They shone in bursts, didn’t they, our premier girl group of the turn of the century? Obviously William Orbit loomed large over this, adding pretty flesh to its protoype ‘Frozen’, as Beachmania gripped the nation – but Mel Blatt’s vocal is gorgeous and the harmonies are honey. The quartet worked well together before they all decided they hated one another.
Junior says: “Purray Sho-rez,” reading the cover in impressive Reception class fashion. She gets into its liquid groove and her mum, catching the tail end of it, asks for it to be put on again.
Best bit: As the middle eight slides back into the melting chorus.
When the Pet Shop Boys covered this in their Pandemonium show – Neil Tennant in crown and gown, natch – it fostered the biggest singalong of the night. I’d swear, somewhat insultingly (for whoever), half the audience assumed the song was Tennant and Lowe’s – and wised up too late. Otherwise, I’m not sure there’s a natural overlap between the bands, but the point for me is ‘Viva La Vida’ has fast become an anthem and, I’ll wager, the Noughties hit that will last. At least in the sort of Absolute Radio pantheon that will forever rate Bohemian Rhapsody and Stairway To Heaven the standout peaks of our popular culture.
Obviously I think this is a great record, and while much of that is down to its immediacy and bursting pride, there’s also the question of its surprising birth. After all, X&Y had pretty much clawhammered the joy out of the soul of anyone who listened. It was a flatulent album, stretching its reserves of hot air over a dozen lifeless rhyming-dictionary clods of half-songs. They barely deserved their Brian Eno moment. However, he turned up anyway and has to take a hefty slice of credit for the alert Coldplay that emerged. But credit to Martin and co for actually bothering their arses this time.
Like Doctor Who, this is a family favourite. Actually, Doctor Who’s too scary for Junior. Let’s call this a mainstay of our automobile glee club.
Junior says: “WOAH-OH-OHH-OH-OHHH-OHHH. That’s the best bit.” And probably the only bit not pilfered from Joe Satriani, Cat Stevens, ‘Papa Don’t Preach’… – ah, we’re all the sum of our influences, aren’t we? Whatever cobbles this together, it gets Junior smiling every time. Maybe she’s got some publishing rights too.
Giggling schoolkids Andrew VanWyngarden and Ben Goldwasser make hay with the rock’n’roll lifecycle, snaring “models for wives” and choking on their “vomit – that will be the end”, and set it all to perennially pleasing power-pop. I’m not sure they’re far enough out of the game to take the piss – just look at their garb – but it’s handled with wit and a winning sense of cod-heroism. In the end, ‘Time To Pretend’ is uplifting, chords building to some sort of triumph, and living fast and dying young almost sounds like something to aspire to. And that makes us as silly as their targets.
Junior says: “I like this one,” pointing at VanWyngarden. The song gets the thumbs-up too, especially the chirrupy synth signature bookending the fun.
Best bit: “… digging up worms – BA-BOOM”. Such meatiness places it firmly in rock fan territory, however much they protest. Perhaps that’s the point – having the cake and eating it. That’s MGMT’s thing. On the new album, they play fast and loose again, simultaneously ribbing and paying homage to the sound cathedrals of Brian Eno. Speaking of whom…
It’s ridiculous that Delays don’t have proper hits. Here’s a band that really only make sense if they’re racing up the charts, otherwise what’s the point of such bright, barefaced pop? They might as well keep their powder dry, dour, functional. Perhaps the kids just don’t want their guitar bands to be so heart-on-sleeve, so unguarded, unless they feature Trace Cyrus or something.
‘Valentine’ ought to be too trite, tackling Hurricane Katrina with this sort of zinging gusto, but Delays get away with it with a bracing blend of hooks, drama, movement, pace, power – sorry, was possessed by the dread spirit of Alan Hansen for a moment there. He won’t have heard of them though, but will pretend he has so he can offer ill-judged soundbites on the telly, collecting cheques with nary a clue why ‘Valentine’ trumps ‘Long Time Coming’.
Junior says: “I liked everything,” which leads me to suspect there’s a lack of critical rigour going into her assessments.
Equally lauded and disparaged across the blogosphere – well, perhaps not equally, but loud voices on either side – the standout single of 2009 features Animal Collective marrying their yen for somewhat flat Beach Boys harmonies with an evolving brash electronica to muddle out a dance music you couldn’t possibly cut a rug to, but which sounds like a rave nonetheless. I’m particularly drawn to Panda Bear’s tribute to his girls, having three (count ’em, THREE) little daughters of my own, and find the dense trippiness of the whole endlessly uplifting.
Still none the wiser about “Adobe slabs”.
Junior says: “The beat makes my eyes blink like this,” followed by furious fluttering of eyelids. It’s like a natural strobe.
Best bit: The delayed arrival of bass. We’re still not really dancing, but think it can’t be far off.
One of an unending line of “new Kate Bush”es – Tori Amos, Bat For Lashes, erm, Patrick Wolf, Florence + The Machine, Marina and the bloody Diamonds, for all I know – Siobhan Donaghy fits the bill with a pop music that’s free, experimental, ostensibly commercial (albeit without the essential hits) and miles away from her unhappy work with Sugababes. ‘So You Say’ is forensically beautiful in every detail, and for that it’s quite remarkable.
Junior says: “It’s very quiet,” before the huge chorus swells forth, demonstrating a rather flowery take on the Pixies’ quiet-loud-quiet ethos. “I like the singing.”
Best bit: The da-da-ing and doo-doo-ing of the dizzily drifting middle section.
After the canny water-treading of the contractually obliged debut, Willis returned with a classic ballad, an Eg White composition to rank with any of White’s own work for Eg & Alice and the quiet storms of his solo records. Young’s delivery is perfect, every syllable brimming with pain and musicality, and the sparse arrangement yields new pleasures every time.
Junior says: “It’s a sad song, because he’s leaving before he goes into the sea.” I can’t add to that.
Best bit: The sheer beautiful torture of “I couldn’t bear to lose you again…”.
There’s a risky blend of the ponderous and euphoric in Doves’ music, something to do with that Mancunian yen for the big and maudlin, and Doves’ past as groovateers Sub Sub. I have to say the ponderous usually wins out. When it’s brightened by a fantastic mood and melody – ‘The Cedar Room’, ‘The Sulphur Man’, ‘Words’ – this is all good, but an unhealthy chunk sinks into the mire. ‘There Goes The Fear’ wants the cake and the eating, and carries it off, deftly representing the epic and the funky. Its samba rhythms tilt the second half of the song, introduced with surprising slickness after a pretty straight anthem. In the end, it sounds like the last gasp of Balearic – until half the albums released in 2010, that is.
Junior says: “Do it again.” She means the ungainly jig I danced to Doves because everyone was a bit tearful this morning (Well perhaps you shouldn’t wake up at 6am then, hmmm?). It cheered the girls up, but I knew I’d be sick if I went for the encore.
Best bit: The chord change as Jimi Goodwin attempts to hold onto the song before it goes samba.
It seems odd that the Scissor Sisters’ debut album was the UK’s biggest seller of 2004. It’s not as if its songs have entered the national fabric, is it? For good or bad, its chief rivals – Keane’s Hopes & Fears, The Killers’ Hot Fuss – have insinuated their way under our skin, their leading singles revived again and again for adverts, idents, party political campaigns, but I’d guess you’d be hard-pressed to name more than a couple of tracks from Scissor Sisters, let alone associate them with time or place.
I could be wrong. You might prance around to ‘Filthy/Gorgeous’ before every night down the pub. You should be prancing to ‘Comfortably Numb’, the cheekiest, most fully realised Pink Floyd cover yet; a record that, all the same, stands on its own two feet as a modern disco wonder, layered with Bee Gees, KC & The Sunshine Band, Frankie Knuckles, Joey Negro… Now, I’m no enormous Floyd fan, so I find extra relish in this thumb-of-the-nose to the crushing seriousness of the original – but, then again, all of Floyd have at some point or other given this version the props it deserves, so perhaps I’m the one who’s outside the joke.
Junior says: “It’s crazy but I do like it,” rolling her shoulders to that glittery pulse.
Best bit: The handclaps after “You may feel a little sick” puncturing any lingering pomposity.
This is what we wrote in 2008 [I’ve not come up with any new Strokes thoughts since, unsurprisingly]:
There was such a quaint furore about The Strokes those long seven years ago, loud voices on either side. Were they singlehandedly saving rawk? Were they arch-copyists, not an original note in their scuffy Converse? Did any of it really matter? Well, yes and no. A bit of debate keeps pop lively, but would the naysayers have been so quick to swipe if they’d known the day would come when every band and its wife would be ripping off The Libertines, and not the rather more plunderable Talking Heads, Velvet Underground, Blondie, you-name-a-cool-NYC-trailblazer? The answer’s no.
Anyway, what Julian Casablancas and rich kid friends had in bags were tunes. On first listen, I thought ‘The Modern Age’ was The Velvet Underground – that’ll be Casablancas’ Lou Reed drawl – still it was a catchy little effort from the off. Studiedly cool, yep, but nevertheless, er, cool. ‘Last Nite’ was a white boy’s Motown pastiche even more authentic than Phil Collins’ flail at ‘You Can’t Hurry Love’.
But we don’t want them to get too chipper. Junior and I did the arm-pumping ‘Tiger Feet’ dance, one ‘70s influence The Strokes possibly wouldn’t want to snatch. Saying that, let’s see what the fourth album brings.
Back to 2010:
Junior says: Well, not a lot. She doesn’t have any fresh observations either. But she does teach her little sister how to play air guitar and together they fight an Aircaster duel.
Best bit: When Casablancas turns on the loudhailer.
Jukebox Junior 