music

[5] The Besnard Lakes, ‘Albatross’

The Besnard Lakes

An unexpected shot of gothic altruism from the Montreal band with – is it? It can’t be – Mott The Hoople’s Ian Hunter on co-lead, ‘Albatross’ is a gorgeous wall of sound, steadily battling with the fuzz and squall to make something beautiful. It builds and breaks until synthesised horns signal a sort of triumph at odds with what appears to be a tragedy. “There goes my man” sounds like affection, but it could be regret, loss, or all of it at once.

For Junior it’s just an interruption – “I want Lady Gaga!” – but she soon settles to say what she hears. “A girl singing, a beat, it feels like fun,” but first impressions can fool.

[6] Janelle Monae featuring Big Boi, ‘Tightrope’

Janelle Monae

She looks like the most eager beaver on the block, so it’s little surprise this is the peppiest song of the year, a barrage of pure joie de vivre set to the funkiest sproing this side of the Collins brothers. There’s obviously a huge debt to James Brown, but it’s not as if Monae hides it, and she has the knackering enthusiasm for it, the soul to suit and the suit to soul. I’m chucking these words out, something like a terminator.

The only sane response to ‘Tightrope’ is to fling yourself about the room like you’re five years old. Hey presto! Here’s one I prepared earlier, and she’s got the pen again: “Junior [she wrote her real name – but I have to keep some mystique. Yeah, believe, Junior’s not her real name] likes it.” “Four, three, two, one, zero!” she shouts before tipping on alligators. And rattlesnakers.

[7] Robyn, ‘Hang With Me’

Robyn

‘Hang With Me’ heralds a new era at Jukebox Junior, with Junior writing down her own comments for the very first time. Hold on to your hats: “She sounds like a princes. Sounds fast.” Let’s make this clear, being compared to a princess (or “princes”) is near enough the shiniest accolade Junior can bestow. Hit!

Or not. Peaking just outside the Top 50, ‘Hang With Me’ is another sorry example of Robyn failing to nail down a UK chart career, even while she releases stone-cold nugget after stone-cold nugget of peerless sad-pop wonder. Is it too clever? Klas Åhlund’s “recklessly, headlessly” is an evocation of abandonment beyond your common-or-garden Pixie Lott, but the fluttering synth-pop is surely irresistible, accessible, mass-appealing – and the heartbreaking rush of the chorus, remembering ‘The Sun Always Shines On T.V.’ while Robyn kisses off in weary style, could bring down governments. Well, hope springs.

[8] Hot Chip, ‘One Life Stand’

Hot Chip

Because I have notes I know Junior said, “It’s beautiful, his voice sounds good,” and really, does anything need to be added to that?

Yes. I get paid by the word. Well, I don’t, but it’s worth maintaining standards just in case. Hot Chip would do well to remember that ethos and then they wouldn’t be thought of (by me) as the archetypal “occasionally good singles” band. I find nothing engaging about their albums and am frustrated by their inability to be the modern flamekeepers for the kind of cerebral synthpop I’ve always loved – they bear some of the chops, but rarely connect with the killer choruses I expect. When they do – ‘Over And Over’, ‘Ready For The Floor’, this – they devastate. ‘One Life Stand’ withholds the transcendent hook, so when it hits it hits hard. In the end, nuzzled by comic synth drama, it’s generous and, yeah, beautiful.

[9] My Chemical Romance, ‘Na Na Na (Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na)’

My Chemical Romance

It’s a rallying call to dunderheaded revolutionaries everywhere, an immense shout to the disaffected which doesn’t necessarily involve eyeliner and moping in a darkened room. My Chemical Romance say ‘Na Na Na…’ rescued the band, which is a mixed blessing however you look at it, but on its own it’s perfectly raucous fun – a breakneck tour around the poppier nethers of punk and psychedelia, with a riff that could slice up a swede.

It’s not a great shock that Junior nails the chorus immediately and flings herself around with un-emo abandon. And, like her dad, she wants to play it eight times in a row.

[10] Arcade Fire, ‘We Used To Wait’

Arcade Fire

How good it was to see the return of Win Butler and his cheery “You spilled my pint and I will have my revenge by means of snide humiliation” countenance. Just when you think you might be overwhelmed by the bombastic brilliance of the occasional Arcade Fire anthem, there’s always time to remember what a boorish bunch of curmudgeons lurks behind the highs. Not you though, Regine, you seem nice. It’s Regine too who comes up with the high here, sustaining the chorus refrain as cuddly Win goes off on his tangent. Elsewhere, ‘We Used To Wait’ is rather trim for an epic, vamping hard on the piano, initially threatening to turn into The Beach Boys’ ‘You Need A Mess Of Help To Stand Alone’ and introducing some hammond swirls that were probably intended to be a bit Doors but end up being a lot Inspirals. It’s a brooding set of thrills that tower over a largely forgettable (and perplexingly highly rated in year-end lists) album.

In tune with the jolly atmosphere, Junior looks glum and determined to read her Roald Dahl books instead.

[11] Here We Go Magic, ‘Collector’

Here We Go Magic

“It’s got fast and slow singing and I give it 7/10,” confirms Junior. I might as well not turn up. Still, while I’ve got a moment – this is the sort of sunshine West Coast pop that makes you sound like The Thrills if you’re rubbish. Happily, Here We Go Magic are a bit different, giving ‘Collector’ a lick of pace and some tremendous wordless flutter at the end that’s unspeakably beautiful, but I’ve just tried anyway.

On their debut last year, singer Luke Temple sounded a lot more like Paul Simon. What changed? I suspect the arrival on the New York scene of son Harper Simon, drastically cramping the space for “people who sound like Paul Simon”. Perhaps there was some litigation. One to ponder.

[12] James Blake, ‘Limit To Your Love’

James Blake

Seems a bit glib to push this one when young James made a clutch of astonishing EPs this year that were all his own work, but this Feist cover is a remarkable demonstration of versatility. A first it appears to be played straight – a far cry from those EPs of soulful yet glitchy, distant dubstep – then Blake throws in an enormous bass vibration. It certainly sweeps away Junior’s initial disappointment at a “slowie”. “It has big noises,” she points out, and stomps about to emphasise them. But for all the bassy excitement is it any good? “Yes.”

Of course it is. It’s monumental. We’re expecting great things for the lad in 2011, certainly a great album. Maybe even hefty sales, but we’ll settle for a great album.

[13] Example, ‘Kickstarts’

Example

I was complicit when this won Popjustice’s Twenty Quid Prize for the best British single of the year. In fact, I spoke up for it. In FACT, I wrote down for it too, as seen in the picture at the bottom of that link. I don’t even regret it.

Must admit there was some pressure from home. Junior knows every single word, and this time accompanied it with an unexpected cossack-style dance. Pretty soon everyone was dancing, and at the end Junior asked, “Please can you do ‘Starts Again’ again?” We were locked in an endless starts again again cycle.

Which is fine up to a point. Cheap ravey synths have a shelf-life, but the hooks stay welcome. There’s something appealingly gauche about Example’s delivery too, which at times reminds me of MC Buzz B, at others Gary Clail. If that’s not a recipe for sustained success, what is?

[14] M.I.A., ‘Born Free’

M.I.A.

“This is just noise.” “It’s exciting.” “It’s echoing, it feels loud.” M.I.A. is used to eliciting mixed responses, and all of these come from the same five-year-old. A five-year-old who’s just taken nearly five years to realise I’m making a note of her reactions, and so gets a whole lot more vocal about them.

It is just noise too, but I’m still blinded by hype – perhaps it’s not just hype after all? – and lap it up over and over. M.I.A. takes Suicide’s ‘Ghost Rider’, turns it up until it creaks at the edges, then bombasts over the top of it, ever-relevant, ever-empty. With M.I.A., What seems uncompromising on the surface is always firmly anchored by a pure pop sensibility. It was the same, really, with Suicide, whose name fascinated me when I saw it for the first time in NME’s All Time 100 Albums, published in late 1985. I’d bought the paper as a taster, a candidate to replace Smash Hits which I felt I’d outgrown (ha!) – in the end, I went for Record Mirror because Mum thought NME was a bit rude, but that list burrowed into me, a primer for a new education.