Caroline Polachek
So Hot You’re Hurting My Feelings
Listen, I’m not saying you’re a bad person if you hate this, but if you do, you’re probably someone who doesn’t think to say “thanks” when someone holds a door for you. You hate sweet, earnest pop for the same reason you hate Bake Off, and dogs. You think the vocoder-ish solo here sounds like Bon Jovi, and only drunken idiots like Bon Jovi. As you straddle your BMW M3 across two parking spaces at South Mimms Services, adorable, major-key heartbreak ditties from the ex-singer of Chairlift feel beneath you. You’re ... the worst. Oh, actually, I definitely am saying you’re a bad person if you hate this.
Diplo x Jonas Brothers
Lonely
Considering that, three months ago, Joe Jonas accused Diplo – truly the fetid bowling shoe of producers – of ruining his wedding by livestreaming it without permission, it is a surprise to see them collaborate, if not successfully, then at least so soon. The result is exactly what you expect: sort of Lilt-R&B, but without any of the merits of either. It will make them all lots of cash. Ah, to be a celebrity!
Danny Brown
Best Life
“Ain’t no next life, so now I’m tryna live my best life” isn’t a lyrical couplet that’s going to cause the ghost of Leonard Cohen to drop its fag, but the sentiment is a fine one, and Brown – who has toned down the nasal honkage somewhat – delivers it like a bear hug sprawled over a Q-Tip masterclass in hip-hop production, all scuzzy lounge-funk and Eastern-flecked violin motifs. It’s thrillingly excellent. And short. Not enough songs are short.
Alicia Keys ft Miguel
Show Me Love
I actually cannot think of anything to say about this. It is slow, edgeless, acoustic gloop. AK and M say “show me love” a lot. I think they mean sex. It has a nice video with rain in it. It’s just finished and I’ve forgotten how it goes already. It’s like hearing the taste of lettuce.
Stereophonics
Bust This Town
If you can name a single Stereophonics song since Dakota you are either a) A member of the rock band Stereophonics, b) A Radio X DJ, or c) One of those people who remembers everything – what they ate on the 21 June 2008, every phone number they’ve ever seen – until, finally, their mind snaps like a dry twig. For 15 years, the ’Phonics have insisted on ploughing this plodding, hookless, dadrock furrow until all goodwill from those two brilliant albums from 20 years ago has plugholed like hot wee. Is this song better than anything they’ve released since 2004? No idea. Might be. Is it better than picking an orifice – any orifice – and feeding a sea urchin into it? No it is not.
