaped holes with a fresh injection of Amelle exquisiteness. And although the album may have failed to live up to its predecessors, it could well be blamed on the gutsy, harmonious finery of About You Now setting the bar so sky-scrapingly high.

3. Ghosts - Stay The Night
Claiming the bronze medal are the Ghosts, with their exceptional debut single Stay The Night. Evoking the greatest moments of mid 90’s Britpop, it’s like a compound of Shed Seven, the Bluetones and Ocean Colour Scene each at their respective finest, and yet simultaneously is undisputable Ghosts. A captivating vocal performance complemented by acute blasts of animated brassy goodness, it’s further verification of just why the Ghosts are 2007’s greatest breakthrough.

2. Rooney - When Did Your Heart Go Missing?
Claiming a highly respectable second place are Rooney, whose initial sound of OC-friendly college rawk has evidently been treated to some vigorous polishing since 2003. At the core, When Did Your Heart Go Missing is an anthem of inconsolable desertion, yet it’s all wrapped up satisfactorily in a sea of strapping melodies, vivacious riffs, and a disarming dose of lovable, sun-bleached character. And had it been released in time, we’d have been looking at the unquestionable anthem of the summer.

1. Alterkicks - Good Luck
And so we reach our top song of 2007, an honour which is awarded to Alterkicks and their outstanding, transcendent, and frankly magnificent single Good Luck. A track which, when we first reviewed, lost out on receiving Single of the Week in favour of a half-arsed cover with questionable lesbian overtones taken from a severely underachieving Britflick about home-made porn. But it was by a Spice Girl, which sort of goes some way to explaining our choice. Back to the song at hand, Good Luck floored us with its instantaneous melody, touching lyrics and towering chorus. All in all, sonic Viagra for the hairs on the back of your neck.

The Sloppy Dog's Worst of 2007: Singles

10. Reverend & The Makers - Heavyweight Champion of the World
After happily gushing about our favourite TV shows, it’s time to expel some pent-up venom. And where better to start than with Reverend & The Makers? The ultimate in Stella-induced Yates karaoke, this lumbering mess of a song somehow stumbled into the Top Ten back in June. And having heard the grotesque album, we can confirm that Heavyweight Champion of the World was just the tip of a particularly forbidding iceberg, inhabited by vicious walruses.

9. Natasha Bedingfield - I Wanna Have Your Babies
We’ve always held an indifferent take-her-or-leave-her approach to Natasha Bedingfield, but there was absolutely no pardoning this horrific piece of work. It’s one thing being frank; it’s another thing altogether spilling your forlorn fem-spiel in its entirety, quickly dissolving any chance of male interest for the next five years. Such disgorged, desperate sentiment invoked a somewhat heady career dive, and rightly so.

8. Arctic Monkeys - Brianstorm
We’ve made every effort not to even acknowledge the existence of the Overrated Apes here on the Sloppy Dog. While it’s possible that our lack of coverage might not damage their career too heavily, it’s more in the hope that if we believe hard enough that they don’t actually exist, then it might come true. Well, they are fairies aren’t they? Moving swiftly on, Brianstorm was a gawkily literal brouhaha of bollocks and overall highly unpleasant on the ear - in short, classic Arctic Monkeys.

7. Mika - Big Girl (You Are Beautiful)
The first of several appearances from the grating, bemopped cuntrag in our list, and not without reason. While Mika himself is obviously an insufferable creature, let’s take a moment to focus specifically on the song - a demonic anthem of obesity, targeted at the most despondent fag-hags, who, if the video is any indication, lapped it up in spades. A hundred fat birds jiggling down Surrey Street Market behind a wiry gay scarecrow? It’s like the Pied Piper as interpreted by Hell’s least exclusive stage school.

6. M.I.A. - Jimmy
Strange how such a contrived, cod-political, soapbox-dwelling “serious” artist can ditch her neverending messages of opinionated codswallop in a gnat’s cock, presumably in the hope of shifting a few more units. On the basis of Jimmy at least, that’s what M.I.A. has attempted to do, and not with much panache. A squelchy disco catastrophe with the soul sucked firmly out of it, we almost preferred her falsetto fuckwittery splashing around in the Ganges, or her foghorn hollering from ‘da streetz’.

5. Christina Aguilera - Candyman
Two years in a row now, Aggie’s made an apperance in our countdown of cack. However, last year’s offender, Ain’t No Other Man, virtually sounds like Bohemian Rhapsody in comparison to this cataclysmic wartime wankfest. Whoever talked Christina - who, let’s not forget, was once a relevant and respected pop artist - into creating a soundtrack to rationing vouchers should be shot. Although ironically, an air-raid siren would have provided more favourable listening.

4. Kate Nash - Mouthwash
Ah, just what we needed this year. A gobby, sanctimonious scutter with an opinion on everything, who’s come to pollute the charts with her charmless Mockney sewage. Jeez, at least we can muster a tolerance for Lily Allen’s sound-offs, given that she’s got a bit of talent to back it up. Mouthwash, however, is the mark of a discordant tramp intent on raping the English language with her disastrous lyrics. An utter cunt, and no mistaking.

3. Kaiser Chiefs - Ruby
To think that this was the same band that brought us the majestic Employment. The most overrated song of the year, it almost physically hurt to see such utter unpleasant tripe receiving acclaim from every single media outlet, and subsequently stampeding its way to Number One. Aside from bearing one of the worst choruses committed to record, it also brought to light an exasperating smugness from Ricky Wilson, which we’d happily see slapped off his face in the hope it returned them to former glories. Until then, Kaiser Chiefs, fuck right off. Please.

2. Mika - Love Today
Oh, look who’s back for another appearance in our list! A certain slime-secreting troll who foolishly believes he carries some form of sexual ambiguity despite being camper than a collision of Kenneth Williams and Liberace while eating pink iced buns at a Kylie Minogue concert. From the shrill chants that open proceedings, through each Happy-Meal-optimistic line of the verses, to the frankly distressing chorus, Love Today is four minutes of malicious, ear-terrorising anguish.

1. Mika - Grace Kelly
And of course, the top spot couldn’t have gone to any other artist. Although Mika’s not so much an artist as the Devil’s representative here on Earth, spreading his own brand of helium-induced malevolence. Well, the forces of good clearly stopped Sandi Thom in her tracks, so someone had to do it. Had the obnoxious Lollipop been released yet, it would’ve been a strong contender for Grace Kelly’s spot, but for now we’ll bathe in the unlawful high notes, ham-fisted lyrics, an overall sentiment to make your skin crawl, and of course, the “ker-ching!” which is the shit-caked cherry atop the infinite layers of odious musical manure. “Hate” is not strong enough. Merry Christmas, Mika!