Marina, Seye, Childish Gambino
[b]Marina And The Diamonds – ‘Primadonna'[/b]
Pre-Madonna, female artists were expected to mince demurely to music written by bloke-run hit factories. Post-Madonna, plonkers like Marina have got empowerment wrong, coming up with this: Europop fart beats and cloying vocals. Marina would do well to learn that ego needs something to back it up, which you won’t find in this giant guff of saccharine nothing.
[b]Francois & The Atlas Mountains – ‘City Kiss'[/b]
Ah, Monsieur, how pleasant it would be to live in this world of jingle jangle, butterfly melodies, Gallic insouciance and romance where lovers “are so easily pleased”. Yet there’s something undeniably wonderful about ‘City Kiss’ that prevents it from coming over at all affected or smug, the darting between English and French suggesting the hurried joy of a mind in love.
[b]Seye – ‘White Noise'[/b]
White noise? The glorious roar as, say, the astounding vacuum of space sucks out an astronaut’s innards through his eardrum? The joy of dissonance? Or this clatteringly drummed, bright and spangly sunny tune from Seye, coming to a cutesy-packaged fruit smoothie advert near you this summer.
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[b]Kelpe – ‘I Felt Fuzzy'[/b]
Kel McKeown brings together smooth bits of vocal “ooo”-ing, squeaking synthesisers and a relaxed pace that shows there’s a middle ground between the dull mush of chillwave and the more dancefloor-orientated electronic music around at the moment. Would be nice to think that this is an interpretation of his state of mind shortly before throwing up all over a picnic bench while on a family holiday aged six.
[b]Newton Faulkner – ‘Write It On Your Skin'[/b]
Let’s not have any hating on gingers, for as any fule know that’s just an irrational English prejudice derived from a prehistoric fear of marauding, flame-haired Celts. But Newton Faulkner and his ruddy dreadlocks? Ye gads! Any more of this wandered up from a beach to an open-mic night friendship bracelet bollocks and we’re all doomed.
[b]Childish Gambino – ‘Heartbeat'[/b]
“I got a heart, but the artichoke/Is the only thing girls want when you in that stroke”. Presumably this line refers to the contents of the Gambino trouser. Sexism of the sort peddled by Gambino is never appealing, and it’s doubly tiresome when combined with the self-loathing that characterises this whinge. Even an interesting synth sound that’s a bit like an impression of Justice’s ‘Water Of Nazareth’ won’t rescue this silly little man’s myopic bleating.
This article originally appeared in the April 14th issue of NME