Sunday 16 May 2010

2004 Band Aid 20: Do They Know It's Christmas

Third outing for a song that has shifted from the status of freshly minted to old warhorse before my very eyes, 'Do They Know It's Christmas' is the James Bond or Dr Who of the charts; the thematic core remains constant while the 'actors' playing the part of the central character(s) change. And just like on its last outing in 1989, it's interesting to compare the shifting pop landscapes that each incarnation documents. For Band Aid 20, only Bono, Paul McCartney and George Michael remain from the original 1984 line-up, but while it might have been easy to stuff the rest of the ranks with various Pop Idol winners and rejects, to it's credit Band Aid 20 is not so lazy as that and does manage to harness some of the bigger names from contemporary popular music.

So all good then? Well maybe not - Band Aid 20 offers up (initially at least) a more sombre take on the song than old with Chris Martin delivering the opening "It's Christmas time, there's no need to be afraid" with the tremulous quiver of a man who sounds very afraid indeed. Maybe like me he's seen the evolution of the song from one off charity single to its current status of something akin to national treasure (
Martin would have been seven when the original came out) and so maybe his respect is of one wariness of upsetting any apple carts. But by treating what is essentially a fairly rotten piece of musical functionality with the reverence of a hymn, the effect is one of a mock religiosity that banishes light and lets in shade in a way that's cloying in its over earnestness.

Not that Martin is the only culprit in getting it wrong here - Dido, Ms Dynamite, Robbie Williams, Joss Stone, Beverly Knight and both Bedingfields et al line up to deliver their vocals in a roughly stitched together, all
over the place patchwork of moods and styles that bounce off each other with the grace of raw eggs bouncing off a brick wall. By the time Dizzee Rascal pops up for a rap, the whole has tipped over the edge of taste into a barely listenable mess of awkwardness where even the singalong run-out is the grudging joviality of otherwise barely speaking relatives forced together to play after Christmas dinner parlour games once a year. And while it is refreshing to hear more female voices than of old, it takes Bono and his knowing milking of the "Tonight thank God it's them instead of you" line to generate any spark of interest. How ironic.

In fairness, nobody buys Band Aid singles for the quality of the performances, and this isn't a 'remake' out to 'improve' on what's gone before. Does that mean that Band Aid is just a semi-regular exercise/opportunity for the rich and famous to 'do their bit' in public safe in the knowledge that sales will follow regardless, or am I being too cynical? And does it even matter? Well, I have certain views on all that, but I'd be going over my remit to delve into them too deeply here. So suffice it to say that it may be that my snippy comments say more about me than they do of the song beneath. The simple fact is I can remember the news item introducing the first (i.e. 'MY') Band Aid single as if it were only broadcast yesterday, and every time the bells on the introduction start chiming I expect to hear Paul Young and Boy George lead me into the song in the same way I expect to see Roger Moore as James Bond or Tom Baker as Dr Who. And when they don't, I feel a certain twinge of angst and regret over something that has past and the passing years that have taken it out of my reach. Years of a number I don't particularly care to be reminded of. So before I start filling up, I'll just raise a glass to Band Aid, Band Aid 2 and Band Aid 20, pat them on the back for the good work they do and thank God it's them at number one instead of Cliff Richard.


Saturday 15 May 2010

2004 Girls Aloud: I'll Stand By You

From the length of their absence from these pages, it would have been tempting to see Girls Aloud as a bust flush, an act gone the same way as virtually every talent show winning turn this decade has gone; i.e. the way of obscurity after a number one debut single. But not a bit of it; with more to come as the decade wore on, as well as a series of solo singles (albeit to lesser and even lesser effect), Girls Aloud would prove themselves to be an exception to the rule. And even if there have been a dearth of number ones from them to date, then the stats show their last five singles were all top three hits, and that's not to be sneezed at

Originally a 1994 hit for The Pretenders,
'I'll Stand By You' is a rock power ballad, the type of which it's hard to imagine the 1979 version of the band ever recording. After all, Chrissie Hynde has never been the grandstanding balladeer of a Cher or Bonnie Tyler, but in a fair trade off, her husky tremolo invested the "Nothing you confess could make me love you less" lyirc with a sincerity that meant it's hard to to anything but believe her, which isn't something I'm generally able to say about anything Ms Tyler wraps her lungs around. Perhaps predictably, Girls Aloud don't do anything radical to the blueprint bar turn everything up one louder, a move that goes some way to compensating the diluting effect splitting the first person lyric between five different voices has on the "I'll stand by you" message ("We'll stand by you" maybe?), which is to water it down to a series of platitudes voiced in a way that never (either singular or plural) come close to matching the re-assuring hug of Hynde's original vocal.

But then maybe it was never meant to; this
'I'll Stand By You' was the offical 2004 Children In Need chairty single, a context that suggests that whilst Hynde sang "Don’t hold it all inside, come on and talk to me now" to a friend in need, the Girls Aloud are ostensibly addressing a different audience altogether. And in that context, Hynde's lyric casts the girls as quasi saviours delivering a promise ("Take me in, into your darkest hour, and I’ll never desert you") with a troubling, borderline patronising disparity between what it offers and what the girls could actually deliver. And it's troubling/borderline patronising not least because the accompanying video descends into a soft focus, poutiest pout glamour contest between the girls and the camera lens - trading on misery? Surely not? Well probably not anyway - I mean, I doubt anybody involved in this was looking any further than offering some vague yet contextually apt words of 'you're not alone' comfort, though whether the thoughtlessness as to the choice of song makes the result better or worse I'll leave for you to decide.

And so in getting back to 'I'll Stand By You' just as a song, I can report that, by using the original as such a faithful guide, Girls Aloud have no more of a clue as to how to bring the song to a close than The Pretenders did; both allow it to break down into random shifts of key and tempo that desperately peer into every corner for a natural resolution that never comes until the recurring "I'll stand by you" fades into the ether from the mouth of a person moving further away rather than closer. Can't blame Girls Aloud for that I guess. But what I can blame them for is the vague feeling of disappointment that the once sparky would be sound of the underground is now reduced to peddling unimaginative AOR karaoke this early in their career, be it for charity or not.


Friday 14 May 2010

2004 U2: Vertigo

It’s interesting to note that none of the singles that 'built' U2 as a global brand ever actually got to number one. By which I mean 'New Years Day', 'Pride (In The Name Of Love)', 'I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For', 'Where The Streets Have No Name' et al. It was as late as 1988 before their first appearance here and that itself was with 'Desire', a song that attempted to perform a volte face from what U2 had, till then, been all about; that is, to turn its back on the sloganeering bluster of old and deliver a straight rock and roll song with no fat. Further, it also strikes me that although the band are now becoming more frequent visitors to these pages than of old, their appearances also tend to be via songs that studiously avoid the 'classic' U2 sound (‘Beautiful Day’) or at least remould it into something else entirely ('The Fly').

New song 'Vertigo' shares common ground and intent with 'Desire' in that it's presented as a back to basics rock pig of a song shorn of the usual U2 frills and fancies. But in the same leopards and spots scenario, it also shares the same flaws as that former song through its four on the floor rock becoming stifled by U2’s conscious denial of their own original brief (i.e. sloganeering bluster) and pandering to someone else's. And I don’t have to look far for my misgivings - the opening "nos, dos, tres, catorce” (‘one, two, three, fourteen in Spanish) count in was ‘explained’ by Bono with a studiously cool "there may have been some alcohol involved", for all the world as if he believes (or expects us to) that this was truly spontaneous and ‘Vertigo’ was a one shot deal with lack of money/studio time meaning there was no chance of going back for another take.

Then again, maybe by now he’s bought into the mythology to the extent that he does believe it, but whatever is running through Bono's ears, through mine all I hear is a call back to Jonathan Richman's “one, two, three, four, five, six” opening on ‘Roadrunner’, a count in that both keeps with rock and roll tradition and also breaks it - or as Greil Marcus writes: “Richman’s addition of “five-six” meant that he wasn’t ready, that he was taking a deep breath, that he was gearing up for a change no-one had made before”.* Although though I can't quite picture Bono actually listening to Jonathan Richman**, I can easily imagine him envying his position in the rock mythos and I can just as easily imagine him feeling a similar gearing up at his count, or at least thinking that he does, but to me it’s little more than an attempt to gatecrash a lineage and tradition by force instead of acceptance. It makes the U2 of 'Vertigo' a covers band - albeit one covering an ideal or a concept - rather than one engaged in creating a song that adds to or takes that tradition on a stage.


Which is always U2’s mistake and why I simply can't take to them - though impeccable in playing and structure, 'Vertigo' has the feel of a technical drawing set out on an architect's desk; every line and angle is carefully mapped and drawn with a fine line instead of the quick, freehand sketch it aspires to be. The guitars roar and the drums crash, but for all its noise, 'Vertigo' does not breathe freely. Whatever force it has is kept safely constrained behind the Plexiglas of aesthetic considerations that keep it in constant check, meaning it never manages to shake off the mood killing aura of being churned out by four rich, middle aged men playing at rock and roll, much like Jagger and Richard since the eighties but without the luxury of an ‘(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction’ or a ‘Honky Tonk Women’ in their back catalogue.*** It's not intolerable, and I'd sooner listen to this than approximately 80% of the rest of their output, but it's something I'd need to have a lot of time on my hands for before I actually got round to digging it out and playing it. Because much as I take little pleasure from gunning for U2, I take even less from listening to their music.



* Greil Marcus: Lipstick Traces - A Secret History Of The 20th Century. Please read this book.


** Though to be hnoest, I can never imagine Bono settling down and listening to anyone's music, not even his own.
I bet his shelves are groaning with Billie Holiday, John Coltrane, Hank Williams, Big Star etc box sets though.

*** I could elaborate, but with a lyric that says "The night is full of holes, as bullets rip the sky. Of ink with gold, they twinkle as the boys play rock and roll" then I'll let these boys hoist themselves on their own petard(s).




Friday 7 May 2010

2004 Eminem: Just Lose It

There's a school of thought that suggests Eminem's first three albums marked the highpoints for the white rapper and anything good after them were slim pickings from a series of diminishing returns. It's not a view that I particularly subscribe to, but on the evidence of 'Just Lose It' then the prosecution case is a strong one. The jaunty ringmaster bounce suggests that this is going to be one of Eminem's more 'comic' songs, and sure enough it is, but the opening "Guess who's back, back again. Shady's back, tell a friend" acts not only as a call back to 'Without Me', but it also inadvertently provides a high bar point of reference that 'Just Lose It' never comes close to clearing. Put simply, what I hear in 'Just Lose It' is Eminem lite (or even the work of a talented impersonator); the targets are more barn door, the humour is less sharp, the misogyny is nastier and the controversy more contrived until its constant 'Eminem themed' regurgitation blends itself into four flabby minutes of forged banknotes that are missing all the watermarks that designate quality. The cover says it all - 'Just Lose It' is cartoon bangs in place of real bullets and the late in the day 'Lose Yourself' quoting "Everything looks like it's 8 Mile now, the beat comes back and everybody lose themselves. Snap back to reality, look it's B.Rabbit" predictably (for this) fails to hit the parody target its aiming for and instead only serves to remind me of past highs and, with this, just how far from them he's fallen.



2004 Ja Rule featuring R Kelly & Ashanti: Wonderful

Another hip hop/R&B hybrid, on the one hand 'Wonderful' conforms squarely to type with a tick box bingo card lyric/rap wall to wall with "gangstas", "ho's", "niggas", "pimpin" and "bitches" and which skirts close to the point of parody. But then on the other, 'Wonderful' slow breathes with a gritty grindhouse menace on a picked clean 'Superstition' riff and a lyric of doubt and insecurity ("If it wasn’t for the money, cars and movie stars and jewels and all these things I got, I wonder, hey, would you still want me") - hardly a post-modern genre inversion, but something more thoughtful than what's usually found in a genre where bling is king and who cares why dem bitches hang? Ja Rule's own scraped throat vocal seethes with tension and though R Kelly and Ashanti provide hues of light and content that go beyond cameos, 'Wonderful' as a whole remains as tightly wound as a solenoid and is as good an example as any of what the genre can produce at its best.


2004 Robbie Williams: Radio

I can't say I've ever been Robbie Williams' biggest fan over the years, but I've always thought that as a package, he's usually good value in the pop star and pop single stakes. Usually, but not always. Like here; 'Radio' is built around an approximation of the tinny early eighties synthpop whoosh of the Human League or Depeche Mode (before Vince Clark left), with Williams himself doing a passable Phil Oakey/Gary Numan impersonation to complete the pastiche. And if 'Radio' WAS presented as part of the decade's long running eighties revivalist dalliance then that might have provided a coherent context, but that's not all 'Radio' is 'about'. It's not long the 'real' Robbie can't resist breaking through with the usual cheeky grin and the "Listen to the radio and you will hear the songs you know" chorus that tries its damndest to provide a continuity with his own back catalogue by getting a 'Rock DJ' arm swinging jog going.

That it doesn't succeed is down to a flat desperation that has the low rent charm of a troupe of minor league cheerleaders doing star jumps in the drizzle - you know there's better out there in the higher leagues. And that's part of the problem - love him or loathe him, Williams is usually good value when it comes to a pop single, and the knowledge he's done so much better before only adds to the confusion/disappointment; just what's this all meant to be about? Maybe Williams was missing the steadying hand of long time writing collaborator Guy Chamber, because 'Radio' is an aimless meander of a song with no power or purpose that relies on a vague sense of nostalgia and the goodwill attached to Williams rather than anything it has to say for itself. Which is not much as far as I can see, save to provide the 'new song' bait for his (then) imminent 'Greatest Hits' album - such cynicism rarely produces much in the way of value.



2004 Eric Prydz: Call On Me

Well I can start by saying that here's not a lot to 'Call On Me'; the all encompassing hook from Steve Winwood's 'Valerie' set to a pneumatic French house bass beat just about sums it up. Add a provocative video featuring close-ups of equally pneumatic women perform (equally pneumatic) aerobics in tight leotards (giving it the feel of a Spacedust or a DJ Casper) and the whole becomes a concoction in microcosm of everything in popular music that's left a bad taste in my mouth over the past fifteen years. So I should hate it, right? Well not quite; in the same way it's possible to drink yourself back sober, the concentrate of so many 'wrongs' in so small a space somehow conspire in a chemical reaction to create something that I actually find a lot of fun.

Mr Winwood himself must have thought so too - the repeated "Call on me/I'm the same boy I used to be" vocal lines aren't samples or Steve soundalikes but a fresh lyric recorded by Winwood that fit the tune better than a sample from 'Valerie' would, and in so doing it gives a neat twist to the overfamiliar. Even that video too has an inbuilt sly subversion; the women drip in sweat, estrogen and the aura of Amazonian power to the extent that the lone skinny male working out with them looks hopelessly outgunned and I'd suggest he only remains on his feet for as long as those women tolerate his presence. That's not to argue that 'Call On Me' is some genre twisting, KLF type prank - I think that would be crediting it with rather too much intelligence. No, 'Call On Me' and its channel phasing, twisting vocoders and relentless bass thump is generic to a fault and knows it; Prydz doesn't pretend he's offering any new take on the genre and within that (House) genre 'Call On Me' has the feel of a Godzilla vs. Mechagodzilla II - that is, a knockabout 'sequel' that needs both a love/knowledge of what came before - along with a suspension of pretension - to enjoy it to the max.


2004 Brian McFadden: Real To Me

Formerly sequestered within uber boyband Westlife, McFadden split from their ranks in 2004, citing the pressures of fame and the desire to spend more time with his family. Which is fair enough I guess. So odd then that he should immediately launch a solo career with a debut single paean to how empty life is at the top ("Bullshit dinners and the free champagne, men in suits who think they know it all") and how much he'd rather be spending time with his family ("Picnics in the garden and the children they can play, the first day of the summer and I'll laze here all the day"). Well if this 'cake and eat it' whine is fishing for sympathy Bryan, then sorry. I'm fresh out. Because I'll be honest with you, if I hated my 'job' as much as you seem to here then I'd pack it in, especially if I was in the same 'don't need the money' situation as you're in.

But regardless, the song is here to say its piece and, after listening to it, I take some degree of comfort from the fact that 'Real To Me' isn't offered up as a wine soaked, piano led weepie. That would be
too much egg for this particular pudding. But even so, that comfort is quickly soured by the AOR dirge that 'Real To Me' actually is, then soured further by McFadden's crack at trying on the mantle of the bastard lovechild of Michael Bolton and Jon Bon Jovi for size in singing it. Does it fit? Well in his own mind his throaty probably growl delivers the genuine despair (check out the clear water distance putting cover shot of the ungroomed 'real' him watching the (presumably) 'not real' clean cut Westlife 'him' on TV. In the dark) that constitutes the 'real' he's aiming for, but in mine 'Real To Me' reeks of the hand feeding biting of a boyband refugee looking for a 'manband' identity but finding the shoes too big for comfort; instead of striding out into the world manfully he instead trips over his own laces and falls headfirst down the ignominy staircase in an ungainly, clumsy clatter that, whether intentional or not, takes a mean spirited swipe at both Westlife and their fans. "Dying flowers in a dressing room, a dangerous time to let your head make up its own mind" - I couldn't agree more Bryan: regardless of what you're on about, I couldn't agree more. Now how about taking the kids on that picnic eh? The weather's lovely this time of year.


Thursday 6 May 2010

2004 Nelly: My Place/Flap Your Wings

Following the lead set down by Guns & Roses, Bruce Springsteen et al*, in September 2004 US R&B star Nelly released two albums on the same day in an act designed to showcase both sides of his coinage. 'Suit' was a collection of slow groove ballads for late night loving while 'Sweat' was more hip hop/club/dance orientated. In a logical/cynical (take your pick) act of promotion, 'Flap Your Wings/My Place' is a double A side featuring a song from each set.

'My Place's (from 'Suit') loverman slowjam comes so sample heavy that the main theme motif (borrowed from Teddy Pendergrass' 'Come Go With Me') dominates to the exclusion of much else. Certainly over anything Nelly himself adds to the pot anyway and it serves to give 'My Place' the feel of a Duchamp 'readymade', a song straight off the genre peg with Nelly's "Ooh Ooh baby"s and 'together forever's only adding to the deja vu. And while 'My Place' is a smooth as a mug of thick Horlicks for a late night in with your lady of choice, it's unfortunately also just as sleep inducing. Which I'm guessing is not how Nelly would see his evening as unfolding. Not in the short term anyway - why would you want to put this on when you could have Marvin Gaye for god's sake?**

'Flap Your Wings' is the more interesting of the two and rides a sparse yet busy percussion driven rhythm that splashes with club Tropicana good times. Nelly still has the eye for "shorty"* but his seduction techniques this time ease up on the oil and boil down to a repeated "Drop down and get your eagle on", a phrase which, if I'm not mistaken, is a chart friendly way of saying 'get down and spread your legs' (the "Take your pants off, ma, you can leave your panties on, but first drop down and get your eagle on" suggests as much anyway). And while I'm in no way prudish, it does show a level of casual sexism that's rife in the genre and one which I'm uncomfortable with - to these ears, the line between Nelly barking out his 'sex instructor' orders and Sid James groping the arse of some dolly bird half his age is a fine one. Maybe I'm being unfair and maybe there's a whole genre/cultural aside that I'm missing that means genre fans will furrow their brows at my 'missing the point' comments the same way I furrow mine at those who (for example) take a metal track like 'Bring Your Daughter To The Slaughter' as encouraging child abuse. Or maybe it's just that I've heard it all before......



* aka an act of hubris that didn't quite come off.


** Or, alternately, if you want to listen to Teddy Pendergrass then LISTEN to some Teddy Pendergrass.


*** I've heard this phrase in too many R&B songs over the past few months and, being alien to me, I looked up what it means. And I got this -


Also, shaw·ty [shaw-tee] Show IPA. Slang .

a. a girl or woman: "We watched the shorties on the dance floor, all
lookin' so fine".
b. a girlfriend or sweetheart: "Me and my shorty went to that new club
over on Ninth last night; what a scene!"


Well who'da thunk it?


2004 Natasha Bedingfield: These Words

A song from arch bore Dan's kid sister all about how hard it is to write a love song - a sailor on the receiving end of such a set of omens would think twice about taking his ship out of dock, but Bedingfield minor confounds my lazy expectations by turning in a playful song that bends the rules with an energy that all but fizzes. It's not rocket science; an R&B beat overlain with some Dust Brothers scratching and a vocal/lyric from Bedingfield that leaps around like a jumping jack gives 'These Words' a genuine unpredictableness, but in an anti-clever arse kind of way that in its own way is very clever indeed. Natasha's attempts to find inspiration in the love poetry of "Byron, Shelly and Keats" fall flat ("I'm having trouble saying what I mean, with dead poets and drum machines") in the face of a simple "These words are my own, from my heart flow. I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you", a statement of repetition that at once both turns cliché into smile achingly honesty ("Can't think of a better way, and that's all I've got to say, I love you, is that okay?") and is also a nifty dig at the wordy angst of writers who like to dress up their loves in thee's, thou's and exceedingly bad metaphor.* I could go on, but I'd just end up sounding as pretentious as the bores 'These Words' takes the mick out of, so I'll just say that hearing Bedingfield spin the hackneyed phrase "I love you" so hard that it comes out fresh is enough to put me in a good mood any time of the day.


* I wonder if she had her bro' in mind here and some of his wincers - "You can’t free a bird if it ain’t gone fly, you can’t live a life if you don’t ask why. Such a thing as too much information, trapped inside this condemnation". Indeed.



2004 3 Of A Kind: Baby Cakes

Another one off number one from a UK garage act, and like previous examples that made it this, far 'Baby Cakes' is far removed from the jarring skitter of the undiluted genre; this is garage with its teeth filed down until it's more puppy lick than a dog bite. Aggression free, a rolling rhythm dipped in the honey of a nursery rhyme and relentless, almost ambient piano motif render 'Baby Cakes' both playful and comforting in a De La Soul of garage kind of way, though its 'raindrops on roses' ambience may be more suited to the school disco than hardcore club. Maybe that's why its surprisingly risqué promotional video catches my eye more than the song catches my ear. Plus ça change etc.


2004 Busted: Thunderbirds Are Go!/3AM

Swansong single from Busted and a double A side to boot - 'Thunderbirds Are Go!' was written for the soundtrack of that year's big film adaptation of the iconic sixties TV show. Yet despite the limitations imposed by the franchise, Busted turn in a song that's a helluva lot more lively and entertaining than the film turned out to be. True, by virtue of the subject matter and context, the audience for this will always be limited and fleeting (lyrics like "There's something major going down on Tracy island" will always demand explanation for the uninitiated), but the raised fist "You know the lid's about to blow, when the thunderbirds are go" chorus is universal powerpop at its best.

Not shackled by soundtrack constrictions, '3AM' is free to be its own song, and for Busted that means back to business as usual and obsessing over a girl who doesn't want to know ("I'm calling you at 3 AM and I'm, I'm standing here right outside your door. And I don't think that my heart can take much more"). Only this time the angst is less hormonal teen and more the grizzled growl from a goateed throat, which is my way of saying that '3AM's AOR chug sounds too close to Nickleback and their ilk for anyone's comfort. A nifty string arrangement and tongue in cheek "And now you're driving in your car, but you won't get far 'cause your car is shit" lightens the load to stop the transformation completing in full, but on this evidence I'd say Busted wisely called time at the right time; there are no end of bands whose catalogue's would have improved immeasurably had they taken the same tack.


2004 The Streets: Dry Your Eyes

The Streets' (ostensibly Mike Skinner) 2002 debut album 'Original Pirate Material' had already made a splash and garnered critical acclaim through its by detailing what daily life in the inner city was all about via an eclectic mix of contemporary garage, hip hop and grime with a scattershot of fast talking lyrical raps that hit hard as nails yet retained a darkly humorous streak that made their shady violence accessible and somehow acceptable.* Follow up album 'A Grand Don't Come For Free' was on one hand more of the same but expanded on the "this is a day in the life of a geezer" lyric from that debut (off 'Who Got The Funk?) to create a unified theme that charted........well, the day in the life of a geezer from dawn to dusk. Whether a garage based take on ''Ulysses' crossed with a prog rock concept album was what the world was waiting for I'll leave for another day,** suffice it to say here that the above introduction sets the scene for 'Dry Your Eyes', the penultimate song on 'A Grand' that highlights the lowest point of the geezer's day (getting dumped by his girlfriend) and its place within the framework of Skinner's usual output.

Or, rather, its out of place-ness; the edgy skitter and nervous glances of 'Original Pirate Material' gives way to a pedestrian, common time beat heralded by a lush, string overture that borrows cheekily from the overture that introduced The Beach Boys' 'God Only Knows', with the latter's "I may not always love you" opening line providing an unspoken, scene setting introduction of its own. And that's just one of the (many) things I enjoy about 'Dry Your Eyes', a little trait below the surface that makes you work to discover its secret. Or maybe it's just me. A more obvious pleasure is its internal structure - Skinner's verses are a spoken prose poem monologue that hammers a nail squarely into the point where Kübler-Ross' 'Five stages of grief' intersect on the Venn diagram describing feelings generated by the unilateral end of a relationship. Over the course of 'Dry Your Eyes', Skinner's emotions veer from: (1) Anger' ("I'm not gonna fuckin', just fuckin' leave it all now, 'cause you said it'd be forever and that was your vow"), (2) Denial ("Put my arms around her tryin' to change what she's saying"), (3) Bargaining ("Please let me show you where we could only just be, for us.... We can even have an open relationship, if you must"), (4) Depression ("World feels like it's caved in - proper sorry frown") to finally a kind of (5) Acceptance as he watches her walk away for good - "Turns around so she's now got her back to my face. Takes one step forward, looks back, and then walks away". And by this stage, Skinner's previous would be gangster persona has been shredded to lay bare a lock-up wideboy not too tough to cry.


And it's because that image is put through the shredder that makes 'Dry Your Eyes' so affecting. I'm tempted to draw parallels with Anthony Quinn's boorish, bullying circus stuntman Zampanò in Fellini's 'La Strada' reduced to howling into the sea at learning of the death of the trusting, simple minded woman ( Giulietta Masina's 'Gelsomina') he'd abused and abandoned years previously, but 'Dry Your Eyes' is more self contained and stand alone in its four and a half minutes running time. You don't need a back story or character development to find it hard not to sympathise with Skinner's pain, particularly as the woman he's addressing has all the presence in the song of Banquo's ghost. Stubborn in her silence and existing only in blank description ("I look at her she stares almost straight back at me, but her eyes glaze over like she's looking straight through me"), she offers no rationale for her decision and no explanation or regret. Or maybe Skinner just isn't listening (again, maybe). In fact, the only other 'voice' in the song comes on the chorus where Skinner adopts the persona of a friend in waiting offering a simple arm around his shoulder ("Dry your eyes mate") and a tiresome line in pithy cliché ("There's plenty more fish in the sea") that no one in that position wants to hear and which in their own way serve to annoy as much as the woman's silence.***


Speaking of annoyance, it's at the 'mates' chorus that 'Dry Your Eyes' threatens to derail the steady momentum of emotion it had been building. Not a 'singer' in any traditional sense, Skinner handles the mood swings of his monologue well enough, but his phrasing on the chorus is awkward enough to threaten a descent into pantomime ("It's oh-oh-oh-vuh"). But, thankfully, it doesn't matter. And it doesn't matter because, in another clever 'below the surface' trait, just as Skinner isn't listening to the platitudes his mate is offering up, we the listeners aren't either. Well I'm not anyway - my ears ignore those "you've got to walk away now, it's over"s with the same indifference as Skinner; no matter how many times I hear 'Dry Your Eyes', I'm always keen to get back to 'his' story and the expression of 'his' emotions, and the complete lack of sympathy or empathy off anybody (within the song) adds a layer of poignancy to the honesty of what he's saying that short circuits any accusations of whiny self pity that could be more fairly levelled at it if they weren't there - in the microcosm of such a heartless environment, who couldn't feel sorry for him?

Which is another reason I'm hesitant to stress that 'La Strada' connection - at the end of that film, my sympathy doesn't lie with Zampanò when his heart of stone finally cracks and he realises it's too late to put right what a bastard he's been, but with Gelsomina, whose own death provides the catalyst for the affection and humanity she should have received in life. Quirky without being irritating, heartfelt without being mawkish, 'Dry Your Eyes' pitches perfectly at the junction between pity and pathos. It's not the sound of the streets, it's the sound of anyone who ever had their heart broken. All of which is a roundabout way of saying I find 'Dry Your Eyes' personally affecting, probably more than any other number one to date, and that's what I like about it most.



* Sample lyric - "So you tell your mates you could have him anyway, to look 'geez'. But he's a shady fuck, beamer three series, lock, stock and two fat fucks backing him up" from 'Geezers Need Excitement' - the coarse threat of violence has never made me smile so much.


** For a 'punk' attempt at the same, see Sham 69's 'That's Life'. Or rather, don't.

*** Jonathan Richman had such 'friends' down pat in his 'There's Something About Mary' (from the soundtrack of that film). It's another song I'm incredibly fond of too, and as a natural off-shoot to my analysis of 'Dry Your Eyes', I'll indulge myself by setting out the lyrics here in full -


"His friends say stop whining, they've had enough of that.
His friends would say stop pining, there's others girls to look at.
They've tried to set him up with Tiffany and Indigo, but there's something about Mary that they don't know."

"Well, his friends say, look life's no fairy tale, that he should have some fun, he's suffered long enough.
Well, they may now about domestic and imported ale, but they don't know a thing about love".

"Well, his friends would say he's dreaming and living in the past,
but they've never fallen in love, so his friends need not be asked.
His friends would say be reasonable, his friends would say just let go,
But there's something about Mary that they don't know."



Wednesday 5 May 2010

2004 Shapeshifters: Lola's Theme

Another dance/House tune (from England), we've heard so many of these by now that my criteria for rating is based on any spark of creativity or originality that marks it out from the crowd enough for me to enjoy it outside a club setting (that's just my personal checklist mind). As such, 'Lola's Theme' has an inbuilt tension where old school beats and some clumsy retro phasing effects do battle with infectious bursts of live horns and a series of nagging electronic pulse bursts that keep it on the boil. A joyous gospel tinged vocal from Janet ('Cookie') Ramus and a lyric with genuine heart (the "Oh you fired up my heart and made me smile" could be a review of the track all by itself") ultimately seals a comfortable win - just what July ordered.


2004 Usher: Burn

A song ostensibly born out of Usher's break-up with TLC's Rozonda (Chilli) Thomas, my main 'problem' with 'Burn' is the same 'problem' I have with a lot of modern R&B in that I'm hearing less of a song and more of a production job. There's no doubt that 'Burn' is tightly plotted and tightly wrapped, with splashes of electronica and Spanish guitar runs skittering around the slow jam rhythm, but that very tightness in turn becomes the moulded plastic packaging of a high end consumer good and, like that packaging, it's just as tough to break into. There's no doubt that most modern R&B follows a template of either looking for girls, loving the girls or dumping/losing them (and sometimes all three in one song, though 'Burn' is concerned with the latter) and, rather like reading five Tom Clancy novels in a row (or listening to two Dio albums), it's wearing me down.

I'm not going to be so crass as to dismiss a
whole genre on the grounds of perceived predictability any more than I'd dismiss Shakespeare's sonnets on the grounds that they're all about love, but throw in a more than passing resemblance to R Kelly's 'Ignition' and the feeling of déjà vu I get with 'Burn' overwhelms. But ultimately,the killer blow comes from 'Burn' being a song that neither speaks to me nor seems to even particularly want me to come in to play. Despite the subject matter and claims of sincerity ("It's gonna burn for me to say this, but it's coming from my heart"), Usher never sounds close to losing the studiously cool and aloof image he's careful to cultivate on the cover shot in, it permeates the song beneath too and such insularity (to the point that I'm wondering if those shades are mirrored on both sides) makes 'Burn too egotistical to enjoy - it's a song by Usher, about Usher and aimed at an audience of one. Himself. And I'm happy to leave him to it. Nice production job though.


2004 McFly: Obviously

From Eddie Cochran eyeing up that "fine looking" girl who was 'Something Else' to Fergal Sharkey's hard to beat teenage dreams, the clash of frustrated teen hormones v the brick wall of the unobtainable female have been a staple theme in rock & roll since records were first pressed. Being a teen led genre then you'd probably expect no less and it all goes to give McFly's tale of lusting after a girl "obviously" out of their league precedence and context. "Recently I've been hopelessly reaching out for this girl, who's out of this world" - well the sentiment is there, but unlike the Cochran and Undertones songs referenced above, their frustrations are presented to us listeners as a bland statement of shoulder shrugging fact in much the same way that I'd state I couldn't run a mile in five minutes. Not that I'd want to run a mile in five minutes mind, but then McFly don't sound too bothered that they're not going to score with the class hottie either. In fact, there's an indifference there that smacks of duty, a statement of rebuttal to a choir of their peers that assures them that, just because they're single, it doesn't mean they're gay. Busted at least had a go at chatting their dream girl up, even if they did crash and burn, and if 'Obviously' had some of their spunk then many of its wrongs would be righted. But in serving it up as the sort of chunky, campfire strum Oasis used to toss off on their B sides, it only pours more cold water on the flames of supposed longing - teenage desire never sounded so frigid, and if McFly can't muster up any enthusiasm then neither can I.


2004 Britney Spears: Everytime

If 'Toxic' took Spears outside of her usual comfort zone, then being a standard pop ballad sung to a former lover, 'Everytime' tries to put her back into it again. That it only partly succeeds is down the song itself; a fragile, broken musical box melody coupled with Spears' own lyric of honesty ("Everytime I try to fly I fall, without my wings I feel so small. I guess I need you baby") born out of upheaval in her own personal life*, it adds up to a fractured song suggestive of genuine damage that Spears' hushed, below the radar vocal is wise enough not to milk. Leave that to the accompanying promotional video of her committing suicide in a bathtub and then being reborn on the hospital ward she's rushed to - high art or a misguided attempt at making a statement that tries far harder than the song itself does? The latter of course.

It fails harder too - like Lenny Henry 'doing' Othello on stage, Britney Spears 'doing' grown up despair doesn't so much ask a lot from her original fanbase as require a different one altogether, but in truth 'Everytime' needs none of that visual baggage or the zombie eyed, artsy fartsy fashion shoot cover - it's strong enough to be able to convince on its own terms. Because in its own way, 'Everytime' is as much of a surprise as 'Toxic' was; despite the song's dysfunctional theme, imagery ("You ruin my dreams") and origins, Spears sounds in control of/comfortable with her own output for once and only a nagging resemblance to Richard Marx's 'Right Here Waiting' spoiling the result.



* With fellow singer/former Mickey Mouse presenter Justin Timberlake. Timberlake had already released 'Cry Me a River', allegedly addressed to Spears and 'Everytime' has been taken as her measured response. Are you listening Frankee?


Tuesday 4 May 2010

2004 Mario Winans featuring Enya & P. Diddy: I Don't Wanna Know

Based around the same Enya sample that The Fugees 'borrowed' for 'Ready Or Not' (though wisely crediting her upfront this time), 'I Don't Wanna Know' is the R&B saga of Winans agonising over whether his girlfriend has gone off the boil with him, though in turn preferring the blissful ignorance of uncertainty to learning the cold, hard fact that he's history. "I don't wanna know if you're playing me, keep it on the low, 'cause my heart can't take it anymore": Winans creaks and groans through his song like a rusty hinge, playing the sympathy card for all its worth and chewing up the lyric like a hammy actor delivering an approximation of a man at the end of his emotional rope. Then, like a tougher alter ego, P Diddy butts in halfway in to offer his own no nonsense account of how the girl's behaviour should be dealt with (though his "Made you hot like the West Indies, now it's time you invest in me. 'Cause if not then it's best you leave" straight talk falls a few miles short of Eamon's brand of relationship conciliation). Yes, I know I'm being sarky, but I'm bored; maybe if I'd heard this a bit earlier in the decade then I'd have more patience, but right now I'm all R&B'd up to the max I'm afraid, and this is just so much same old - oil slick smooth and just as greasy. Using a recycled sample doesn't boost the interest factor either, and the Winans/Diddy good cop/bad cop routine plays to the gallery far too much for this to be anything other than bad theatre.


2004 Eamon: F*** It (I Don't Want You Back)/Frankee: F.U.R.B. (F*** You Right Back)

Well I guess if you're going to set a record, you may as well do it properly - 'Fuck It (I Don't Want You Back)' holds the record for "the most expletives in a number one song", which in this case means some twenty "fuck"s alone. Now that's not necessarily something to be proud about, but for more sensitive ears there's a 'censored' version, and I think your initial reaction is going to depend on a lot on which version you hear first. For my own part, I heard the 'F*** It' version via the piped music in a clothes shop one weekday lunchtime. Even with the 'F words' masked, there was no doubt whatsoever as to what he was saying and its cheeky audacity caught my ear to the extent that I hung around to try and catch who the artist was. I didn't, and it promptly left my mind; it was only later that I found out that I'd been listening to the then number one single and that there was also an unexpurgated take. Or rather, a version that's exactly the same but with the 'fucks' kept in. And they made a difference.

Whilst the 'F*** It ' version , if not exactly 'humorous' does have the nudge nudge 'did he say that' mock horror of (to use an analogy) the more mainstream work of Pete and Dud. The 'Fuck It' take is pure Derek and Clive, black heart nasty. The shift from the Eamon's scene setting ("I told you, I loved you, now that's all down the drain. You put me through pain, I wanna let you know how I feel" smooth R&B verse (what Eamon charmingly dubs 'Ho wop') into the harsh "F*** all those kisses, they didn't mean jack. F*** you you whore, I don't want you back" chorus is surprise enough in the cleansed version. Uncut, it jars enough in its in your face bitterness to make me wince; I've heard similar in public many times myself and that makes me wince too, but there I always walk away shaking my head. But then once that initial shock is over his 'F*** this' and 'F*** that' repeats the party trick with ever decreasing returns with each cuss diluting the effect until it morphs into a bored mantra of ignorant inarticulation - if, through whatever circumstance, I heard that in public, then I'd probably intervene.

Because while an artist like (for convenient example) Eminem is as liberal enough with his own F bombs of bitterness and anger as the next bitter and angry person, they come clothed in imaginative metaphor or biting wit that, if not softening the blow, makes the profanity a part of the lyric/rhyme and not its sole focal point. With Eamon, that's all you get - an angry song that says 'fuck' a lot and gets dull quickly because of it. Edit out the swearing and it still becomes a bored mantra of ignorant inarticulation over time, albeit one that takes on the mantle of a 'fill in the blanks' novelty that at least makes it bearable to the end, even if it does become a feat of endurance. Ultimately though, 'F*** It (I Don't Want You Back)' reeks of the shock tactic gimmick of self generating controversy that's as stand out noticeable and offensive as spray painting swear words on the floor of a children's playground. Unfortunately, it's just as imaginative too.

'Response' songs in popular music aren't rare*, but this is the first time that the 'answer' to a song has displaced its catalyst at the top of the chart, though given the close proximity of its release and the fact that 'F.U.R.B. (Fuck You Right Back)' is essentially the same song with lyrics re-written to give the "whore" s point of view, then the conclusion that this is less an opportunistic cash-in and more a pre-planned publicity stunt are unavoidable. But while Frankee is the yin to Eamon's yang (though not his real life 'ex'), the songs are not equal partners. Whereas Eamon's song can stand alone, Frankee's can't; put simply, 'F.U.R.B.' needs Eamon to bounce off and the song is meaningless without it. Frankee squares up to Eamon's bile, not with a witty retort or smart put-down, but with more bile, albeit of the childishly petulant variety delivered at a crude, unimaginative level ("But I do admit I'm glad I didn't catch your crabs") that would do a ten year old proud. "F*** all those nights I moaned real loud, f*** it, I faked it, aren't you proud?" - all that's missing is Frankee blowing a raspberry at the end. As a song, 'F.U.R.B.' moves me to inertia and, on this evidence, at least, I can see why Eamon was so f***** off with her.


* For example, 'I’ll Save The Last Dance For You' by Damita Jo 'answers' The Drifters' 'Save The Last Dance For Me', 'Sweet Home Alabama' (Lynyrd Skynyrd) 'answers' Neil Young's 'Southern Man' and 'Me and Mr. Jones' (Amy Winehouse) 'answers' Billy Paul's 'Me and Mrs. Jones'. There are numerous others. I guess as far as number ones go, the closest we've got is Susanne Sully answering Phil Oakey's controlling opening verse with a smart 'fuck you' putdown (come on, what's one more) in the second on 'Don't You Want Me', but that's probably stretching it a bit.


Sunday 2 May 2010

2004 McFly: 5 Colours In Her Hair

Another boyband in the power punk mould, though McFly don't simply follow the template set out by Busted; there's a degree of cross pollination between both bands too in that '5 Colours In Her Hair' was co-written with Busted's James Bourne and both collaborate on a cover of 'Lola' on the B side. Being a tribute to the multi-coloured dreadlocks of an actress I've never heard of (Emily Corrie) and her character in a television show I've never seen ('Sooz' in 'As If'), '5 Colours' immediately puts up a cultural/generational wall between me and it from the off that I struggle to clear. That needn't pose too much of a problem by itself - after all, I've never rocked around the clock either but that doesn't stop me enjoying Bill Haley's single. What does pose a problem though is McFly's stodgy fourth form verse ("She's got a lip ring and 5 colours in her hair. Not into fashion but I love the clothes she wears. Her tattoo's always hidden by her underwear") that paints a pancake flat homage of literalness that offers no scope for personal interpretation or embellishment - basically, if you're not familiar with Corrie or Sooz then you're stuffed. A fist pumping chorus could have overcome and given it wings, but in a shotgun blast to the other knee, '5 Colours In Her Hair' comes welded to a chunka chunka guitar riff and hobnailed melody that's pure Sham 69 to Busted's Sex Pistols; that is, a cruder also ran with more spirit than talent or ideas which struggles to find expression beyond a scratchy, vanilla trawl that never rises above surface level. And with the only splashes of colour (the opening and closing "Do do do do"s) being a direct lift from The Lemonhead's arrangement of 'Mrs Robinson', '5 Colours In Her Hair' is just plain dull. Sorry guys.


2004 Usher (featuring Lil Jon and Ludacris): Yeah!

A double collaboration of sorts; not only does 'Yeah!' see American R&B star Usher join forces with fellow rappers Lil Jon and Ludacris, it's also a fusion of hip hop and it's offshoot 'crunk' (which, for the uninitiated, has been defined in the Oxford dictionary as "a type of hip-hop or rap music characterized by repeatedly shouted catchphrases and elements typical of electronic dance music, such as prominent bass". So now you know). But old funk/new crunk, there's nothing new under this particular sun and, typical of the genre, 'Yeah!' is all about the ladies. But while it's tone is upbeat celebration, its relentless three note riff comes hard enough to deflect bullets and it carries a song charged with a machismo of sexual aggression that leaves me uncomfortable. "Forget about the game I'm a spit the truth, I won't stop till I get 'em in they birthday suits. So gimmie the rhythm and it'll be off with they clothes, then bend over to the front and touch your toes" - the three leads are on crotch grabbing form, but their jock, locker room bragging is no more than the Mr Hyde to the Outhere Brothers' gooning Dr Jeckyl. Yet though it sells itself largely to the same demographic, there's no fun in 'Yeah!' at all, and for all its shiny surface it has a dark, emotionless heart that reflects precious little light or warmth. Ciara would have something to say about this soon enough.



Saturday 1 May 2010

2004 DJ Casper: Cha Cha Slide

Less a song and more a series of dance moves called out by a Barry White-alike (Willie Perry) loverman voice set to a sparse, bassline driven rhythm, 'Cha Cha Dance' is both a curious hybrid of 'Gym And Tonic' and the novelty dance tracks of 'Saturday Night' or 'Cotton Eye Joe', and conclusive proof that two wrongs don't make a right. As a psuedo linedance workout routine then it's all fine and dandy, but 'Cha Cha Dance' is a track that requires - nay, demands - audience participation to make it work on any level other than the dull and uninspiring. Which is all I'm hearing.

2004 Britney Spears: Toxic

After a sequence of lacklustre singles ('Overprotected', 'I'm Not A Girl Not Yet A Woman', 'I Love Rock 'N' Roll' et al), 'Toxic' marks a shift away from Spears' usual pop/rock/ballad merry go round into edgier, clubland territory. Out go the wrap around choruses and little girl/rock chick persona and in comes a tightly wound fusion of skittish beats, surf guitar licks and left right shrieks of Psycho Bollywoood strings that give her little room to manoeuvre as an artist. And that's all to the good; never the strongest of vocalists, when left off the leash with room to roam, Britney has the tendency to wander off key and off piste and fill in any blank spaces with her 'sexy', punctured lung groans and gurgles. By holding her on a short tether, 'Toxic' plays to her strengths by ensuring her phrasing is kept as clipped and breathless as the rush of the music and the lyric of (love) addiction, with the end result being a tune that's both instantly catchy and cutting edge cool at the same time. That's no mean feat and 'Toxic' is a more than pleasant surprise, though it probably made Madonna suddenly feel very old.



2004 Peter Andre: Mysterious Girl

It's been a while since Peter Andre has put in an appearance 'round these parts, but on the strength of his previous entries, I can't say I've missed him. In hindsight, his style over substance, pretty boy persona mark him out as a proto 'Pop Idol' contestant, but on that charge he's innocent - Andre's first flush of success came before the whole phenomenon took hold and he was never one of the hopefuls. But then this re-charting of 'Mysterious Girl' (it was originally a number 2 hit in 1996) is as much down to reality television as anything offered up by Will Young and co. Why? Well in 2004, Andre's stock gained value due to his appearance in the popular UK reality show 'I'm A Celebrity, Get Me Out Of Here' alongside glamour model cum media whore Katie Price (aka Jordan) where their blossoming onscreen romance and offscreen marriage played out in the popular media with a level of hysterical coverage usually reserved for domestic wars.

But that needn't distract us here - in June 1996, 'Mysterious Girl' pre-dated Andre's clutch of number ones that same year ('Flava' and 'I Feel You') by around three months, but unlike the R&B stylings of those latter songs, 'Mysterious Girl' takes a dreadlock holiday of his own and hitches its cart to a good times in the sun, cartoon reggae rhythm. As for the contents of that cart, it's business as usual with Pete's eye for the random ladies and his own cocksure cockiness of his own irresistibility to them ("And girl when you touch me, it's time to take it through the night") holding sway. In fact, Andre's enthusiasm to get the lass into bed is such that the tune and music are just so much baggage in the way of his seductive patter and he barges his way over LSD bright calypso beat as if it were her fat, ugly mate, with some rapped patois from one 'Bubbler Ranx'* only serving to add more stereotype than authenticity to a song that, ultimately, has all the clichéd depth of a Lilt advert. Except the product being sold here is Andre and his testosterone, two consumables I find very easy to resist.



* Curiously, I can find no information on Mr Ranx or what he did before/next anywhere on the internet save a spoof web page that suggests he was raised on a Texas ranch, loves eating cheese, eggs and beetroot salad fingers, once was a member of New Zealand's parliament (but was unfortunately forced to resign six months later when it was revealed that he had 48 middle names, all of which began in D) and has an ambition to move to Maidstone by 2014. At least, I think it's a spoof......


2004 Busted: Who's David?

Third number one for Busted, though the opening bars of detuned guitar could be passed off as latter day Sonic Youth. Couple that with a lyric of common room angst/kitchen sink melodrama straight from The Wedding Present's songbook ("You've always been this way since high school. Flirtatious and quite loud. I find your sense of humour spiteful, it shouldn't make you proud") and a business as usual post punk, new wave blast and the result might be an indie pick and mix that's derivative, retrograde and nothing we've not heard before, but it's a conglomerate with youthful verve and bite enough ("You stupid lying bitch, who's David?") to seal all the joins airtight (and by covering 'Teenage Kicks' on the B side, Busted themselves show they're are savvy enough to be in on their own joke). But apart from that, for my money it shows that, at heart, there's not much in popular music that can beat a classic power trio line-up with something to say and an audience who want to hear it.


2004 Sam & Mark: With A Little Help From My Friends

Following the tradition (?) of notable 'failures' Liberty X and Gareth Gates, 'Sam and Mark' were Pop Idol runners up (to Michelle McManus in this case) who nevertheless managed to field a number one single on the back of the generous media exposure they'd enjoyed over recent months. Need they have bothered? Probably not - 'With A Little Help From My Friends' is a Beatles cover too far I'm afraid and one that nobody needs, not least the song itself. Joe Cocker had already managed to cast it as a soul dirge while Wet Wet Wet had homed in on it's cheesy pop heart (and at least had the excuse of charity on their side) so there's not much else the song can give, Not that Sam & Mark try; this is all lazy cash in and take, take take - melody, sentiment and the oodles of lifejacket goodwill that just the name The Beatles generates - with nothing, absolutely nothing being invested of their own save the goofy persona of the knockabout children's TV presenters they would become. Which makes 'With A Little Help From My Friends' little more than a launch pad footnote in their career, but even that is more credence and attention than I'm prepared to offer it.


2004 LMC v U2: Take Me To The Clouds Above

I've written previously about how I have a lot of time for 'mash-ups' when they're done well and where an unpredictable mix of ingredients produces a most delightful and unexpected cocktail. But on the other hand, when they're done badly, the results can be undrinkable. It's not all black and white though, there's a middle ground too where the mix is akin to adding water to water to create...well, more water really. Take this LMC v U2 effort, a song built by combining a backing track sampled from U2's 'With Or Without You' and a vocal line from Whitney Houston's 'How Will I Know' (except it's Brit Rachel McFarlane's vocal and not a direct Houston sample). While some kudos can be awarded for LMC picking out a hook line from the Houston song other than the chorus, in truth both of the sources never gave off too many sparks in their original format and the combination of the two only serves to cancel out U2's would be majesty and Whitney's would be dance/pop vibe to produce a bastard offspring more keen to celebrate its own 'clever' existence than do anything as mundane as reward repeated listening. Which this doesn't. It's just more water. But then 'mash-ups' were terribly old hat by 2004 anyway.*


* Apparently, all four of U2 had to clear the sample before it could be used, but for a release that had them in a less conciliatory mode and instead saw them running for their lawyers, check out Negativland's 1991 '"The Letter U And The Numeral 2' which mixes extensive samples of U2's 'I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For' (including a version played on a kazoo) over a looped sample from an off-guard Casey Kasem pondering on just who gives a 'diddly shit' about U2. I often wonder that myself Casey......


2004 Michelle McManus: All This Time

I mentioned back on the 'Leave Right Now' that it would be the last we'd be seeing of Messer's Young and Gates (aka the 2002 'Pop Idols') on these pages. And so it is. It's moot as to whether they simply ran out of steam or were replaced in the affections of a bored by now public craving a new set of idols. Which they were duly provided with - Autumn 2003 saw the screening of the second series of 'Pop Idol' where another brace of hopefuls came forward to chance their arm at a shot at stardom, a series eventually won by Michelle McManus. The Pop Idol is dead, long live the Pop Idol.

Well perhaps not quite 'long live'; in terms of career longevity, McManus would make Gareth and Will look as seasoned as Cliff Richard in comparison - there would only be one more single after this, and that would peak well away from number one and the main point of interest surrounding her seemed to be her weight. So does that make McManus a pop idol fraud who hoodwinked the public into backing the wrong horse? Or was she chosen in a 'welease Woger' moment of mischief? Who knows, and does it matter? Probably not - as per my previous comments on this whole enterprise, I do not believe that a 'pop idol' can be created anymore than an alchemist can create gold out of lead. Instead, it's the audience participation in the shows that seems to count most, to follow the trials and tribulations of the hopefuls each week before finally giving the Nero thumbs up or down at the finalists. Once the job is done, the entertainment over and the 'winning song' dutifully bought then I doubt the viewers gave a tuppeny damn what happened to the victors in the long term any more than Nero cared about what happened to all the dead bodies that littered the Coliseum; there'd be another show along soon enough to maintain the interest.


But that still leaves a single to review, and in this case 'All This Time' was an original song offered up as a 'prize' for the winner's debut single, regardless of whether they were a Jimmy Somerville soundalike or an Aretha Franklin wannabe. McManus is neither, but neither is 'All This Time' a song that plays to her strengths. Not that 'All This Time' itself has that many strengths to play to. In fact, to my ears it sounds uncannily like 'Pure And Simple' redux, albeit re-arranged into a simple dragging beat and re-cast for a solo voice. And as far as that goes, 'All This Time' thrusts McManus's vocal up and over the trenches to the extent she provides both tune and melody to carry it. But she can't carry it far - the bland and faceless shuffle of 'All This Time' offers up little opportunity for her (or, to be honest, any Jimmy Somerville soundalike or Aretha Franklin wannabe) to shine.


Because while the "You kiss my moods away, yesterday's far behind. All these clouds have died, a crater on my mind" has vagaries enough to be interpreted as a typical finding happiness through love scenario, the promotional video (littered with Michelle's 'best of' moments from the series) and her own flat delivery leaves little doubt that this is a self satisfied song of celebration and self promotion made for the series winner. Which isn't particularly endearing, though it does ensures that the hindsight schadenfreude that drips like acid from the "All this time, we've come a long long way, I waited a life time for today, I'm praying this moment's here to stay" line overshadows anything else the song has to say. Which isn't much truth be told and, linked to how short this 'idol' would reign, it kind of makes me wonder why anyone involved bothered at all.