PICK OF THE WEEK
Patrick Wolf
Time Of My Life (Hideout/Mercury)
Suckers for pop heartbreak, handclaps and big violiny bits, consider yourself warned: not only is this POTW, it's shimmying up the Singles Of The Year list. Graceful in the face of a painful break-up, it's everything you wish you could muster post-relationship ? breezy and optimistic, instead of crying crumpled on the bathroom floor. There's not a lot to say about Wolf's songwriting skills here that doesn't end in gushy superlatives. This is many kinds of wonderful.
Crystal Castles Feat Robert Smith
Not in Love (Fiction)
You know what they say about pillaging your heroes for ideas: if you can't beat 'em ? rope 'em in to help you cover a new wave obscurity from 1984. And so, Alice Glass, whatsisname and the forever lippy-smeared Robert Smith take an all right song by Platinum Blonde and convert it into ravey festival gold. In December. Ramped up with synths (dead promising at the start) and electro screeches (pretty Calvin Harris-y annoying in the middle), it's basically a bit like murdering Cure on the dancefloor. A massacre of eyeliner, MDMA and well-meaning gothy remixes.
Japayork
Teenagers (Popjustice Hifi)
Like Jessie Cornish, the other J tipped for super big things in 2011, Mr Japayork has been on the internet long enough this year to have built up a relative cult following. Unlike Jessie, this skinny synth showoff doesn't have a major record deal or a songwriting credit with Alicia Keys. Still, what he lacks on the CV, he makes up for with a knack for delivering the kind of camp, ephemeral pop it's good to daydream to. This one's about forgetting all your problems (for three minutes, anyway). Super-addictive.
The Naked And Famous
Punching In A Dream (Polydor)
Picking up somewhere where first-album MGMT and Passion Pit left off, this single is to that scene's sun-soaked, sub-psychedelic pop what New Young Pony Club were to electroclash: late to the party, sucking up its dregs and blabbering on to the only person awake about how like, cool pedalboards are. A five-piece from New Zealand, they're kicking up chart-topping drama back home with their pop-wooze-by-numbers jig. But, come the tail-end of 2010, all that anthemic stoner enthusiasm sounds oh so done-to-death.
Eric Prydz As Pryda
Niton (Data/MOS)
Last heard pumping out of the spinning class in your local gym, La Prydz is back! A veritable piano-plonking club banger, Niton is euphoric in the same way repeated exercise promises to be. If you've ever wondered what might have been playing in the club the moment you saw that girl "resting" on the kerb outside it, head between her knees and being fanned with a clutch bag by her best friend, odds on it was Prydz. Low Pryda. The big Pryddie. Staple soundtrack to the sight of a thousand shirtless gurners ?aving it.
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