eek eight, and we have the highest scoring winner of the unified jukebox ever by an absolute mile. Yes, we’ve found something we like even more than The Research. We also rumble through Bow-Wow attempting to work his balls, Placebo being all “still existing” and stuff, and a lovely little Bollywood number about a mobile library. Possibly. Before all that, though, all together now: “La Norvège, quatre vergule quarante points…”


Maria Mena – Just Hold Me
[4.40]
Jonathan Bradley: Mena’s high, slightly strangled voice is far too interesting for the generic ballad fill of the backing, which is of the strings-as-substitute-for-emotion sort. Perhaps a duet with fellow countrywoman Annie could inspire something more interesting? I’m getting more fun from the Web site, mariamenamusic.no, which has a diary filled with LiveJournal worthy observations like, “it started snowing, and i´ve been inside all day doing nothing,” and “oh my god you guys!!! i just did the most embarrassing thing!!!” Who knew there was such a small gap between uninteresting 20-year-old blogger, and uninteresting 20-year-old pop star?
[3]

Mike Barthel: This sounds like it’s how not to do a ballad at first, anemic and bland, but then at the chorus Ms. Maria hears what they’re giving her, winds up, thinks, “Fuck it, I’m going for it,” and throws a little Mariah at us. And the bridge is nice too: “Poor little misunderstood baby / no one likes a sad face.” (And the piano goes deedle-dee.)
[4]

Hillary Brown: I swear you can hear that Nordic crust of frost in the vocals of Scandinavian stuff even if you don’t know it’s from that area of the world. They’re all crystalline and a little stand-offish and fragile. She also sounds a bit like she could use a Kleenex. This is basically to say that those vocals end up making a relatively conventional ballad into something much lovelier, like, say, an ice sculpture that transcends the limitations of its form and manages to make you nod your head sagely and think, “kickass.”
[6]

Edward Oculicz: A lovingly-arranged ballad, but a bit anaemic nonetheless. Maria’s mix of wavery woe and resignedness is an odd one; on the lines where you’d expect her to whimper and wail miserably as she breaks your heart, she’s too strong, almost as if she’s unaware of what she’s singing. Robot-like, as if a computer were told to facsimile felt performance.
[3]

Jessica Popper: I really liked the first two singles from Maria’s last album—she seemed cute and her lyrics were surprisingly feisty, but I’m not really feeling the same about this new one. I like it enough but I still can’t remember a word of it.
[6]


Placebo – Because I Want You To
[4.60]
Jonathan Bradley: Placebo’s Brian Molko has one trick, which is being as fucked-up and androgynously hedonistic as possible. It works marvellously when he pulls it off, alleviating his noir-ish sex and drugs fascination with a theatrical balance of glam and misery. Like the best exploitation art, it can be alluringly fantastical, but when Molko lacks commitment, the whole thing comes off as the pandering sop to nancy boys that it really is. “Because I Want You To” falls somewhere between these extremes, with just enough elegant decay amidst its sturm und drang to be entertaining.
[7]

Martin Skidmore: I vaguely like Brian’s striking nasal voice, and the shiny guitars chug along with a purpose, that purpose being drive-time indie. It’s shaped as if there’s a song in there somewhere, but I couldn’t quite get hold of it, and I don’t think Brian can either.
[4]

Ian Mathers: Placebo almost always turn out decent singles, and their last record was surprisingly solid, but a song like “Because I Want You To” is going to remind all but the most devoted that they’ve been doing the same thing for years now, and don’t seem to have any interest in varying that any more. This is much better than most of what passes for Modern Rock these days, but it’s a problem for any band when their new work mostly makes you nostalgic for their older singles.
[6]

Peter Parrish: Distinctive vocalists leave a band open to the oft-lazy criticism that every single song is exactly the same. Even playing “One Hundred Years” and “Why Can’t I Be You?” back to back couldn’t convince some particularly stubborn Cure nay-sayers of my acquaintance. Yet now I see where they were coming from; despite potentially sounding fresh and exciting to the ears of any Placebophile, all I’m getting from this is a much worse version of “Every You Every Me.” And the snare drum sounds like someone slapping a pile of wet plastic bags, which doesn’t help.
[2]

Doug Robertson: Who, back in 1996, would have predicted that Placebo would still be releasing records in 2006? Hmm, that’s a smattering of hands, but not many of you. And who, also back in 1996, would have predicted that, if they were still releasing records, that over the ensuing ten years their sound would not have evolved in any way, shape or form, and that they’d still be labouring away under the delusion that they hadn’t peaked creatively with “Nancy Boy” and still had something to offer the world? Ah, quite a few more of you this time.
[4]


Bow-Wow – Fresh Azimiz
[4.83]
Jonathan Bradley: Bow Wow’s indignant refusal to accept his status as novelty child star has gone beyond befuddling and become almost endearing. If only Kriss Kross had have had this perseverance. Following an almost grown-man duet with Ciara, Bow Wow gives us his almost sizzling club track, replete with almost Mannie Fresh production by Geppetto-du-jour Jermaine Dupri—couldn’t So So Def fork out for the man himself rather than biting his drums? Bow Wow raps like he’s been tutored on the finer points of chart rap, but lacks the lazy charisma of the T.I.s and Young Jeezys he apparently admires so much.
[5]

Martin Skidmore: It’s a kind of minimal production that isn’t crunky, unusual in so much hip hop these days. It doesn’t even quite have the Deep South sound you might expect from producer Dupri, from Atlanta. It also doesn’t have the teen hip-pop sound of Lil’s early work with Dupri, nor the kind of chorus/hook you’d generally get from him then, nor an In The Club hook of the kind he’s going for here, and the lyrics are basic bragging. It doesn’t have enough of anything, really, but Bow-Wow sounds very good and... Damn, it’s a bit of a non-event, frankly.
[6]

Hillary Brown: Aww… Bow-Wow thinks he has a rep? Points for creative spelling, but work harder, Junior. You ain’t hungry enough yet.
[5]

Joris Gillet: A little bit of googling learns us that Bow Wow turns 19 this thursday. You can understand why he dropped the Lil’ from before; he’s a grown up now. He’s got big grown up beats as well: all dark and gothic and a bit crunk (well, crunk light). Sadly his voice is still squeaky and his flow childish no matter how angry he tries to sound.
[4]

Ian Mathers: Someone has been listening to Lil’ Wayne. Which is fine, as there are plenty less entertaining rappers for Bow-Wow to be emulating, but part of Wayne’s appeal is his weird-ass voice, which would make him stand out even if he didn’t have wordplay to fall back on. Bow-Wow has neither voice nor interesting lyrics, but he does have JD and J-Kwon on the chorus, which is mildly catchy. Decent radio fodder, but forgettable.
[4]

Doug Robertson: They grow up so fast, don’t they. Why, it seems like only yesterday that Bow Wow still had the ‘Lil’ epithet and was telling us how he was the flyest thing walking through Junior High. Nowadays, of course, things are different, although if his duet with JoJo is to be believed, he still hangs out with 13 year old girls, and he’s taken his mentor’s influence a bit too far and now just sounds like a less good Snoop. If it wasn’t for the fact that he’s already had five years to do so, it could be suggested that he might grow out of it; as it is, it seems more like he’s found a rut and is resolutely sticking with it.
[5]


All-American Rejects – Move Along
[4.86]
Martin Skidmore: I saw this name on the review list and was positive I’d hate them. Turns out that they are a bit more musically sophisticated than the average punkyish US guitar band, using some quite odd distortion effects and something like a school choir, among other things. I’m not sure this makes their music any less horrible, and I suspect that if I could bear to pay closer attention to the words there would be a thoroughly contemptible degree of emoness, i.e. some, but at least there is something vaguely interesting and surprising going on musically some of the time. Still not at all for me.
[2]

Hillary Brown: Not exciting. This radio punk thing can work occasionally, when the harmonies are hit madly well and there is enough snottiness in the mix, but there’s some kind of undercurrent of sincerity here that sweeps the song off its feet and never lets it get interesting.
[4]

Edward Oculicz: Circa “Swing Swing,” all I could hear was my lost teenage weeks and all I could see were amazing cheekbones whose angles screamed impotence that hit uncomfortably close to home. This is a flabbier retread with no tension, no emotion, no grandiose drama, slightly mitigated by the presence of a doubly-thick coat of gloss.
[5]

Jessica Popper: This song sounds like possibly millions of other songs that I utterly hate, but for some reason I really love this. The chorus is surprisingly catchy, the speed of it is almost danceable and I love the bit where everyone sings along towards the end. Any song with a sing-along bit can’t have been intended just for rock fans.
[9]

Mike Powell: You had me at hello and you lost me briefly at about 2:05 when I realized that you had every fucking intention of pattering on for another two minutes like a tropical nu-metal rendition of Modest Mouse’s “Float On.” Still, I’d be lying if I said I expected to enjoy any histrionic Billboard Top Modern Rock track more this year, unless someone figures out how to make another “Helena.”
[7]


Gwen Stefani – Crash
[5.00]
Jessica Popper: This is one of my favourite songs on Gwen’s album so I’m very pleased she’s releasing it. It’s just a shame she didn’t go for this one instead of “Luxurious” and we might have got a video consisting of more than a live performance from her tour. If you don’t know the song, it’s the one where Gwen channels 90s girl-rap (especially Salt’n’Pepa) with brilliant results.
[9]

Mike Barthel: I put the album on my top 10 whatever year it came out (musta been, what, 95 or something, right?), but my girlfriend’s always hated it, said it was grating. Now I am beginning to understand. I already can’t listen to “If I Was a Rich Girl” because of one too many spins on the lite-FM station they play where I eat lunch most days, and now we’ve reached a level of single previously deemed irrational by most number theorists, I just want to sit Gwen down and give her a good talking-to, the gist of which will be “TURN DOWN THE FUCKING TREBLE ALREADY.”
[2]

Steve Mannion: For sexual innuendo based around motoring we’re all better off with ‘Bubble Pop Electric’ really, but I guess that’s too ‘weird’ for the pop charts, so here’s this poor substitute dragged kicking and screaming and crying “I can’t believe I’m the FIFTH single” over and over. Stefani probably got most of these lines from watching a couple of episodes of Blind Date. Fun enough with decent production but still one of Love Angel Music Baby’s weaker moments.
[5]

Peter Parrish: Or Carry On Driving. In which Gwen blunders through a cone-filled obstacle course of increasingly bizarre driving innuendoes—“you’ve left your blinker on,” phnaarr! wait, what?—climaxing (teehee) with some kind of wacky car crash-orgasm metaphor. Sex just isn’t exciting anymore unless it leaves you with fatal internal bleeding, viscera stained sheets and mangled bits of glass and bone (matron!) all over the floor.
[3]

Doug Robertson: How many singles is Gwen planning on releasing from the Love Angel Music Baby album? By my reckoning this is at least the, ooh, 97th track to be taken from it and, while it’s undoubtedly an album full of pop gems, there comes a point where you need to stop mining for fear of having the seam collapse around you in a dirty mess of bored punters searching desperately for the new. It’s a good track, but it’s a good track from 2 years ago, now. It’s time for Gwen to move on.
[6]


Rang de Bastanti – Pathshala
[5.33]
Jonathan Bradley: Not as entertaining as a lo-fi “Eye of the Tiger” transplanted into Bollywood territory sounds. I’m hoping this soundtracks an Indian version of Rocky.
[5]

Martin Skidmore: This is sung by Naresh Iyer and Mohamed Aslam, as part of the soundtrack for the film Rang De Basanti. It’s an odd one: synth stabs acting like guitar riffs, hands in the air chanting which isn’t far from a lot of bhangra singing, various other things thrown in, barely sounding Indian much of the time (I may be out of date on this, and the growing westernisation has exceeded my old familiarity), unmistakeably Asian at others. It keeps feeling as if it’s leading up to a big chorus, but it never gets there. It also sounds as if someone is shouting “You spandrel!”, which is an original insult.
[5]

Mike Barthel: Most good pop gets more interesting the more attention you pay to it, but this is a pretty good example of pop that’s best viewed at a certain remove. Mainly this is for the remarkably seamless way it works the cut between genres, never really settling on a particular form but instead just jamming sections next to each other willy-nilly, sometimes changing melodies while the backing stays the same, sometimes throwing in elements of a previous section in the back of a new section, throwing in elements of pop-rock’s sudden sharpness but in general working a dynamic of repetition. The metal guitars are particularly awesome.
[7]

Steve Mannion: At about 1 minute and 30 seconds in I’m pretty sure he says “mobile library.” So it may be worth listening just for that. An odd number at drum n’ bass speed but missing enough rhythmic detail to not sound as frenetic as all that. Bursts of thrash guitar imply a sense of control being lost but it could stand to go even crazier for maximum effect. Hopefully the video depicts them ransacking said mobile library and all will be well.
[7]

Edward Oculicz: The beat is punchy, but even with the Eastern flourish of the production, it sounds uncannily like my imagination of a sub-continental workout video. Only possibly more repetitive.
[2]

Mike Powell: First it tricks you into thinking it’s a synth-pop Mötley Crüe song, then it briefly turns into a Peter Gabriel reggae number before you realize that no! it’s just the exciting sounds of bhangra, a genre I know precious little about. This song definitely holds my attention but it doesn’t really do anything with it, and I *know* I’ve heard better Bollywood soundtrack music. Despite the mantric urges of the lyrics, I estimate only being able to lose 15-20% of my control—at absolute most—while listening.
[6]


Najoua Belyzel – Gabriel
[5.60]
Joris Gillet: Not unlike “Can’t Get You Out My Head” but French and rather rubbish: the singing is far too dramatic and there are some terrible trance-y bits and they are really, really overdoing it on the ‘sounding a bit 80s’-front.
[5]

Ian Mathers: Between the plastic-bag-covered-drum beat and the slightly rave-y synths, “Gabriel” is a whole lot more active than most of the French pop I’ve heard recently (and, blessedly, there aren’t any strings); Najoua oversings the hell out of the verses, but that “oh oh oh” part after each chorus is nearly perfect. Better than average Europop, but still very much of a piece with its lesser brothers and sisters.
[6]

Edward Oculicz: Electropop synth bass, trance stabs and a breezy melody in the verses and just a hint of sinister in the chorus, particularly good when the clattering double-thunderclap beats come in to add punch and strength. Najoua’s floating and slurring in the verses are things of beauty, a little bit lustful, a little bit searching. I think I can hear a little Laura Branigan in it too.
[7]

Peter Parrish: Why has French pop music not successfully spread further afield? Other than Britain’s crippling xenophobia, there doesn’t seem to be any reason why a 1066 style conquest shouldn’t take place—especially since tracks sung in French automatically sound gorgeous. Perhaps as a nation they need to spend more than €15 on their keyboard equipment. And possibly not record so many flat dance-pop-electronic-whatisthisanyway tunes.
[5]

Doug Robertson: There’s something about the French language that makes whatever’s being said sound really beautiful and life changing. Just a shame that musically it’s nothing more than a bad Roxette. Oh well.
[5]


RBD – Tras de Mi
[5.67]
Hillary Brown: Yet again, we hark back to a simpler time, a time of echoing synthesizers and stereo multi-tracked vocals all singing the same thing, a time in which action movies were still made with irony, a time of uncomplicated top 40 radio. But this is much like the situation (only collapsed into a shorter period) whenever one goes to a Renaissance Faire, and, if one is at all a reasonable person, realizes how good things are in the present day.
[4]

Edward Oculicz: I totally dig those wanky compressed rock guitars, and the beat and the way the tune flings itself around the speakers, but I simply cannot past the irritating voice on this. Would probably be amazing if sung by, I don’t know, Britney Spears, or perhaps Shania Twain.
[3]

Peter Parrish: It’s great when you don’t have a clue what the lyrics might mean. This is a perfect opportunity to invent your own dramatic fiction to accompany the music, replacing what was no doubt previously some old toss about love. I’m excited to announce, then, that this track is all about a renegade group of robotic bandits hell bent on destruction—and the only gunslinger in town who can stop them; a humble estate agent from Mexico City. Thrill to the soft rock guitar as he traps his deadly adversaries in a variety of attractive locations with convenient vehicle access! Gasp as the sun shines off gleaming chrome weaponry which is in no way phallic! Swoon as a gaggle of busty prostitutes sing the chorus! Contains mild scenes of peril and tedious pop culture references.
[7]

Mike Powell: This band has basically owned the Latin American music charts for nearly a year now, so you could imagine my disappointment when I discovered that it was a mid-tempo U2-in-the-desert-style anthem covered in arpeggiated synthesizer lines, piles of crunchy guitars, and a big explosion sound before an overwrought acapella breakdown. Highest fuss-to-fluff ratio I’ve heard in a short while.
[4]

Doug Robertson: Despite having just about mastered the art of using a door handle, my cat isn’t exactly the smartest animal in the world, but if she developed a bit of songwriting nous—and worked out a way of making a noise which isn’t just a plaintive wail—then this is probably the sort of thing she’d come up with. As full of charm as a bouncy kitten and just on the right side of potentially being irritating, all this needs is a badly animated cartoon video and it’ll be nigh on unstoppable.
[6]


w-inds – It’s In The Stars
[6.17]
Martin Skidmore: J-pop over dated-sounding dancey keyboards, with some enthusiastic boy singing from one of Japan’s countless groups of beautiful boys. It’s very like a slightly less muscular “Oops I Did It Again” in tune and sound, really—but I don’t suppose the boys in the band dress up as schoolgirls (obviously we can dream...)
[6]

Joris Gillet: More Japanese disco-pop. To be honest, I didn’t really ‘get’ last weeks enthusiasm about Soul’d Out and this one even lacks the ‘oh my god, what the hell is going on here’-ness of Tokyo Tsushin. It’s got a nice beat, a couple of filter-y bits, lots of auto-tune and plenty of phrases that, from a distance, appear to be English, but there’s nothing in particular that’d justify its existence.
[4]

Steve Mannion: A Japanese Alcazar! Actually, that might be a little generous, but this comes very close to matching that level of greatness with big disco lights a-glowin’ and a suitably euphoric air throughout. Could’ve done with some female accompaniment, maybe, but encouraging nonetheless.
[7]

Ian Mathers: When did Japan get some sort of monopoly on gloriously unselfconscious, cheekily upbeat pop songs? Put this on while you’re washing the dishes or something similar, and see if you don’t start yelling “It’s! In! The! Stars!” along with w-inds—the awesomely pseudo-disco refrain would be enough to elevate nearly any track, but the rest of the song keeps up and the result is positively delirious.
[7]

Mike Powell: Maximalist J-pop that wants to convince you of an impending apocalypse, carry you away from it on the back of a unicorn riding a rainbow of campy drag queen backing vocals and jazz chords at a solid 120 beats-per-minute and barely crack a smile while doing it.
[7]


Hooverphonic – You Hurt Me
[6.43]
Martin Skidmore: Damn, I thought this was going to be Scooteresque, but not at all. It’s not so far from old-fashioned torch singing really, a plinky piano, some elegant strings (and there are electronics here too) and a strong and emotional female singer. It’s really very lovely—put me a bit in mind of Portishead if they weren’t a trip-hop act, if that makes any sense, though perhaps it’s a notch too perky in sound for that, a notch less smokey. It’s a very strong song too—I can imagine this being a major hit.
[8]

Mike Barthel: This is a pretty good example of how to do a ballad, if you’re going to do a ballad: lots of strings but also synth-bass and electro-harpsichord. Throw in some alternating lines and a singer that sounds like a wimpier Fiona Apple (or Jewel with an edge) and all you need is to pile a bunch of different rhythms on top of each other—straight eights on the keyboard, boogie-bass, long string lines—and you’ve hit Belgian gold, kid!
[7]

Ian Mathers: I admit, my favourite part of “You Hurt Me” is the Blue Lines-esque synth bassline, but that’s not just because I love that kind of digital burble. Hooverphonic always do best with either torch song ballads or maximalist Bond theme-style belters, and this tries to do the sentiment of the former with half the oomph of the latter, and it doesn’t quite work. The chorus needs more there, something to really make the song lift off, but it never quite comes. It feels like a pre-chorus instead, and “You Hurt Me” feels incomplete.
[5]

Edward Oculicz: A blast of pure bile mixed with self-hatred refracted through the lens of post-trip-hop cocktail bliss. Emma Bunton should cover this.
[9]

Peter Parrish: Saunters along with a bouncy synth-led swagger, but the torturous tale of relationship woe (betrayal! redemption! pain!) unfortunately falls just short of the sass-factor being aimed for. The diva-lite vocals fail to convince of much inner torment, whilst the overlaid string effects are closer to dusting than sweeping.
[5]

Mike Powell: Split the difference: Leela James for the Broadcast set or Joss Stone for the Beck set; either way, what you basically have is post-trip-hop MIDI jazz with a Snoop circa 1993 swing, which should be perfect mood music for sultry eyeliner application?
[5]


Jenny Lewis with The Watson Twins – Rise Up With Fists!
[6.50]
Jonathan Bradley: Lewis is far too elegant and unrestrained to fit in with the rest of the Seth Cohen set, sounding, especially here, like she belongs with the more refined dames of country music. Of course, this is never going to be comfortable on CMT either—don’t hold your breath for a crossover any time soon. “Rise Up With Fists,” isn’t as absolutely captivating as some of Lewis’s best work, but as country music for indie kids who have heard enough Van Lear Rose, it’s just fine.
[7]

Martin Skidmore: It resists its slight, vestigial indie tendencies to end up slightly on the country side of, say, Neko Case. Lewis has a lovely, light voice with a fine crack in it when needed, and the Watsons’ harmonies are just beautiful, among the best I’ve ever heard in country music. The lyrics are a bit heavy-handed at times, straining for a cynical cleverness that never quite bites or dazzles (that unwanted remnant of indieness), but I find that very easy to ignore when the sound is as gorgeous as this.
[9]

Mike Barthel: It’s been enough time since her rehabilitation that I can now safely say that I don’t understand what certain folks with similar tastes to mine see in Jenny Lewis. Sure, there were some OK things on the last Rilo Kiley album, certainly “Portions For Foxes” was great if not actually good, and yes yes yes she’s a hot little minx (visually and vocally), but geez Louise it seems like there’s just nothing there. Everything she sings sounds basically the same and her whole religion shtick is grating even to this Tori Amos admirer. I’m willing to admit this if you’re willing to admit Sarah McLachlan, although the part where she says the title is kinda nice.
[3]

Hillary Brown: Definitely thumbing a lift with the small revisiting of 1970s auteur country that’s going on right now, but manages to work even though it’s fairly obvious. Jenny Lewis’s voice isn’t the strongest, and it’s not really weird enough to attract the ear either, but she’s trying very hard, and in this case, effort gets rewarded.
[6]

Steve Mannion: A by-numbers but sweet country-folkish effort from the lovely Lewis whose stylised curntry voice does just fine here. Yet I still hanker for Nina Persson to be singing it at times—to hell with authenticity.
[6]

Peter Parrish: Singer-songwriter is mildly annoyed at various aspects of life ... with surprisingly excellent results! You’d think it was another yawnsome trawl through easy targets—too much plastic surgery, hypocritical politicians, erosion of civil liberties, so far so blah—but the key is a cheerfully understated delivery. Lewis isn’t raging against these things, she’s just a bit peeved. It’s a velvet revolution, it’s attack of the moderates, it’s twangy acoustic guitars, lazy drawl and tutting at the world. People; embrace the might of grumble pop.
[8]


I’m From Barcelona – We’re From Barcelona
[6.60]
Jonathan Bradley: Oh spiffing. Absolutely spiffing. The Swedish indie kids have gone and decided to make the Vengaboys their number one influence. Just when they had a really nice bit of hazy pop with trumpets and soaring harmonies and everything, they had to dump a big steaming pile of novelty ESL lyrics in the middle of it. Bring on the jaunty bass line and the main theme, a riff loaded with more euro-disco chirpiness than an animated character in a ring tone commercial, and it’s done. The finest musical ingredients—all ruined. Please forgive them. They’re from Barcelona.
[3]

Mike Barthel: They’d get a twelve on the name alone, but when you double glockenspiel with violin and then throw in what sounds like a youth chorus, you’ve got me like ice hockey. (Uh, strawberry Pocky? Whatever.) Pity they don’t do more with the changes, but there’s so many good lines I can’t even pick one, and they’re all about, like, love. Pulchritudinously melodic with handclaps and a trumpet break—oh, there are a few Canadian bands I would like to introduce you to, person from Spain.
[9]

Joris Gillet: Who ordered a Swedish Polyphonic Spree? I’m From Barcelona consists of about twenty people and they all sing and play a million different instruments (although they all play the kazoo when necessary, according to the website) but they seem not entirely sure what to do next with all these resources. They all just seem to follow the bass-player. It’s all very jubilant and happy but just not big and orchestral enough for me to consider a conversion to their particular church.
[7]

Steve Mannion: Starting with the ‘la la las’ is rarely a good idea, but somehow these lads may just have pulled it off by involving a bunch of kids (sounds like) and they’ve also risen to the Brass Gauntlet dropped by the Sugababes for extra points love. A bit like The Go! Team really, minus the incoherent vocals. Go hear.
[7]

Peter Parrish: The band/name combo involved here had already raised a smile, so learning that they’re actually from Sweden was just the icing on a geographically confused cake. The location of this delicious confectionery being sadly unknown. What is known is that this track has exemplary handclapping and a gentle carnival sway enhanced by some superbly laid-back “na na naah” harmonies. Plus it’s obviously about vampires (‘you’ll be one of us when the night comes’). Bonus.
[7]


Sugababes – Red Dress
[6.80]
Martin Skidmore: One of their most compelling and irresistible upbeat numbers, with a particularly strong refrain, and a storming lead-in to it that sounds somewhere between a bass and a horn riff. I don’t think that Mutya’s departure is doing them a great deal of harm, much as I regret it—Amelle has a fine voice, and the two versions of this sound extremely similar. Even by the standards of one of the greatest bands Britain has ever produced, this is a particularly terrific single and I expect it to be high on my year-end favourites list.
[10]

Hillary Brown: Shades of non-mommy 1980s Madonna in its carefree dance floor attitude (with occasional dashes of revving that would make it nicely suited to a motocross video game soundtrack). Wish it had decided to go someplace, but it is pleasant while it lasts, in that way this band can always do.
[5]

Steve Mannion: Bolder and brassier than ever, this would be yet another marvellous ditty from a trio with only one original member remaining. Newcomer Amelle won’t really make her mark on a track recorded before she joined up, but the real star here is Xenomania’s masterful production. A gleaming feel-good colossus to add to their ever-growing list of 21st century classics.
[9]

Ian Mathers: It’s hard to evaluate a new Sugababes single without comparing it to everything from “Overload” to “Push The Button,” and while most of their best songs have something in common with those two peaks, “Red Dress” doesn’t glide or slink so much as just putter along. It’s still good, but I wish the horn during the chorus was used as more than just another background element, as it’s the best thing about this song. Still, middling Sugababes is like middling Girls Aloud: still better than most of the competition.
[7]

Doug Robertson: It’s a brand new Sugababes! And with Amelle on board and the song being specially re-recorded it sounds, well, practically the same. But it doesn’t really matter as, assuming they don’t split up before then, Amelle will have plenty of time to make her mark on the next album, and “Red Dress” is such a delicious rush of joy and sassiness that to fiddle around with it too much would be like chipping away at the Three Graces in the vain hope of improving it; you might succeed but you’re more likely to end up with a pile of rubble and an angry looking curator taking you to task.
[8]


E40 ft. Keak da Sneak – Tell Me When To Go
[7.00]
Jonathan Bradley: You can pinpoint the exact moment this track starts being interesting: “Now let me direct traffic for a minute.” Up to this point, it had been pretty dull, indistinguishable from all the other Ying Yang or Laffy Taffy sparse crunk bangers out there. But once E-40 and Keak abandon their rapping—serviceable as it is—for a series of increasingly ridiculous call and response chants (“now gas, break, honk!”) the whole thing picks up and gets goofily entertaining. It will get old very quickly, but for now, the new twist on the excessively familiar is a whole lot of fun.
[6]

Mike Barthel: Can I just say that I had no idea how much a subwoofer matters until I tried to listen to this on my headphones? With that extra thump, it’s got a point of interest; without, there’s nothing. I’ve certainly heard things before that needed a certain level of volume to really be effective, but it wasn’t until just now that I understood how vital it is for many current hip-hop productions to have the bass up so high it distorts at least a little. Certainly these guys aren’t saying anything I care about hearing and without the impressive churn of the low end the backing’s left so much room for the bass that it goes from unstoppable to thin.
[4]

Hillary Brown: Suitable for freaking and general “go whoever” dance breaks, and with those subtle jingle bells in the background that pique the interest, but too relaxed and conversational for the non-serious dancer. We can’t all crump.
[5]

Ian Mathers: Some of the best bits of this one are actually the “weakest” sounding—the way the bells occasionally get a shy little shake in the background, the way Keak’s slavering delivery trails off into echoes during his verse. But to notice how wonderful those parts are, you already have to run headfirst into the more upfront parts, from the “num num num num” on the chorus to great call-and-response section and above all E40’s tremendously likeable performance. As with “Drop It Like It’s Hot,” it’s a collision of a bunch of elements that shouldn’t actually be this joyously infectious, but this is, if anything, even better than Snoop’s effort; E40 may not “bump mainstream,” but in a world that sends “Wait” to the top of the charts, this ought to be as unavoidable as “Hey Ya”.
[10]

Mike Powell: A hip-hop anthropologist could probably give you better insight into why this song is so goddamn entertaining, though I suspect we’d overlap on certain points: a huge, hollow track littered with a bunch of misplaced synth-squeaks and percussive detritus, a “Get Low”-level Boyz II Cavemen vocal hook, crunk’s fun without crunk’s cock, and a call-and-response section that opens with the probably-slang but ostensibly hilarious request to “ghost-ride the whip.” If this is Oakland’s “Still Tippin,’” we won’t have to A/B Paul Wall and Charlie Brown or fall back on cracks about Mike Jones’ phone number until at least next spring.
[9]


Marit Larsen – Don’t Save Me
[9.00]
Martin Skidmore: I like her voice very much, and the piano and acoustic strumming add to the sweetness - this is a very fine and immensely pretty pop song, and she modulates her timing against the beats particularly cleverly, using tiny delays here and there to great effect. I hope she’s a pop singer rather than a quirky singer-songwriter, not because it changes anything about this record now, but because just from hearing this she could conceivably go either way—and dammit, some googling turns up that her favourite artistes are Alanis and Oasis.
[9]

Mike Barthel: This is how you update the past: make it sweeter, make it bigger, make it better, not louder and sharper. Retro in a way no one’s really thought of being for a while, all those concerns melt away when she hits the “house of cards” line and then the little descent at the end of the chorus, like the former, is a blastoff into the future and the latter is the dip back into the past, with the descent in between serving as a kind of accelerated present. Needless to say, there are handclaps, which make up for the harmonica break, but the end of that break, which is atonal as you can get in a song as tone-happy as this one, all shouts and chromatic runs up the keyboard, that just throws us into the final chorus at a speed somehow faster than the actual tempo, and when we hit the end, it loops perfectly back to the beginning, a never-ending loop of dance routines and fireworks over the water during our first kiss. Let’s do the time warp again, kids.
[10]

Joris Gillet: If you ignore the big ABBA-esque piano-bits scattered throughout it “Don’t Save Me” is a really fun, upbeat semi-acoustic pop song. A bit like a happy Sheryl Crow—those handclaps for instance—but better because of the rather strange chorus and the fact that Marit sounds like she actually really enjoys singing this song. Not ignoring the big ABBA-esque piano-bits, making this a really fun pop song *with added big ABBA-esque piano-bits* i.e. even better.
[9]

Ian Mathers: Sweet enough to almost make you wish for a breakup, just so you have an excuse to listen to it over and over.
[8]

Edward Oculicz: Many have copied ABBA’s melodic smarts, but they have always got the rhythm wrong—the intro of this has the exact same bounce as a modern-day “Waterloo”, although it’s perhaps a trifle closer to Steps’ “After The Love Has Gone”, but rather than being a stomper the chiming intro gives way to a jaunty, almost folsky number with a harmonica solo. And it’s something very special indeed, girlish ebullience barely masking grit and determination, the fantastic springing rhythm of the chorus, muted handclaps, guitars that swing and weep at the same time and a tune that refuses to leave the head. Single of the year? Sounds like it this week.
[10]

Mike Powell: Cursory analysis of elements in high-scoring songs on the Singles Jukebox would reveal at least 90% of “Don’t Save Me”: preferably female-fronted, preferably by a cute European girl preferably under 25, preferably meticulously-constructed radio pop, preferably clever, clean and a little whimsical, preferably on the light side of the rock, preferably inspires the tired impulse to say “perfect pop” in a blurb and then smartly strike it; the other 10% of “Don’t Save Me” is a harmonica solo and a Photobucket account for .jpgs of all the contributors dancing around their kitchens like schoolgirls in new knee socks.
[9]