Single Reviews 27/07/09

We’re baa-aack! Go on, admit it – we had you proper worried last week, didn’t we? Alas, twas merely a joke that we’d posted the last Single Reviews ever. You could practically hear the internet sweating with anxiety at the very thought. (Genuinely, one concerned reader did think we were serious. Bless.)

Beyoncé is first under the spotlight this week – though, let’s face it; when is she not in the spotlight? – with the jagged venom-pop of Sweet Dreams. Usually by this point, she’s round to releasing the filler of her albums, so the fact there’s been a wealth of killer singles from I Am... Sasha Fierce suggests it may be her best record to date. Shame its title is so rubbish.

Having already enchanted the world with the brilliantly confusing psychosis of Boom Boom Pow, the generally-quite-shit (but recently scarily good) Black Eyed Peas continue to work their voodoo with I Gotta Feeling. While we can’t ignore the oh-so-wack grammar (not that I Got A Feeling would even be correct), it’s an infectious, Eurothumping beast simultaneously boasting everything we could ever love AND hate about the Black Eyed Peas.

And lastly, we take a ride aboard the Smug Express – the very same Mr Hudson we championed back in 2007 (albeit, when he had a Library attached) is finally on the brink of the success he deserves. Supernova sees him hooking up with Kanye West, and ditching the lovable English gent schtick in favour of a more twiddled, anthemic sound, and it certainly pays off. An easy Single of the Week.

Single Reviews 13/07/09

Ladies and gents, we regret to inform you this is our last ever Single Reviews, as we’ve been fired and replaced by Alesha Dixon. Of course, she’s skilled in all areas, so she’ll simultaneously be filling the roles of Sky News anchor, Shadow Health Secretary, midfield for the England squad, and both ends of Snuffleupagus in Sesame Street. In short: bad move, love.

Green Day begin our inspection process with a track lifted from Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen – thankfully, the song’s quality has no correlation to that of the fucking atrocious film. While its similarity to Boulevard of Broken Dreams is hard to ignore, the inimitable melding of melodic verses giving way for hard, forceful choruses makes 21 Guns a classic example of Green Day greatness.

X Factor silver medallists JLS make their debut this week, equipped with a tune significantly better than probably even the band themselves expected. Beat Again is far from the average boyband fare, instead a lively, slick, American sound that actually complements the band rather well. Now, when can we expect a release from Ruth Lorenzo?

Something called Alina is up next, with a cover of O-Zone’s inexplicable 2004 hit Dragostea Din Tei, classily renamed When You Leave (Numa Numa). T.I. and Rihanna sampling it was bizarre enough, but just about pulled it off on grounds of intense irony. However, a faceless Euroslag taking it on whilst openly defecating on the invention of the vocoder is a whole other matter. Turns out Basshunter is involved though, which sort of explains things.

And finally, Single of the Week is awarded to Square1 featuring Siobhan Donaghy, who unveil the deliciously dark Styfling to, one must presume, an audience of approximately three. The underperformance of Donaghy is consistently frustrating, but the trippy, atmospheric beats do her talents justice, and hopefully serve as a taster for her next inevitably-genius album.

Colin MacIntyre - Island (Future God Recordings)

Right, first things first, let’s address the hair. We’re not going to go a whole album review without making reference to the fact Colin MacIntyre has the same hairdo as Susan Boyle, and that he looks all kinds of ridiculous. There. Now that’s out of the way, we'll begin.

However, the comedy hair is no insinuation of a light-hearted, jovial pop record. His fifth album – second under his real moniker, following last year’s triumphant anthemfest, The Water – sees a different route altogether.

A sombre, slower affair than any previous material, Island is a wholly original route for MacIntyre. While preceding albums – both under the guise of Mull Historical Society and as himself – all possessed their share of subdued balladry, their presence alongside bigger, crunchier, more experimental indie-pop numbers gave them their own appeal. Sadly, on Island, tracks blend into one another far too easily, and it’ll take a great deal of careful, assiduous listening to appreciate the subtleties on show here.

It’s the most stylised and specific album he’s put out to date, and as such, may lose fans as a result. By no means is there any dip in quality, but the uptempo power-indie of Watching Xanadu or Famous For Being Famous is light years away. No Ordinary Queen is the closest you’ll find to the aforementioned volume-crankers, bubbling along gently with a jittery drumbeat and just a touch of eccentricity, but even then, is vastly removed from what MacIntyre has come to be known and loved for.

That said, the more introverted, hushed vibe may, in turn, win over a whole new army of folk-lite followers. And it’s hard not to be touched by the placid beauty of sonnets like Ned’s Song or Stay Something – it’s just a matter of adjusting your mindset to the new Colin MacIntyre. But the key thing to note is that Island, for all its variances, still is Colin MacIntyre, and if that’s not an indication of affable musical excellence, then nothing is.

Single Reviews 06/07/09

We had planned to pitch our Single Reviews as a Wimbledon-free zone, on account of there being approximately zero media outlets not gushing shamelessly about Andy Murray (incidentally, the most boring creature on the face of God’s green Earth). However, with him now out, we shall take the opportunity to gloat in his defeat and in the general dullness of tennis overall. Now, let us stop slagging off sport and get back to slagging off music...

First up are the reliable yet constantly surprising Franz Ferdinand, with a dimly-lit oddity of intelligence in the form of Can’t Stop Feeling. Filthily squelchy bass and disco beats further indicate the dancefloor-beckoning oeuvre the band have addressed on their third album, and while it may not be on a par with previous stuff, there’s little to find fault with.

We’ve never minced our words about Lady GaGa previously, but the hapless exercise in electro-cliche that is Paparazzi only gives us further cause to spew venom forth. If this were an offering from her second album, fine. But the sheer contrived cheek of a then-unknown whinging about press intrusion only cements what a cheap, disingenuous, manufactured tramp Lady GaGa really is. Is anyone even surprised?

The vigorous indie clout of Tin Man makes Saaf London collective Animal Kingdom well-deserved recipients of Single of the Week. A big, swirling, atmospheric rock gem, there’s a distinct correlation between how high the volume is and how good the song sounds. Mind you, transpose the specifics and the same could be said of Lady GaGa – she sounds fucking awesome with the sound right down.

And only just missing out on the aforementioned title is the magnificent VV Brown, though we’re sure she won’t mind, given that we’ve heard her album and it’s a strong contender for best of 2009. In the meantime, new single Shark In The Water is a lilting indie-pop ditty making way for a marvellously noxious chorus, serving as an ad for both her eclecticism and her utter brilliance.

Single Reviews 29/06/09

We were going to use this little paragraph of nothingness prior to the Single Reviews this week to lay into Perez Hilton, but frankly there are more important matters at hand. Although, what can we say about Michael Jackson that hasn’t already been said? Perhaps that he would’ve wanted you to throw faeces at Perez Hilton, but it’s probably unfair to take advantage of his mourning fans. Shamone, MJ.

First up is Frankmusik, whose premature buzzwagon touted him as some sort of futuristic electro-deity. Epic fail, however – Confusion Girl reveals itself to be a lifeless boyband limerick, not dissimilar to something one might have expected from Big Fun or One True Voice, and aside from its Holly Valance cameo, doesn’t possess a single positive. Here’s hoping it was just a bad day at the studio.

Following the mightily superb Love You Better, we’re treated to yet another delight from the increasing (in volume and in quality) catalogue of The Maccabees. The faintly-military drums and contented, summery strummage of Can You Give It make it another prime example of superior British indie stalwartly standing tall amidst a sea of Lady Roux/La Boots/Little GaGa fly-by-night fuckwittery.

Scumwhores Anonymous – otherwise known as the Pussycat Dolls – give us another covert solo track from in-house megalomaniac Nicole Shitsinger, and this time [cue pause with sinister incidental music] they’ve gone disco. Hush Hush; Hush Hush not only brutally rapes the very idea of semi-colons, but samples I Will Survive, officially one of the worst five songs ever written. It’s music tailor-made to be hated.

And finally, scooping what feels like their 17th Single of the Week in a row, Kings of Leon not only paper over their, shall we say, weaker moments (*cough* The Charmer *cough*) but justly cement themselves as a true force of rock. Notion is vastly melodious, yet simultaneously boasts the inimitable edge as displayed in Sex On Fire that finally won us over. Kings of Leon, 1. The Sloppy Dog, 0. Sometimes being wrong pwns.

Single Reviews 22/06/09

You’ll have to forgive the lack of Single Reviews recently (for the squillionth time this year) – truth be told, the singles release schedule has all but evaporated since the introduction of downloads, so it’s quite the mission rounding up the wayward offerings by date. There was a time when you could pop into Our Price and see that week’s new 7-inch records all there on a nice display, grumble grumble...

Launching proceedings is a woman who’ll be pleased to hear she’s only the second-blandest Idol champ following the Kris Allen fiasco, Jordin Sparks (though let the record state, Kelly Clarkson and Taylor Hicks suck major balls – they’re just not overly bland). The gigantic balladry on show in Battlefield, however, goes some way to making Jordin significantly more interesting as an artist, whilst “betta-go-n-getcher-armour” may well be the best-delivered line of 2009.

Basement Jaxx are next up, with the inescapable anthemy of Raindrops. As with any number of summer house mantras, your ears will have had prolonged exposure before you even know the name of the song. And yet, Raindrops shows no signs of growing old anytime soon, its piquant energy and instantaneous melody helping it to Single of the Week status. NB: we reserve the right to revoke this title once we’re fed up of hearing it.

Perpetual staples of the Radio 1 playlist The Enemy – perhaps not the nicest of labels to give a band, but at least it guarantees them 650-700 plays a week – unveil a second submission from Music For The People, the amiable easiness of Sing When You’re In Love. While not quite boasting the head-turning edge of previous work, it’s a nice nod to the softer side of a band you mightn’t have expected to have one.

The Saturdays continue their undertaking to fill the inevitable hole Girls Aloud are surely soon to leave, although Work takes a trip further across the pond than Girls Aloud ever did (and not because of Cheryl’s conviction). A heavily-American pop stomper, whilst sorely lacking in the impressive vocals of Una Healy, provides their finest offering outside of Up. Now they’ve almost got as many good singles as shit ones...

And finally, as if to prove the point about the utter headfuckery of release schedules, Wonderland heralds the debut album from Brighton-based daydream-merchants The Mummers, and was released several times before we’ve finally gotten round to acknowledging it properly. It’s worth the wait, mind – a modest masterpiece of otherworldly, waltzy magic, which, you lucky sons of bitches, you can download here completely legally, and completely free. Woo-hoo, etc.

The Sloppy Dog LiveBlog: Big Brother 10

Every year, we all do it. Another horrific run of Big Brother comes to an end, and we swear blind it'll be the last one we watch. And yet, the lure of Launch Night is always too big a temptation to resist. So join us as we herald another summer of ultimate car crash television, as Big Brother reaches double figures. Or, if you wisely choose to ignore Series 4, 8 and 9, its seventh birthday.

20:56
...it's also Jade Goody's birthday tomorrow, incidentally. Somehow, the soulless leeches at Endemol missed a trick there. They could have scheduled the two to coincide, and unveiled a tasteless statue outside the house that at least three housemates dry-humped on their way in.

20:57
Jesus wept! The show's not even begun yet, and Davina McCall's increasingly unbearable squawk has already damaged the eardrums of approximately a third of the viewers. Which, considering the lack of buzz this series has gathered thus far, is probably about 11 people. Keep hitting refresh for updates, by the way, if you're one of the merry few joining us live.

21:01
Opening titles are a typical mess of abstract flashes. Davina's dress looks like a wipe-clean latex purchase from the cordoned-off area of Ann Summers.

21:05
We see that the house is filled with crates rather than furniture, and features a SHOCK!TWIST! phone, which will probably never amount to anything, much like the 'target that housemates MUST NOT stand on' a couple of years back. First housemate in is a posho named Freddie, who's getting booed horribly and is wearing a particularly cunty hat.

21:08
Freddie looks rather like Screech from Saved By The Bell. Meanwhile, we meet #2 - an advertisement against lesbianism named Lisa. Christ, will they ever cast just one lone gay housemate that doesn't invoke wild homophobia in the most open-minded of individuals?

21:11
Oh look. A FUCKING PROMO GIRL. We haven't had one of THOSE in Big Brother before, have we? Admittedly, it's an industry that gave us Aisleyne, but come on, Endemol! Think outside the box! Sophie, which is the name attached to this seemingly-irrelevant vacuum of peroxide and implants, isn't even getting a frosty reception from the crowd. They just sound like they can't be arsed.

21:19
The wide shot reveals the crowd to be rather sparse this year. Let's hope, however, enough of them have brought tomatoes to hurl at Kris, who's the fourth in. The last Kris to enter a reality show robbed the bloody thing off what would've been an awesome winner. This does not bode well. He calls himself a visual merchandiser, which means he goes round straightening things on shelves and hangers. Mind you, it's for All Saints, which means he probably goes round scrunching things up and making it look like it needs a good iron. His hair is vile.

21:24
Noirin is an Irish girl, who's getting roundly booed on account of being quite pretty. Is she the same Noirin that went out with Isaac in Real World: Sydney? Probably not. Mind you, whoever pays that much attention to Real World?

21:27
Next in is Cairon, who has somehow adopted the voice of Darnell from last year's series. He dresses like a circus clown who's rebelling against the ringmaster, and has a tiger stuffed in his back pocket. Does that signify a particular sexual preference, like different coloured hankerchiefs?

21:32
An advert for Brothers Cider, which is by far and away the most appealing prospect to present itself since this show began half an hour ago. The strawberry one in particular is all kinds of awesome, even if it does look as though you're drinking a pint of Cherry Tango. But we digress. Isn't it funny how non-existent an 'event' vibe this year's launch night has? Has the public finally had its fill, or are we just a nation of skeptics?

21:35
A Russian character named Angel is the next to grace our screens. Their gender, however, has yet to be determined.

21:38
Angel has come dressed as the video for I Write Sins, Not Tragedies by Panic At The Disco. Which is shit, incidentally. "I love you all," she says. "Meh..." says humankind.

21:41
And we have our first self-proclaimed 'bitch' of the evening! Surely that means the first "I'm like Marmite, you either love me or hate me" within a few minutes, followed by "I always speak my mind" and the inevitable "I'm mad, me!" before the next break. Karly is unemployed, vain, and swiftly steals the blonde, cleavagey scutter crown from Sophie.

21:45
A bizarre mixture of sexless metalhead and gym twat named Marcus is the next one in, and he's somehow garnered the best reception of the evening thus far. Cairon doesn't seem to know what to make of him, which, in fairness, you can't really blame him for.

21:50
Are we being excessively negative about this year's housemates, or are they really as bad as they seem? Admittedly, not a single one has had an intro VT that's even remotely complimentary. As if to prove the point, meet Beinazir, a gobby Muslim bird with a generous dose of attitude. She carries a greater promise of action than any other housemate we've seen tonight, and yet, her VT shows her as little more than hugely unpleasant. We like Beinazir.

21:55
Pint-sized Sophia is next in, and in fairness, she seems quite good value for money. Her laugh is hilarious. Estimated time before laugh stops being hilarious and starts being eye-gougingly hateful = 30 minutes.

21:56
We were wrong. It was 30 seconds.

21:59
Rodrigo, an insanely smiley Brazilian boy who looks about 13, is the next to enter. Having a sunny disposition won't get you very far round these parts, buddy.

22:02
And before we know it, another awful gay is heading housewards. A Kafka-esque mash-up of Brian Dowling and that gormless Dale one from last year, Charlie sprints into the house without a second's pause for the gathered paparazzi. Well, now that's something positive to say about him, at least. The directors JUST HAPPEN to leave the camera lingering on Rodrigo, because, of course, the gays will inevitably fall in love and bum each other in the Diary Room.

22:09
What the hell kind of name is Saffia? It sounds a bit like Saffy, but also a bit like labia. She seems nice enough, all things considered.

22:10
Oh, right. It's pronounced 'Sapphire'. How disappointing.

22:12
Sree is the next one in, and he's hoping to be an ambassador for India. Remember the last person to say that on their way in...? Incidentally, he'll be sharing a house with a dental nurse and any number of chavs. Daily Mail readers, best put Ofcom on your speed dial.

22:16
You know that old 'save the best for last' adage? Well, that's just been pissed upon from a great height via the final entrant, Siavash. He has a tosspot moustache which he twirls regularly, is clad in a hideous blue suit making him look like Sweet from Once More With Feeling, and he claims Usher once told him "he is the man." Well, Usher once asked us how to pronounce 'Ronan Keating', so nerrr.

22:20
To think someone in the crowd has gone to the trouble of heading down Hobbycraft to pick up a colossal sheet of bright pink cardboard, gone hell-for-leather with what must have been dozens of glitter pens, and dragged it all the way to Hertfordshire. Saying "RIP Jade Goody." We can't decide whether that's hideously distasteful, or a thoughtful tribute.

22:25
Davina is wetting herself with excitement as she reveals the 'amazing twist' - just as well that dress is wipe clean, eh? Big Brother calls one housemate to the Diary Room, which looks like the test card as interpreted by a colourblind Picasso, and Rodrigo is the lucky individual. The sound guys need to get their shit together, because Big Brother sounds like a small child using an empty Pringles tube to do a Darth Vader impression.

22:27
The shock twist? Rodrigo has to shave off one housemate's eyebrows, and draw a curly moustache on their face. Obviously, the latter won't have any effect on Siavash. Is this the best they could come up with?!

22:31
Noirin, God bless her, has put herself forward. Whether she actually understands what she's put herself forward for remains to be seen.

22:33
...Turns out she didn't know, after all. There are now tears. However, Noirin, along with Rodrigo, is now an official housemate, which guarantees further tears, further humiliation, and a nice spread in Nuts.

22:37
And that's that. It's yet to be determined whether we've found anyone as awesome as Aisleyne, Alison or Anna; as crazy as Shahbaz, Ahmed or Nikki; or as downright loathsome as Grace, Charley or Tim. What we do know, however, is that Davina McCall gets more and more annoying the longer she does this show; that housemates have finally figured out how to open the front door, as this is the first year it hasn't stumped at least half the entrants; and that the sinister cultural pull of Big Brother is impossible to withstand, no matter how bad it gets. God help us.

Single Reviews 01/06/09

Welcome to this week’s Single Reviews, where we’re pleased to announce that The Sloppy Dog is officially a Susan Boyle-Free Zone. We realise mentioning her name sorta nullifies this, but hey, it’ll send our hit counter through the roof (like the last time that happened, when the term “Holly Willoughby’s tits” brought in hundreds of new visitors – presumably, they won't be searching the term “Susan Boyle” for the same purposes).

After the saccharin bloodbath of My Life Would Suck Without You, one would think Kelly Clarkson might try and pluck something half-reasonable from her catalogue to excuse it. Evidently, no such track exists, hence I Do Not Hook Up, yet another insipid, all-American female “I’m demure, me” cliché, this time performed in the style of an anaemic mutant Avril Lavigne, all ham-fisted lyrics and vocal police sirens.

What a relief, then, that we can block out such filth with our Single of the Week, a mightily grand indie-funk masterpiece courtesy of Hockey. For a band from Oregon, the flagrant entertainment factor of Learn To Lose has a distinctly British feel, though special mention must also be made of the strapping vocals and spellbindingly riotous synthwork on display. We can haz album? Kthxbai.

Another artist nodding funkwards is Solange, with another single plucked from an album that feels like it was released a good two years ago. While the unhurried, laissez-faire T.O.N.Y. isn’t one of her stronger efforts, it’s nonetheless a reminder of a unique artist who frankly should’ve turned a lot more heads. For her music, we mean, not for mouthing off at hapless Fox News presenters.

And bringing up the rear this week are Snow Patrol, with a more produced, slightly livelier update on The Planets Bend Between Us – a pleasingly more abstract offering than previous downtempo numbers, yet still unmistakeably Snow Patrol. Perhaps the piano-led album take didn’t lend itself to X Factor soundbeds as effectively? We jest. Well, partially.

Honking Box Preview: American Idol

So, as we come to the final of American Idol 8, we’ve witnessed many a would-be Idol go packing – early bookies’ favourite Alexis Grace; walking tale of woe Danny Gokey; the utterly shambolic Megan Joy, arguably the worst talent show finalist we’ve ever witnessed; SPONTANEOUS thirteenth wildcarder Anoop Desai; and the outstanding Allison Iraheta, who, if there were any justice, would be sharing the stage with Adam Lambert this week.

Alas, we can’t complain, as Adam, the official Sloppy Dog-endorsed contestant, made it to the end. And bearing in mind we’re still bitter about Ruth Lorenzo coming fifth, that’s progress if nothing else. So what are his chances? With slow-burning tweenage favourite Kris Allen claiming the other spot in the final, it’s a tighter race than even ol’ Calculated Cowell might’ve predicted.

Will Kris join the worryingly sizeable club of mousey, boyish silver medallists (David Archuleta, Clay Aiken, Blake Lewis), or will the hordes of squeeing fangirls win out and make him the next Idol? Bear in mind, the aforementioned squeeing fangirls didn’t manage to crown their beloved Archuleta last year, as demonstrated hilariously here. (Aside from being a brilliant opportunity to laugh at the misery of a bunch of 9-year-old girls, it’s also a pleasant reminder that David Cook is, by far and away, the greatest winner Idol has ever had.)

Speaking of the great Cookie himself, our initial thought on Adam Lambert was that he was effectively a gay edition of David Cook. However, we’ve since deduced that if last year’s finalists – that’s Davids Cook and Archuleta, for any fools not in the know – had a baby, it’d be Kris Allen. Seriously, try watching him without seeing bizarre elements of both Davids melded into one.

But enough talk of the most grim, perverse genetic experiments imaginable, and on with the competition. In the interests of fairness, we’ve weighed up the pros and cons of each contender for your perusal...

In short, Adam Lambert for the win. However, the bible belt will be doing its damndest to vote against the sinful theatre gay, upping Kris’ chances significantly. So we shall take this opportunity to politely request the rest of America GETS OFF THEIR BATTYCREASES AND VOTES FOR ADAM. Thanking you kindly.

Overall, this season of American Idol has been massively entertaining – perhaps not quite as good as last year’s, but we shall certainly have difficulty filling that immoral talent show hole until The X Factor kicks off in August. We’ll miss Ryan’s hapless attempts to appear down wit da kids; we’ll miss Paula babbling incoherently like the utter fucking loon she is; we’ll miss the frankly bizarre star spots in the audience; we won’t, however, miss Kara telling someone “You were sen [ten second pause] SAY-tional! Who does that? You, that’s who!”

The final airs tonight and tomorrow in the US, so we’ll be avoiding pretty much every news and pop culture website in existence until it goes through the Coke-blurring and Ford-eradicating process for ITV2 on Friday night. For now, we trust the good folk of America will be dialling appropriately, but if not, at least they get to experience the awkwardness of having their very own Leon Jackson. Ha.

Single Reviews 18/05/09

So, seriously, Europe, what the jiggins is up with voting Norway? Did we see a completely different performance to the rest of the continent? Or is this like another bloody Ebony Bones thing (‘ello love!) where everyone else in the world ‘gets’ it but us? With that in mind, this week’s Single Reviews will probably be directly contrary to the general public opinions...

Taylor Swift is first under the microscope, with the saccharin Disney ballad of Teardrops On My Guitar. The fact she actually has a guitar bodes fairly well, and there’s certainly the air of talent here, but it’s a tad too eyes-and-teeth for it to truly shine through. So with that in mind, we’ll await her post-rehab, post-pre-marital-baby, post-punk album with glee.

The welcome return of the Manic Street Preachers next, with the anthemic Jackie Collins Existential Question Time. Aside from the mouthwateringly barmy title, which in itself deserves some sort of blue plaque, the song itself is unpredictable, nonchalantly grand, and boasts a distinctive balance of riotous and melodic. Always nice to have you back, gents.

However, it doesn’t quite stretch to Single of the Week, a title which is instead given to Absent Elk. The atmospheric indie majesty illustrated in Sun & Water demonstrates a great deal of promise, which hopefully later material will live up to. Mind you, their acoustic YouTube material is as accomplished as the big orchestral splendour displayed here – can they do any wrong?