Lana Del Rey, 2:54, Toy
[b]Slugabed – ‘Sex'[/b]
As you’d expect from a producer who goes by the name of Slugabed, this dude has a way of making his polymorphously perverse digi-funk heave and churn with an almost bodily quality. Yes, ‘Sex’ is about as arousing as stumbling onto the primal scene when all you wanted was a reassuring cuddle but hey, if salaciously slurring synths, pitch bent and thick, greasy, girthy low-end gets you off then you’re in.
[b]Lana Del Rey – ‘Blue Jeans'[/b]
Everyone has made up their minds now, right? Even that person who posted ‘Video Games’ on Facebook forty years after everyone stopped caring. We all know that this is good, especially the bit when she awkwardly sings that sweet little line about some guy fitting her better than her fa-vou-rite sweater. Now close your internet down and go for a walk. Chances are we’ll be at a cultural year zero when you return.
[b]2:54 – ‘You’re Early'[/b]
Hark! The creak of leather biker jackets! The smell of stale cigarette smoke in airless basements! The shimmering tone of a guitar played by someone with red eyes and a deadened heart! 2:54 do a fine job of unpicking the feeling you get when you obsessively love something (people, drugs, 4AD’s back catalogue) and unspooling it over four humid minutes.
[b]Ronika – ‘Automatic'[/b]
It’s annoying when people bang on about credible and non-credible pop, creating weird, paternalistic gradations when all that matters is whether it’s good or shit. It makes me feel like an utter dick, then, to suggest that this is pop music for credible pop fans, from the right ’80s references (Tom Tom Club, Prince) to the patina of DIY grain in the bit-crunched laptop production. Good too, mind, not shit.
[b]Amanda Mair – ‘Sense'[/b]
Amanda Mair is Swedish, which means that she has a particular knack for writing songs that you can keep returning to like catheterised lab rats to their teeny weeny opiate dispensers. Sure, before you know it you’ve completely warped your last.fm profile but you don’t mind because you’re now hooked on that chorus, making everything else in your life seem like faint background static.
[b]Toy – ‘Motoring'[/b]
Toy are the current namecheck of choice for photosensitive try-hards, but we won’t draw comparisons to certain other brooding bands with good hair and black polo necks as that’s unfair. For ‘Motoring’ they’ve curbed their more drawn-out, psychedelic impulses in favour of sharp, hungry post-punk, and it’s all fine. Three SCUMS out of five, then. Whoops.
This article originally appeared in the April 7th issue of NME
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