Honking Box Preview: The X Factor

With the X Factor auditions drawing to a close this weekend, and thus providing us with a double-shot of ‘spontaneous’ action in a staged environment with a full crew and an audience of thousands, we thought it perhaps time to add our two cents’ worth. And, as you may have guessed, we fall into the majority who feel the new format blows.

However, it’s an entirely futile exercise to list the cons – because let’s face it, there are no pros – when each and every article, commentator and Yorkshire terrier has already outlined the epic failure of Cowell’s big idea. It’s safe to say it’ll be back to the good ol’ audition room next year, and the inevitable reinstatement of Tony the bodyguard. That said, isn’t it interesting that a chorus of boos can clear a stage quicker than the threat of violence from a 30-stone meathead?

But audition formats aside, there’s still plenty to talk about (as demonstrated so wonderfully by our favourite X Factor blog, The Bitch Factor), so let’s recap the breathtaking idiocy that has been the Series 6 audition process...

Thus far, we’ve liked Jamie Archer, the biffro’d rocker that prompted Simon Cowell to sing along – something we’d have thought impossible given the man evidently doesn’t have the capacity to comprehend the idea of good music; Miss Fitz, the all-girl trio whose jazz interpretation of Toxic was fun (although their swing schtick and their ropey name might get rather old rather quick); and Trinidad, or, if you’re Louis Walsh, 'Tobacco' native Rozelle Phillip, who our glamorous spy informed us of several months ago, and with reason.

We’ve completely failed to be bowled over by the supposed charms of Will-Young-a-like and ZOMG BISEXUAL!!1! Danyl Johnson, who has become a sort of poster boy for the series in spite of an overblown audition and some fucking hideous spelling.

Which means this weekend’s shows will presumably unveil a selection of other acts who’ve garnered a hefty amount of publicity – granted, not Danyl-levels – before we’ve even seen their auditions. Stacey McClean, who was one of the S Club Juniors that isn’t now a Saturday or a gay greased-up go-go boy; girl group Kandy Rain, who seem to resemble a HBO remake of Band of Gold yet are supposedly the best group to ever audition (wot, better than Addictiv Ladies?! We won’t hear of it!); and the apparently-amazing father of Mali-Michael McCalla, by far the strongest candidate in the Boys category last year, foolishly overlooked in favour of the troika of awfulness that was Eoghan, Austin and Scott.

We’ll unleash a true torrent of bile (what? You think the above was bad?) in a few weeks with our first X Factor liveblog. Until then, you can be sure we’ll be bearing our fangs on the subject via our Twitter feed (lookit, up there on the right), assuming Hell doesn’t freeze over before then as a result of Dannii garnering more than three seconds of screentime.

Single Reviews 21/09/09

Nearly three years ago, we were using this wee paragraph o’ nothing that precedes the Single Reviews to partake in a brief satire of Kanye West’s strop against Justice vs Simian’s EMA win. Well, this time it’s beyond parody, and while we’re hardly saying anything you haven’t heard or read a thousand times already, the man is an out-and-out cunt. And this comes from a media outlet that couldn’t give a hoot about Taylor Swift.

Ian Brown opens for us this week, with an intriguing taster for upcoming album My Way. As with such a large portion of his solo ventures, Stellify takes the straight-up Mancunian sensibilities and twists them into an entirely new shape – in this instance, a rhythmic throb of placid rock dotted with blasts of brass. And rather nice it is too.

Old ‘favourite’ Shakira makes a return this week, with the incomprehensible musical psychosis of She-Wolf. Her last batch of material wasn’t actually too offensive, all things considered, but we’re quickly reminded just how astonishingly dreadful this woman is. A migraine of high notes and asylum-beckoning lyrics, all you can do is run for cover. She’s HOWLING, for Christ’s sake. (Although, top marks for use of the word ‘lycanthropy’.)

And, in contrast, signifying how it’s possible to be batshit-frickin’-mental in a worryingly playful way are Aqua. Yes, THAT Aqua. They’re actually back. And, as much as every last iota of good taste within the Sloppy Dog sphere tries to fight it, Back to the 80s forces us to love it. The same way Cartoon Heroes did, the same way Doctor Jones did. We feel utterly violated, and not in a made-up attention-seeking Katie Price way. Like she’d ever say no.

The positive, addictive bounce of Jukebox Sunshine means a well-deserved Single of the Week title for The Holloways. Frankly, it’s hard for your ears not to prick up at any mention of ‘sunshine’ given we won’t be seeing any more of it this year, but the abundant merits of the song itself are great enough for this to even overtake Generator as the Holloways’ calling card anthem.

Single Reviews 14/09/09

Well, it’s been a funny old week in popular culture, hasn’t it? A blonde female winning Big Brother in spite of housemates from that social group lasting approximately a week; Ellen DeGeneres joining American Idol in a display of UTTER GENIUS; and a Sugababe apparently going missing. But Keisha has since Tweeted her batty off in fury, proving that all is right in showbiz after all. So, as the world keeps turning, we bring you this week’s Single Reviews.

We begin with Ignorance, the first single from Paramore’s (somehow) third album, which doubles up as a warning to avoid at all costs. While the tiniest iota of respect has to go to Hayley Williams for shifting slightly away from her ‘grubby Gwen Stefani’ schtick, there’s little else of note. Perhaps such trite emo leanings are lost on those above the age of 16, much like a Mosquito alarm working in reverse.

Managing the impossible and escaping the shadow of Eurovision is the actually-not-bad Jade Ewen, who ditches the wibbly Shaftesbury ballad in favour of a dose of glossy, high-aiming, yet fairly limp, R&B. There’s certainly talent on show, but it’s hard to see whose heads she’ll turn with My Man. Still, she craps all over Leona Lewis. We’ll perhaps leave the Alexandra comparisons for now, though...

While it’s no secret we’d happily see the entire musical output of 1995-1998 played out in place of today’s charts, it’s perhaps more likely to hope for the occasional comeback. One such fulfilment comes from Skunk Anansie, with the classic yet wholly contemporary Because Of You. The tingles that only Skin’s voice can induce are accentuated faultlessly by the thundering rock backdrop, scoring an easy Single of the Week.

And closing this week’s analyses are a band quickly marching their way to the upper reaches of the Sloppy Dog Favourites list. Had Hockey not been releasing alongside Skunk Anansie, it’s safe to say they’d have scooped the above honour. Song Away is a more modest, slightly less anthemic offering than Learn To Lose, yet provides a nice contrast and highlights an exciting, multi-faceted band. An album review is on the way though, so here’s hoping we’ve not built them up too much...

Single Reviews 07/09/09

So, another Big Brother over, and to think we’ll only have this feeling once more. Congratulations to Dogface (a much more fun name than plain ol’ Sophie), who was perhaps the most deserving winner from the remaining five. That said, in our heads, the final five were Hira, Marcus, Beinazir, Noirin and Sophia. Much better, no? Anyway, Single Reviews ahoy...

Beverley Knight opens the show this week, albeit with significantly less clout than previous work. There’s not a lot to fault with the poppier sound of Beautiful Night, but it’s by no means one to add to her roll call of bestest bits. Still, it’s nice to see a comeback from one of the few authentically talented British female vocalists around – Bev’s nothing if not resilient.

The musical Godsend that is Muse return with The Uprising – a typically intelligent, innovative, unmistakeably-Muse offering, and yet simultaneously, nothing like they’ve ever done before. We’ll bypass another tired reference to the staggeringly obvious soundalike to bestow The Uprising with the honour of being our Single of the Week.

Kelly Clarkson further cements her future as a disgruntled label puppet with the Ryan-Tedder-by-numbers practical joke Already Gone. As the bellower herself has remarked, it’s a note-for-note rehash of Beyonce’s Halo – seriously, can this man only write the one song? Mind you, it’s a damn sight better than the lame McEvanescence tripe she’d be desperately peddling if she got her own brattish little way.

And if you thought that was a negative review, then hold onto your eyeballs. Oh yes – Mika is back. We’d been hoping he’d permanently slithered back into the Petri dish in which he was created by Peter Tatchell and Beelzebub, but no. Almost thankfully though, We Are Golden is so incomprehensibly shit, so genuinely embarrassing to endure, that even the general public – who he somehow bewitched last time around – cannot stomach it. Please, let this be the beginning of the end. Please.

Single Reviews 31/08/09

We feel it’s perhaps only fitting to acknowledge the passing of Oasis during this week’s Single Reviews. So farewell to a band who, in spite of their achievements and their legacy, were a good decade past their best, couldn’t function in a media rife with music-snobbery, and will most likely be back together in a fortnight, once the Gallagher kiddies have stopped squabbling over the Duplo blocks.

First up, Julian Perretta, a new singer-songwriter who’s somehow gained the unfortunate title of Perez Hilton protégé. As we’d rather not consider what a young man might have to undertake in order to gain such approval from the sweaty, insecure walrus of cuntery, we’ll focus on debut single Wonder Why. The sub-Feeling muso-pop is passable enough, but does little to turn heads or, more importantly, excuse the stigma that comes from a Perez Hilton endorsement.

The Sugababes make a speedy return after the unfortunate under-carpet-sweeping of Catfights & Spotlights, although it remains to be seen if it was a worthwhile exercise. Where Girls was just plain atrocious, the brassy, raucous, Boom-Boom-Pow-channelling Get Sexy redefines the notion of polarising, and yet, we’re still unsure about it. It may be absolutely fucking awesome, but there’s still every chance it completely stinks. We’ll get back to you.

Another girl group in the firing line this week are three-piece infantile-and-proud gobfest, the Dolly Rockers. Their individuality provides a nice break from the stabs at sultry as displayed by their girlband contemporaries, and while the lager-swilling nursery rhyme Gold Digger is undoubtedly catchy, it’ll be interesting to see whether the public can stomach a triple dose of Mini Lily Allens.

And we close things with our Single of the Week, which is brought to us by Friendly Fires. The triumphant, anthemic Kiss of Life is a marriage of immediate melody and understated electro-twiddlage over a thunderous cacophony of drum enchantment. With any luck, it’s the ticket to their first well-deserved Top 40 appearance, although in the kind of chart where Lady GaGa holds three spots, we wouldn’t put money on it. They’ll just have to settle for being awesome.

The 'Ump: Twitter Twats

While it’s safe to say The Sloppy Dog is rarely a beacon of positivity, we’ve done rather well in keeping our rage under control over the past few years. That’s technically our way of dressing up the lack of entries in The ‘Ump column as a good thing – see, surely that’s positivity in itself? Well, we’re bringing the camel out of retirement. Take cover.

Twitter is a funny old thing, isn’t it? It’s sort of like the acceptable face of celebrity stalking, whilst simultaneously providing news outlets with any number of stories off the back of a single 140-character tweet. But recent tweets (and we do feel ashamed at using that word so freely) have shown that bridging the gap between artist and fan isn’t always a good thing.

Sure, Lily Allen uses hers to spout the self-indulgent crap she always peddled on MySpace, albeit in a more concise manner. But Twitter also allows fans – or more accurately, non-fans – to answer back, to agree or disagree as they see fit, and to address her directly. And what’s worse, she often chooses to answer them back.

Let’s face it, Lily Allen could start a fight with her own reflection in a puddle, and the more headlines generated as a result, the better. But there’s a growing trend of artists taking a wee bit too much notice of criticism, musicians with a great deal more self-respect than the likes of Lil.

VV Brown – a superb artist whose underperformance may well be frustrating, but by no means has anything to worry about – has gone to the lengths of penning a song off the back of the pessimistic chattering over at the increasingly-painful Popjustice messageboard, and openly namechecked forum users whose comments she found particularly unpleasant.

Meanwhile, both Adam Lambert and the Lostprophets have recently taken to defending their actions on Twitter, after snarky fans that actively chose to stand in the cold following gigs got stroppy because they didn’t get an autograph. Jesus wept, kiddies! These are working musicians, not half-arsed clowns you can hire out for children’s parties. Presumably, they have a schedule that doesn’t always allow for scribbling their name on a Starbucks napkin 100 times over.

Yes, it’s the fans who put them where they are, and yes, it would be lovely if they could spend time with them. Is it realistic? No. Sadly, however, the sense of entitlement carried by fans lately has grown significantly, perhaps to worrying proportions. Evidently, it’s not enough to support a band, to enjoy their music or to catch them live.

One particular example would be when your fatigued correspondent made shameful peanuts a living working on the deservedly-defunct CD:UK. A particularly psychotic Westlife fan – ugly, dumpy, and old enough to know better – begged for a message to be taken to Mark Feehily, demanding to know whether he’d be attending that evening’s charity ball for Capital FM, as she needed to know ahead of time if she should stand outside or not. There was no real degree of desperation, no archetypal boyband-fan panting. This was out of duty, almost routine on her part. Chillingly so, in fact.

Perhaps this is all a tad hypocritical. After all, The Sloppy Dog itself is a living, breathing criticism behemoth. But there’s a sizeable difference between scrutinising a band’s work, and getting involved in an open slanging match for the entire internet to gleefully observe. Maybe it’s up to the artists to remember their position and not lower themselves to retort to bratty emo whining, but at the same time, they can’t be blamed for wanting to defend themselves. Maybe, then, it’s up to the fans to show a little bit of respect, and to realise there’s a fine line between fandom and being a complete fucking freakshow.

Honking Box Review: The Loop

It’s perhaps a somewhat futile exercise to bother with a review of a show that was cancelled two years ago – it’s sort of on a par with pondering what might happen once Rachel sees Ross walks through the Arrivals gate with the Chinese woman.

However, given E4’s acquisition of The Loop, a three-year-old sitcom from Fox, and its bizarrely high level of promotion for it, we feel that it’s in keeping with the questionable celebration of staleness. It would seem that this decision has been made to coincide with the disappointing cancellation of Reaper, though Bret Harrison – for all his charms – was never enough of an impact on the British public to justify E4 doling out televisual methadone to wean viewers off his main vehicle.

Still, if we sat around trying to determine why schedulers make the decisions they make, we’d have a big job ahead of us, and an even bigger headache. So let’s examine The Loop itself – a fast-paced, post-watershed ladcom, which sees Harrison in the role of an airline executive named Sam. Yes, another Sam. As far as typecasting goes, it’s obviously not reaching Danny Dyer levels of one-trick-ponydom, but he’d better hope his next role sees him playing an Archibald or an Agamemnon.

The Loop proudly exemplifies binge drinking, nudity, swearing and is, in effect, one long clumsy Hollywood-interpretation of a frat party. And yet, its presence under the umbrella of all-American ideals mean the drinking always precedes a told-you-so hangover, the nudity is only ever implied via waist-up rear views, and the swearing rarely passes “ass” or “damn”.

It’s rather like jPod as reimagined by the editor of Nuts magazine, and as such, doesn’t even feel like a real sitcom. It functions more as though it were the punchline to a bigger-picture postmodern joke-within-a-joke, like Echo Beach was to Moving Wallpaper, or Room & Bored within The Comeback (ironically, a show that should never have felt the axeman’s blade).

But it’s all a moot point, given that The Loop lasted all of two seasons before getting the inevitable chop, making this review quite the assignment in pissing on someone’s grave. It says a great deal, however, about the all-too-hasty cancellation process in television – particularly US television – and its effect on the shows in question. Watching both The Loop and Reaper feel rather like working in an infirmary, knowing you’re surrounded by those on a very limited clock (although, let the record show, one of them is a luxury infirmary with attractive patients, whilst the other is located in Blackpool and smells of wee).

Knowing that Samantha Who wasn’t even given the opportunity to bow out with dignity is bad enough, but Joss Whedon taking the initiative to film a final episode of Dollhouse just to draw a line under the series should the commissioners decide against a second series is just plain depressing. Thankfully, Dollhouse has received a green light, but the whole process makes for somewhat awkward viewing when you know it's under such intense scrutiny. But, that said, watching The Loop, you realise the axeman is there for a reason. We just wish he got it right more often.

Single Reviews 17/08/09

Welcome to this week's Single Reviews, though we feel we should pre-warn you, it includes another celebration of Mariah Carey's questionable mental health. Meanwhile, those of you not on the digital age bandwagon Twitter can follow our gobshitery via that lovely Twitter feed over there on the right. Isn't it just awesome?

It’s off to a vigorous start courtesy of Busta Rhymes & Estelle, whose insanely energetic dancefloor masterpiece World Go Round does an exceptional job at marrying two remarkable talents. Busta may have just achieved his greatest collaboration to date, and that includes his Touch It give-away-the-farm remix. Genius video too, and only in part thanks to the usage of pigtail weave earrings – no, really. They exist.

Mariah Carey turns the tables on Eminem in the scathing insanity of Obsessed. Much like the peculiar Touch My Body and It's Like That, it’s a frantic gaggle of hilariously daft lyrics lost in a sea of lukewarm R&B spaghetti, although the big European synths are somewhat pleasurable. And brownie points for the “Napoleon complex / Windex” couplet.

Next up, acclaim sponge and general purveyor-of-nothing Little Boots plays on the worryingly ginormous market for electro-buzz with the straight-down-the-line Clubland 67 fodder of Remedy. While comparisons to the vile Lady GaGa are rife, Remedy’s fat thump of a chorus holds more in common with Cascada. As comparisons go, it’s lose/lose really.

And finally, Daniel Merriweather scoops our Single of the Week. While the gushing love-in of Red undoubtedly ticked a necessary box, it’s good to see him back doing what he does best. Uptempo and infectious, Impossible sees a melody so tight that no amount of vocal gymnastics can hinder it – in this case, they only add to its appeal. (N.B. Mark Ronson, when you lay off the brass, THINGS ARE BETTER. Exhibit A right here.)

Single Reviews 10/08/09

With every media outlet stating their position as either Team Peter or Team Slagflaps, we here at The Sloppy Dog feel it’s important to underline that WE DON’T GIVE A RAT’S ASS ABOUT IT, and that such matters are wholly irrelevant in the bigger picture, particularly with far more pressing matters at hand, such as which new music is shit. With that, we bring you this week’s Single Reviews...

The Killers continue to apologise for the iffy-at-best Sam’s Town via the string of staggeringly good singles from Day & Age. Reaffirming the band’s status of awesomeness this week is A Dustland Fairytale, a modestly grand rock ‘n’ roll hymn which seamlessly plasters over our momentary falling-out-of-love (which, admittedly, was aided by poor choices in the facial hair department).

The electro-yawn bandwagon is surely on its final journey, but prior to its inevitable collapse, Preston takes it for an exhilarating spin courtesy of the infectious Dressed To Kill. A sizeable leap on from Ordinary Boys material, yet maintaining that superhuman ear for a mighty melody, it’s an obvious Single of the Week. Now vacate that bandwagon, mate, and let it plunge off the side of the cliff ablaze, with La Roux and fucking GaGa still on board.

As if to prove the point, Sean Kingston – of all people – has hooked up with the tiresome Red One to further dilute the concept of electro. While there’s undoubtedly a simplistic appeal attached to Fire Burning, it doesn’t boast the kind of attention-catching idiosyncrasy as displayed in the still-baffling Beautiful Girls, a track which, in spite of all its shortcomings, he’s unlikely to ever step outside the shadow of.

And bringing the reviews to a close is Paolo Nutini, with the notable Coming Up Easy, which begins life as a gentle, temperate toe-tapper before eventually bursting into a vigorous, brassy summer anthem. Not that we have any need for a summer anthem during this frankly depressing spell, but hopefully the song’s progression will hold some parallels with the weather pattern. Who needs Tomasz Schafernaker when you’ve got us, eh?

Single Reviews 03/10/09

Happy Birthday to us! Happy Birthday to us, etc etc. Well, sort of birthday... this is The Sloppy Dog’s 300th post, would you believe? And to celebrate, you can now use our fancy new URL, thesloppydog.co.uk – what, were you expecting something more? You should be buying us presents, you cheap sons of bitches. Now eat yer sliver of birthday cake and enjoy the Single Reviews.

Making their debut this week are Girls Can’t Catch (although Phoebe’s already had some Sloppy Dog coverage, as the one member of X Factor girl group Hope that didn’t look the sort to get fingered in a Chicken Cottage) with Keep Your Head Up, a largely typical Saturdays-esque number unlikely to turn many a head. C-, ladies. Must try harder.

After the trite, ill-conceived smut of If You Seek Amy, Britney Spears continues down the route of self-parody with the frankly trying Radar. Robotic vocals, jittery beats and dizzying repetition, it’s the sound of complacency – perhaps not from the lady herself, but from the horde of faceless puppetmasters. We fear Brit’s going the way of Big Brother – omnipresent, predictable and only enjoyed by the rubbishest of gays.

Next up, our Single of the Week, courtesy of Athlete. The stadium-ready electrofiddling of Superhuman Touch doesn’t so much evoke the 80s as it does Keane’s Perfect Symmetry – one would imagine this wasn’t the intended consequence, but it’s certainly no bad thing. Bright, bracing and beguiling, it’s the perfect way to herald in Album #4.

And bringing the reviews to a close is Pink, with the titular offering from the Funhouse album – annoyingly, an album she’s chosen to sell using some of its weakest tracks. Still, slightly iffy lyrics aside, there’s not a lot to fault in Funhouse as a single, providing an opportunity to display both the attitude and the untouchable rock vocal that makes Pink the pop luminary she’s deservedly become.