Theophilus London Featuring Dev Hynes And Solange – ‘Flying Overseas’
Right now, Devonte Hynes is disputed territory. UK indie is trying to claw him back by booking him for Turkish pool clubs in Dalston. But in New York they’re giving him glowing duets with Jay Z’s sister-in-law. But fuck the glamour, Dev, come home and reform Lightspeed Testicles.
Young Husband – ‘Carousel’
Somewhere along the line all the cool kids in London became obsessed with Felt and the result is bands like Young Husband. This is what chillwave would have sounded like if it had been invented at a church fête, instead of a surfboard on the internet. Hypnotic guitars and vocals like rusting photographs; it’s nostalgic without being saccharin and about 7,000 times better than anything else released this week.
The Violet May – TV
Just in case you don’t know, that guy from the cover of the first Arctics album is so much more than just that. He’s also Jon ‘The Rev’ McClure’s brother and he’s also in a band. But, while J-Mac was busy writing grindie about Ayahuasca, chem trails and the Arab spring, Chris McClure got depressed and formed The Violet May. They’re basically the distillation of every pub band with a Radiohead record from 1999: shite.
Robyn – ‘Call Your Girldfriend’
Does anyone other than music critics enjoy listening to Robyn? If so, please write in and explain why this mildly neurotic pop song touches you. I don’t want to come across as a member of the Real Music cabal who got Rage to Number One, but did guitar music really get so bad that we had to start building pop icons from clods of turf like this? When does the pop backlash start? And can I bring a mace?
Alice Gold – ‘Cry Cry Cry’
Oh good, it’s Tesco music aisle personified. Oh good, it’s Amy Shitehouse. Oh good, Sony Ericsson have found a new theme tune. Oh good, it’s the third best song called ‘Cry Cry Cry’. Oh good,
a song that smells like potpourri. Oh good, we don’t need Natasha Bedingfield any more. Oh good, James Blunt harvested a vagina. And so on.
Kreayshawn – ‘Bumpin Bumpin’
A massive club hit, apparently. It’s big on the blogs as well. But… it’s rubbish. Look, no-one is more desperate to be down with the kids than me – I chase youth credibility like God chases my hairline – but this is inexcusable. It’s like something found on Mapei’s cutting room floor in 2006, performed at gunpoint by a victim of the hipster slave trade.
The line about riding an elephant is good, though.
This article originally appeared in the June 25th issue of NME
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