TRACK OF THE WEEK
Dirty Projectors
Little Bubble
Fresh from becoming an unlikely member of Kanye West’s writing camp, Afro-indie brainiac Dave Longstreth has reinvented himself as a handsomely coiffured crooner of sad bangers. The video for Little Bubble even has him staring forlornly from a rocky crag, although the song itself is full of unexpected tangents and exquisite tensions. Plus, unlike your average whingy alt-R&B bloke, Dave sounds genuinely inconsolable here: “I want to sleep with no dreams/ I want to be dead.” Certainly puts your grumbles about the train strike into perspective.
Ed Sheeran
Castle On The Hill
Like that other evil ginger populist Trump, Sheeran is a formidable foe, deflecting even the most stinging criticism of his glorified gap-year busking with a goofy, disarming grin. Castle On The Hill might be his most fiendish work yet, a relentless barrage of emotionally manipulative John Lewis-ad imagery – childhood friends, sunsets, country roads leading back home – building to a chorus that even Mumford & Sons would reject for a being a bit too rousing. The resistance starts now!
Playboy Manbaby
You Can Be A Fascist Too
Comedians have been quick to complain that the events of 2016 were “beyond satire”. But try telling that to Arizona circus punks Playboy Manbaby, who have successfully skewered the rise of the alt-right with two-and-a-half minutes of faux-livid hollering – “I am right! I am correct! If you disagree with me I’ll get really upset!” – and a comedy trumpet solo. We await Half Man Half Biscuit’s take on Brexit with interest.
Jens Lekman
What’s That Perfume That You Wear?
There’s still no happy ending in sight for Sweden’s official heartbreak tsar, but Jens’s pain continues to be our gain. Beginning as a typical indie mope, his new single soon explodes into a gawky Latin disco groover, with Jens listing the bittersweet aromas – sandalwood, lavender, jasmine – that prompt instant tearful recollection of his lost love. A few squirts of Febreze and a mist of Lynx Africa – that should neutralise it.
Banana
Banana C
When all your favourite pop stars are releasing overwrought visual albums freighted with political subtexts, sometimes all you want is music that doesn’t mean anything at all. Banana C is a jaunty, jazzy instrumental excursion from Cate Le Bon and friends that gently tickles your receptors without forcing you to adopt any kind of stance vis-a-vis its cultural relevance. Have a Banana, as the music hall comic said to the tennis player.
