music

[17] Justice, ‘D.A.N.C.E.’

Justice, ‘D.A.N.C.E.’

Not for the first time this week, Junior retrieved the Spice Girls’ ‘Wannabe’ from the CD shelves and tried to stick it in the player. Not good news for Justice. Happily, they’re wannabes themselves – wannabe Daft Punks – so this was heavy irony, toddler-style.
 
I know we’ve mentioned Daft Punk quite enough for one Top 20, particularly one in which they don’t actually appear. Sorry about the spoiler. Anyway, they have to be invoked here because while they’ve been fannying around making dreadful albums and eye-wateringly boring (I’m told) films, Justice have bounced in on a filter-disco spacehopper and stolen their thunder. And they’re French, of course. ‘D.A.N.C.E.’ makes childlike vocals sound good, puts the house back in funk – and indeed the funk back in house – and spells out “P.Y.T.” and “B.E.A.T.” with bare face. Yes, it’s fun.
 
Coming on Monday: a girl-pop treble whammy.

[18] Kanye West, ‘Stronger’

Kanye West, ‘Stronger’

Jukebox Junior’s first ever Single of the Year, in 2005, was Kanye West’s ‘Gold Digger’. The wire-jawed walking ego has slipped a bit since, but still knows how to make an impact in the increasingly staid world of commercial hip-hop. ‘Stronger’ samples Daft Punk’s ‘Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger’ (the fourth best single from Discovery), slowing it down and weaving its central line into Kanye’s big man narrative. It’s sharp, witty and massively sure of itself. Like our favourite blind-shaded rap maverick.
 
For Junior, a maverick herself, it’s a chance to dance with suitcases. This is not a routine I’ve seen before, but as Mr West says, “she’ll do anything for the limelight” – and I indulge her. What else is this place for?

[19] Mika, ‘Grace Kelly’

Mika, ‘Grace Kelly’

Before being overtaken by Rihanna and the unstoppable Leona Lewis juggernaut in recent weeks, this was the biggest-selling single of the year. It’s a disturbing and divisive record, but – how shall we put it? – one of the more memorable No.1s of the year.
 
I had the misfortune to review its parent album Life In Cartoon Motion, a ghastly concoction of wildly derivative showtunes and blatant rip-offs, with the most disingenuous lyrics this side of Coldplay’s X&Y. That said, ‘Grace Kelly’, for all its irritating quirks, has the kind of fantastic showboating chorus that only a churl could deny. I won’t argue with those who hate it – it’s just one of those songs.
 
Mika is so eager to please that one resolutely refuses to be pleased. “Why don’t you like me, why don’t you like me…?” – well, where to start? Credit where it’s due, though: nothing could have stopped this going to the top of the chart. “So I tried a little Freddie” – make that “a lot”, and please leave it now.
 
Gracing this with her cheeky chappy, bustly dance, Junior gave it short shrift in the end. It was the ultimate confirmation that small doses of Mika are quite enough. I don’t particularly want to hear ‘Grace Kelly’ anymore, but I’ll stand by his right to be recognised for one inventive song.

[20] Bat For Lashes, ‘What’s A Girl To Do?’

Bat For Lashes, ‘What’s A Girl To Do?’

WE BEGIN with the witchy, ethereal, Bjorkish, any other tired adjectives that might have been applied this year, Natasha Khan – runaway Mercury favourite on the night and Kate Bush for the Noughties. The ramshackle Klaxons snagged the award, but Fur And Gold was the most enticing album on the list, all horses and wizards.
 
This comes on like ‘Be My Baby’ with its thumping drum intro – let’s be clear here, it is the ‘Be My Baby’ intro – before it gets all, erm, witchy and ethereal with Natasha whispering her vexing situation as if she’s floating around right next to your ear. The chorus steals the drums again, but provides no answers, just that question. It takes you into a dark, unsettling world – pure pop drama.
 
Junior took the CD off me, popped it in the tray and pressed play, unprompted. We may have been doing this too long. She then held out her ra-ra skirt and curtseyed throughout, which was a new one on me, but I can quite imagine that Khan is a curtseying sort of girl.

[1] The Verve, ‘Bittersweet Symphony’

For a couple of months in 1997 everyone loved The Verve. Then ‘The Drugs Don’t Work’ was a bit drippy (No.1 smash notwithstanding), the album underwhelmed and the whole shooting match fell to pieces amid lawsuits and general hatred, only for Richard Ashcroft to rise from the flames like a boring phoenix.

So, many evils were visited upon the world, but ‘Bittersweet Symphony’ is a classic. I love ‘Brimful Of Asha’ more, I find, but ‘Bittersweet Symphony’ is a classic. We need our rock classics. Without them, what would Virgin Radio’s listeners vote into the Top 10 ‘tracks’ of all time? What would our dads and brothers-in-law play in the car?

This is more inventive than your standard rock monster. For a start, there’s a *gasp* sample. Bet they regretted that. The strings don’t add pomposity, as they would to any number of Oasis singles of the time, they add urgency. Pompous as that sounds. Oh, blah blah blah. I love the wall of sound, getting wider and higher throughout.

And Junior swung her hips – which don’t lie – in exact time with the string stabs, and rocked back and forth with the Eastenders drums. She was wailing by the end, mind. Probably had a vision of Ashcroft’s solo career. Actually, the iDog was making funny noises as well. That’s one bad solo career.

A Spotify playlist of the whole Top 20 (but no Blue Boy. Rats)

[2] Cornershop, ‘Brimful Of Asha’

Not the crazee Norman Cook remix and its forced jollity and helium vocals. This is the real deal, one of the cutest 45s in years. No other record has so successfully married a tribute to Asha Bhosle and a paean to the 7” single. God knows many have tried.

Junior takes the opportunity, as Marc Bolan – an obvious Cornershop influence – once sang, to “ride a green, blue and red snail like the people of the Beltane”. It’s a rocking horse, in the form of a snail. You know the sort of thing. Before saddling up, she was boogieing along and wondering if this really could be the same band that got caught up in all that Riot Grrl nonsense. Damn the NME. They know how to brand a band.

I was surprised to clock that this is five minutes long. It’s so concise and trim, with just enough embellishment in the strings and handclaps, that you think it’s the classic three-minute pop song. Tjinder Singh also ticks another of my favourite boxes by trying the ‘Young Americans’ trick of fitting too many words in each line. He succeeds where many a Manic Street Preacher has failed.

God. It should be No.1. It’s just that the next song ate rock music, spat it out and ruined its own makers.

[3] Supergrass, ‘Richard III’

After wheelie-ing their way into our affections with ‘Alright’ and other sparky singles, Supergrass flexed their monkey muscles with the second album, screeching back into public focus with the searing adrenaline buzz of Richard III’. On its release, it seemed as if there hadn’t been a tauter, more aggressive, more direct single in years. Maybe there hadn’t.

The record’s a bit of a shock for me at eight o’clock in the morning, but Junior had been warming up for a while and was ready for the standard rush on the coffee table. Not much coffee around – it’s become an ersatz library for her, and a place where she can rip up Heat magazine. Anyway, she shook her behind at the breakneck pace set by the ‘Grass and threw in some polite headbanging. It doesn’t outstay its welcome, so she rocked to the end.

Supergrass plough a more reflective furrow these days. You don’t get the same old rush with them, but the hairy little chimps are still up there with the best.

[4] All Saints, ‘Never Ever’

Junior just stood in the middle of the room, flexing her knees. She could’ve been an Appleton.

I used to think this record sounded fairly lush, but it’s a typically clinical late 90s production. The lushness more likely stems from Mel Blatt’s honeyed vocals and, erm, Shaznay Lewis’ honeyed vocals. It’s a doo-woppy song, beguiling in its languor, effortlessly catchy, and for a little while it made me think that the Saints were better than the Spices.

And maybe they were, with their hoity toity Lahndan sophistication, just for a few months. The competition was ‘Spice Up Your Life’, and you won’t be finding that in the Top Three.

You’ll be finding a trio of astonishing singles in the Top Three. Believe me, 1997 was good after all.

[5] Texas, ‘Say What You Want’

When Texas first turned up with their worthy Americana it was the guitarist who was eulogised. He was tagged as a new axe hero for the kids, with Johnny Marr now out of the picture. Each record was duller than the last and soon the band fell right off the radar, presumably never to return.

Then, what do you know, they rolled up with this, with the pretty lady front and centre. A very 90s thing to do. The emphasis was off the big chords and onto the pattering groove and Sharleen’s breathy breaths.

Texas set about making the world’s coffee table their very own, but they’re a fondness of mine, with their safe songs and clean sheen. Altered Images veteran Johnny McElhone was now giving them a classic pop sound, an unashamed Fleetwood Mac-ish love of melody and glossy production. This song pilfers from Marvin Gaye and Al Green too, but Ms Spiteri has the chutzpah to carry it off.

Junior jealously guarded her own coffee table and rocked, but gently.

[6] The Charlatans, ‘North Country Boy’

Junior was laughing again with this one. Coincidentally, I was singing. She rocked from side to side, like a chubby metronome, and was at one with The Charlatans’ good-time bluster. It’s a joyous record, sung with a smile on its lips. Their run of great singles was coming to an end, but it had been a cracking few years.

With this single, their Dylan passion was made flesh. The title’s a riff on ‘Girl From The North Country’, the sleeve’s a pastiche of Nashville Skyline’s, even Tim Burgess’s phrasing is the culmination of years of botched impressions.

Burgess has always been one for a bit of hero worship, from the Stone Roses through Dylan to, in recent years, Curtis Mayfield. He’s not gone as far as breaking his spine, though. Charlatan.