Queen of Clubs: The Ugly Truth

Murder on The Dancefloor

Above: AATW label mates Kelly Llorenna and Karen Parry smile whilst taking myspace pictures, but there are 5 men and cover versions to fight over.

Now that wig-on-a-turd Agnes Carlsson has gone and settled the worldwide chav dispute between Kelly Llorenna, Karen Parry, Tina Cousins and Dannii Minogue over who is 'Queen of Clubs' at AATW, I think it is best not to forget what a high drama it was - all that waiting for up to 6 months at a time just for a myspace update (Kelly's current mood is 'up yer maw' apparantly, with 3 pages of comments from her loyal fans), which was more excruciating than a post Ibiza visit to the GUM clinic (you just don't know what you are going to get, etc). In celebration of these gutter divas it is important to pay tribute to their behind-the-scenes legacy's.

While her chances of the crown are thinner than her eyebrows, the classy mother of six-by-twelve-different-fathers Karen Parry is largely unheard of outside her estate in northern England despite a colossal sized number 3 smash hit in the summer of 2002 with a Flip N' Fill usurping production of thewayward Shooting Star, an achievement she cherishes almost as much as her ASBO and teenage appearances on talkshow Trisha for reasons I won't go into.

Above: Parry's face had so much make-up applied it resembled a paper mache art project by ironic 5 year olds. Vying for title of 'Queen of Clubs' on Llorenna's home turf was clearly a faux pas on her part, as upon leaving the venue Parry was impregnated by 5 very angry and turned on lesbians.

From the moment her widescreen green-lit forehead shines gruesomely in the midst of an ilegal garage party in the Shooting Star video, a star was born, and also sworn (her atrocious bad language has saw her barred from appearing on British TV and radio leaving her forced to promote in clubs so dire that Kelly Llorenna wouldn't even squat to take a piss in). Despite being in debt, Karen is guaranteed to masacre any half-bad dance track that's going to pay for the vodka and cigarettes lifestyle she worked so hard for and has the rashes to prove it. She earned that success, and to Kelly Llorenna's cost started to steal favour with the critically acclaimed Pascal on their classic trance version of I Think We're Alone Now, which finally gave the song some personality exploiting Parry's trademark warmth and sensitivity. However, if she starts shagging the fat bloke from N-Trance, Llorenna will probably have her killed (just look what happened to Aaliyah). Parry sings with more clarity and honesty than most of her recent D.N.A tests would suggest, and her next logical move is to beat the Swedish tranny at her own game with a Flip N' Fill remix of her rival's On & On.

When not crashing planes (and her 9/11 whereabouts are still a mystery, despite her protests that she was locked safely in a tanning booth that week), old cowpat face Kelly Llorenna, the original chav-before-chav 'Queen of Chavs', has sang on no less than 4 top ten hits throughout her 15 year career in clubbing. Not without a sense of humour, her well-documented brawls over post-gig leftover kebabs scavenged from bins earned her numerous baseball bat injuries and the right to call her debut album All Clubbed Up (she even wears shades on the front cover to hide her black eyes). Affectionately labelled 'an old slag' by her former N-Trance producer on the official AATW messageboard, Llorenna is still waiting to crisp her skin up before taking to the stage again and reclaiming her crown - with skin like crispy batter, she'd better keep an eye out for Danniigoose swooping down and taking even more pecks at her.

Above: Llorenna languishing in the spotlight of Manchester's M.E.N arena, gurning to save her life. Kelly proves she really does call the shots, performing as N-Trance on their one truly enduring hit single Set You Free (notably bypassing Forever), as well as her two biggest solo hits Tell It To Me Pimp and True Tans Never Fade.

Below: Tina's hunched shoulders can't hide her homophobic discomfort, lip-synching in front of gays more interested in practicing their felatio technique on empty Bacardi Breezer bottles, in Glasgow's Bennets nightclub. Only when she got her cock out did the crowd fall under her dark spell of apocaliptic trance and MILF euro-pop. Tina's drink of choice was a shot of Amyl nitrite mixed with diet Fanta with no ice.
Equally as trodden on if her close-ups are anything to go by, Tina Cousins is my favourite bulbous-nosed antipodean stretch-marked dance diva - her stoic verses are cautious and seek justice for various narratives that all vary on her favourite subject of being a loser in love, life and the music industy. Her erupting choruses are so stodgy and epic they could block a toilet as they overflow with so much of the shit that woman has been through. Unwilling to fight anymore, Tina lost out on the chance to record Dannii's 2005 trash smash Persperation. These anxious days bored fans can look forward to being promised new singles every 2 years and are only too happy to help clean up her shit as I wasn't joking about her toilet issues - girl goes through bog-roll like Dannii does cancer victims.

Speaking of survivors, Dannii Minogue's 18 year slog in the music industry is well-documented, but her tactic of collapsing under pressure has taken a palpable influence in her infrequent, revered Ibiza hits. Dannii was never truly up to competing for the AATW crown; tantrums ensued, telling her fans (i.e. me) to fuck off for suggesting she release unreleased material and then doing so anyway, refusing to record trashy anthems such as Dannii's Theme by the then-unknown Shapeshifters (telling me again to fuck off for wanting this confimred) showed she wouldn't lower herself by recording anything as tacky as a number one hit single. Dannii still leaves smug voicemales to Cher, mocking the Oscar winner for cashing in on her leftovers and the damage it did to the potential record sales of the Believe album ('can you believe I'm in Ibiza and you're stuck in Las Vegas perfoming on stage - later, bitch' was a low blow from even Dannii who can't acknowledge her self-destructive sunlounger weekends are starting to bring out the worst in her). At least she never hung around with this lot for chem-friendly group sex in a Travelodge hotel: