We’re back. So soon. I wanted to give Junior a few months’ break after all that intensive listening and arduous holding-up of records, but she already misses the breakfast song.
So – if you’ll have us – we’ll be back next week in September, reliving 1972. You didn’t live it the first time round? What is this, kids’ day out? One change: Junior doesn’t want to wave singles for the camera anymore. Something had to give.
Yeah, everyone else has done theirs already, but we like to think we’ve taken extra care over our chart. We haven’t been lazy. Nearly there now. Might even start tomorrow. Or Friday. Definitely Friday. Definitely not next week.
A note from our editors: we have reserved the right to utterly – and unabashedly – renege on previous opinions. Like, you know, the No.16 single from 2006 might be in it while the No.3 isn’t. Feelings CHANGE, man, and sometimes we may have been wrong. OK, not wrong as such – overcome by the vapours, maybe.
See you then.
UPDATED UPDATE: Monday, then. Monday the 1st. Let’s stick to something we can manage. All my proper work will be done and the full chart will be worked out, not just guessed. Ho hum. Anyone still reading?
As Beatlemania strikes for the fourth time – yes, fourth: there was that first one, then the chronological single releases in the 80s, then Anthology, now these rather comely remasters – it seems only fitting to gad about playing Stones records.
But what would The Beatles be like if they were still around today? Notwithstanding some high profile deaths, would we be dismissing them for not having had a Top 10 hit since ‘Got My Mind Set On You’? Would we be saying, “Oh, but you have to see them live to understand. Not that they’ve performed since that rooftop gig in ‘69”? Would we be suggesting their last great peak was when Linda supported an addled Lennon on guitar duties in the early 70s?
Mick Taylor was the Stones’ unsung hero as 60s turned to 70s, initially stepping in when Brian Jones was seemingly not fit for the job, and then way too dead for the job. But the man on Exile On Main Street’s ‘Tumbling Dice’ is still Keef, a trademark riff boogie-ing the song along. It’s an easy, devastated rocker, bang-on cool in its barely glued swagger, and the touchstone for all those would-be Stones. Just pick up Primal Scream’s Give Out But Don’t Be Give Up and jump to ‘Call On Me’. “Carbon-copy” implies a laborious step between the two.
Charlie Watts would be pleased in his dotage to hear Junior praising the drums. She goes on to join the gospel backing for the “baaayyy-beh”s, and she and her sister give it the full lungs for the fading “got to roll me”s, swept up in the ecstatic cyclone of soul-soaked seedy rawk.
Partners in crime:
A month-long gap is inexcusable of course. Anyway, my excuses are holiday, seasonal lack of exciting releases and a nagging sense I should be searching for a new job. I have your sympathy now, don’t I?
This is a single from a couple of months back, from an album about 10 months back. Topical. It’s the only obviously Princey song from TV On The Radio’s reputedly very Princey Dear Science, funking along with a guitar riff that could cut your hair. Still, while the album might not be massively Minneapolitan, it’s completely bloody amazing and the global critical consensus says, “Here, here.” Everyone’s jumped on board now, possibly because it’s the most accessible thing TVOTR have done; there’s a sense of relief they’ve shipped out challenging for tuneful, but even though the sound was murkier on Return To Cookie Mountain, it was really no less melodic. You just had to try a little harder. Maybe no one wants to try a little harder.
We didn’t try all that hard here, mind. No chance Junior could keep still in the car seat as TVOTR hit their groove, but we reserved our critical faculties for Kyp Malone’s name. Surely no one’s called Kyp? “Harvey at nursery’s middle name is Kyp.” I’ll take her at her word.
Smoke me a Kyp:
In some cold sense, Lady GaGa is a fantastic pop star – all glitz and Vegas glamour, ever-changing, seemingly personality-free – yet it’s those very things that make her one big nothing. In my shady day job as editor of a horrifyingly mainstream music site, GaGa is a godsend. She’s full of juicy quotes, decked out in a new flesh-flashing doily every day, selling phenomenal amounts of records and it’s all so… so… boring.
On the other hand, she put on a sterling if robotic show at Glastonbury and ‘Just Dance’, ‘Poker Face’ and ‘Paparazzi’ are the sort of ear-worms that The Saturdays, say, would kill for. I’ve gone with the third single here because – hey! – it’s recent and we’re nothing if not bleeding-edge. ‘Paparazzi’ is a huge great clunking metaphor for slavish empty adoration; just the kind GaGa needs for these 15 minutes.
Is Junior her biggest fan? She shuffles in her seat as she takes the standard eon to eat her cornflakes, but in the end the song merits a shrug. I try to fire some debate: “Do you know what ‘Paparazzi’ means?” “Morris has got one.” Her friend Morris calls his dad “Papa”, you see. Maybe he’s seen him sneak off into the night with his Canon, in hot pursuit of a mini-Madonna in a bubble dress. It’s a living.
Snap snap to that shit on the radio:
One of my favourite albums at the moment is Spinnerette’s taut, hard-rockin’, saucy debut. It’s fronted by ex-Distiller and current Mrs Josh Homme Brody Dalle, with riffing support from Tony Bevilacqua, Alain Johannes and Jack Irons, and bowls along like a teeth-baring monster truck – too fierce to be ridiculous. ‘Ghetto Love’ – an almost 2009 single – sets the stall out, swinging and bulldozing with carefree intensity, addictive as wine gums.
Junior reckons the guitars are “louder than mine”, which is good news all round. She also declares, with some thought, “I like this and Hannah Montana. Just this and Hannah Montana.” Someone tell Brody – she’s made the big time.
Humanity is a deer in the headlights:
We did this about this time last year, so why change a vaguely popular feature? These are the Top 20 Most Played 2009 Singles on the ever-honest iPod:
[1] Yeah Yeah Yeahs, ‘Zero’
[2] Dananananaykroyd, ‘Black Wax’
[3] The Horrors, ‘Sea Within A Sea’
[4] Passion Pit, ‘The Reeling’
[5] Animal Collective, ‘My Girls’
[6] James Yuill, ‘No Surprise’
[7] Sunny Day Sets Fire, ‘Adrenaline’
[8] TV On The Radio, ‘Dancing Choose’
[9] Frankmusik, ‘Better Off As Two’
[10] Röyksopp featuring Robyn, ‘Girl And The Robot’
[11] Jamie T, ‘Sticks ‘n’ Stones’
[12] Coldplay, ‘Life In Technicolor ii’
[13] U2, ‘Magnificent’
[14] The Phantom Band, ‘The Howling’
[15] Eg, ‘Broken’
[16] Junior Boys, ‘Hazel’
[17] Lily Allen, ‘The Fear’
[18] Fischerspooner, ‘Supply & Demand’
[19] Saint Etienne, ‘Method Of Modern Love’
[20] Red Light Company, ‘Arts & Crafts’
But will it bear any resemblance to the year-end chart? Be sure to check in 18 or 19 weeks.
Probably our dozen favourite British albums of the past 12 months:
David Holmes, The Holy Pictures
Bloc Party, Intimacy
Los Campesinos!, We Are Beautiful, We Are Doomed
The Invisible, The Invisible
Higamos Hogamos, Higamos Hogamos
Dananananaykroyd, Hey Everyone!
The Horrors, Primary Colours
The Wave Pictures, If You Leave It Alone
Eg, Adventure Man
God Help The Girl, God Help The Girl
Little Boots, Hands
Damian Lazarus, Smoke The Monster Out
Winner to be announced when we get over the mediocrity of the list.
Let’s get this up now, before they all take to the field at Lord’s and tear up the history books. The Age Of Revolution, eh? Shorter forms of the game, pyjamas, fewer strokes through extra covers – and massive fourth innings winning totals? Just because 522 hasn’t been achieved before, doesn’t mean these pesky Aussies won’t do it.
Neil Hannon (Lewis) and Thomas Walsh (Duckworth)’s glorious cricket concept album sails so close to arch parody (what? With Hannon on board?), but squeaks through thanks to its wit, affection and tunes. ‘The Age Of Revolution’ is that old chestnut, funky Charleston, and revels in a changing game. It’s a tasty scene-setter for an often hilarious and poignant record, warm with nostalgia and wide-eyed at possibilities.
Junior smiles as it wheezes into action, but when pressed on her thoughts says, “I haven’t decided.” She’s hedging her bets. Me? I think Australia will win.
Get Clarke:
Now, I bow to no man in my devotion to all things synthy/plonky/tinny, but aren’t La Roux a step too far? Isn’t theirs a slavish fixation on 1981 electrobop, right down to the hairsprayed-within-an-inch quiff? Isn’t it all an unseemly retread? No!
Hmmm. Yes. Maybe. But it doesn’t matter when it’s done with this much panache, with this many hooks, with a singer possessed of just the right amount of pouty glower to slip seamlessly into Ultravox. June Ackland’s daughter Elly Jackson is doing a marvellous job rubbing everyone up the wrong way – well, rubbing interviewers up the wrong way, while the public falls for her in swoony droves – and that’s how we like our pop stars. OK, that’s how we like some of our pop stars. More than a handful of Mark E Smiths is too much of a good thing.
Anyway, let’s take opinions from a cross-section of the kids. Junior pouts like a common Elly and says she doesn’t like ‘In For The Kill’. Is it the auditory challenge of Jackson’s high-pitched trill? No, she just wants to watch Milkshake. Different response from Junior 2 – let’s call her A-Trak – who bodypops in her highchair with all the glee that Junior’s pouted out.
La Roux, then: big with the kids unless Peppa Pig’s on.
Dog whistle:
