Cheryl
I Don’t Care (Polydor)
I’d just about given up on Cheryl. I was ready to file the ex-Girls Aloud member and present X Factor judge next to Tom Waits, Guinness and coriander on my shelf of Things Everyone Goes On About Constantly Even Though Deep Down They Are Actually Quite Rancid. But that was before I Don’t Care. A bombastic pop blast teetering on the edge of ridiculousness, it has the same energy as Erasure’s A Little Respect, only ramped up for the Friday night, Newcastle upon Tyne, pre-lash crowd. She swears four times! That’s three more times than Dave Grohl has in his entire career. Song of the year.
ALSO OUT THIS WEEK
James Blunt
When I Find Love Again (Atlantic)
Oh, he’s so funny on Twitter, isn’t he? So irreverent. So witty. Well, listen here: while you were retweeting the heck out of Blunt’s debonaire quips, he was quietly shifting 20 million albums. I’m not saying it’s your fault, but you should take a hard look at your timeline before you bemoan the “lack of decent tunes” these days. If you keep up your lol-ing in the near future, this Mumfordian romp could become the bestselling single of the year. James Blunt is taking the piss out of everyone, not just his trolls.
Nick Jonas
Chains (Island/Safehouse)
Nick was one-third of the Jonas Brothers, those Disney kids who hatched out of the same egg as Miley and Demi Lovato. The tween phenomenon split last year, and its members now all face the challenge of escaping that artificial innocence imposed on child stars. Many turn to drink, ramp up their sexuality or work with James Franco; others, like Justin Timberlake, and now Nick, shave their heads and record a caustic heartbreak anthem. The only difference is that Timberlake had Pharrell and Jonas doesn’t. Better call Franco, pronto.
Paloma Faith
Ready For The Good Life (Sony)
Paloma sits alone in a hollowed-out disco ball that hangs from the centre of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s sex dungeon. One hand super-gluing foam banana sweets on to a fascinator, the other stroking a ferret dressed like Dita Von Teese, she shrieks down the phone that is wedged under her porcelain chin. “I am more interesting than this! I do not want to release another four minutes of substandard cupcake cabaret,” she says to her label boss, snapping the ferret’s neck with her thumb. “Oh sod it. I haven’t got time for this. Webber’s just walked in with Mr Mistoffelees. Load it with horns and make sure it sounds as if it could be used on a Very advert.”
Alicia Keys
We Are Here (RCA)
Many lament the lack of protest songs in modern music, and many will continue to do so once they’ve heard Keys’s attempt. “Let’s talk about Chi town/Let’s talk about Gaza/Let’s talk about Israel/Cause right now it is real,” she lists earnestly. It makes Des’ree sound like Pete Seeger.
