So Madonna's soggy tampon Something To Remember reject I Can't Forget has leaked. Finally, another crap Madonna song, just what I was wanting 2010 to bring and hey-soos christ have my indecisive prayers been answered. I actually love Madonna's vocals on it - I preferred her struggling to sound like a vamp as opposed to the Hard Candy cougar-witch drawl. Taken from her impressive David Foster sessions (You'll See and One More Chance are absolute corkers). Like the latter, this is another post-midnight candle-burner, but blows itself out after about 30 seconds. Go listen to Sonia's more memorable Can't Forget You insead.
Edit: I have not been typing much lately, but do feel a posting purge is well overdue soon.
S.O.A.P were a short lived Dutch duo that spawned one of late 90s bubble-pop's landmark era-defining albums Not Like Other Girls. Full of youthful vitality and a plaintive inebility to sing anything solo, their nasal intensity and chanted raps combined dance, rnb and effervescant pop melodies.
Singing about promises made to be broken, Stand By You really ought to have been a single. Maybe 13 year olds would have gotten the message easier if 911 of 5ive had recorded this, but as S-Club 7 proved, S.O.A.P did this song perfectly and they don't even have a numeral in their name. Their undivided lyrics are 100% as robotic and unbreakable as teensploitation pop needs to be.
The slinky and perky Rn'B squeezed pop-grunge of the uncontrolled This Is How We Party is probably even more infectious than Wannabe or is at least on par with Solid HarmoniE's I'll Be There For You for pure personality-driven, sun-soaked, friends-united, adgitating adolescent autonomy. Commercial lift-off never happened in the UK (#36), but they did reach #51 in the US, #1 in Sweden and #4 in France.
The flamenco heat of Romeo & Juliet, remarkably tuneful, is another in your face beat-driven dance-pop classic, 'girl he's a loser' providing all the life you'll ever need in life. Like, 'hellooo!?'
The alientated teenager protest ballad Not Like Other Girls is probably what fueled those incestuous-lesbian rumours. A joyless and glum sisterhood lesson, I can't get enough of it.
The considerate Who Can I Talk To isn't mature beyond their years but touches teenage angst in an honest light. Pop music was largely girl-aimed, so taking this empowerment-mongering twist can be seen as a way of assuring girls that they're too good to settle for something lame or whatever. They are indeed girls themselves, but as a gay guy who was a bit of a loner at school I can appreciate this on my own level. Yes it's utterly twee, but I was 14 when this came out. It sneaks in a whispering and confessional middle 8. It's a gambit that pays off on whatever level you want to take it on, even for those who might have sung it without needing it to mean anything at all. Uptempo creamy highlight Ladidi Ladida spurts the same serum as those early Backstreet Boys singles. They still can't sing, so they're just playing, but this is undeniable fun. Their vocals are unequal to the entertainment, but the music is the message most important.
The nimble Wishing is a sacharine ballad with ghostly vocals and a spanish guitar Gina G would blush over. They don't have the timbre to start a fire.
Sadly not a Britney cover, Deep In My Heart is the least appealing track on offer. It's quite sulky and I like that, so they can really do no wrong even when the material in other hands would prove testing.
The dfgg Dowhuchalike is a fantastic Aqua-lite song not a million miles off Heat of The Night or even Dr. Jones. 'Rude attitude'. Less rampant than the latter, but just as brisk.
Shadowed by bizarre seaside-wreckage samples worthy of Saint Etienne, the eurofunking thumper labarynth Live Forever is good enough to be Ace of Base circa 1992. This is what Madonna tried to do with Bedtime Stroy, except this is way funner. Momentum builds before composure completely collapses with typical teenage angst restraint: 'I feel the word is turning, deep in my heart I'm burning / I'm so happy I could cry, 'till we enter paradise'. All in one go, the moment is gigantic, ridiculous and spasmodic.
Keynoted by 2 absolute pop classics (Stand By You and This Is How We Party), you don't have to be 14 to get the message (you don't even have to remember being 14). Their sincere simulations might not be soulful (and credit should be given to their songwriters, but where is the fun in that?), but avoiding vulnerable ballads in favour of the shy diary entries of the title track and the lissome Who Can I Talk To, proves their worth in a fashion. Their hooks are easily flexed on This Is How We Party, but the Ace of Base suicide-watch is the most lingering. Close your eyes and love it, S.O.A.P sell their teen spirit with an enabling pop fizz only surpased by the Spice Girls who were old enough to sing about their genitalia which is an advantage for anyone, but crucially avoid teen-advisory froth. Unlike the Spice Girls, there is no fake masterbations or ball-crushing going on, nor were they genuine singers or designated icons - for those who know their Coke from their Pepsi, S.O.A.P still aimed higher than most.
Holding out for Lady Miss Kier news is a fustrating wait, and yet in recent years she has at least moved things along from a one-page website that once read 'release date: whenever'. And so in 2010 I finally get my grubby, sweaty hands on an MP3 of her track Bulletproof (a cover of a George Clinton track, which she sang way back at 2005's Wigstock).
Above: Madonna might have got their first for once (she famously ripped off the whole chorus of Deee-Lite's Power of Love for her own Rescue Me song), but Lady Miss KierKirby has the balls to actually do it, and those signs read 'wigs not war' FYI.
However, just to hear Kier growl and do the soul mama thing all these years later (and my has it gotten bigger) is just ecstasy. That girl can sing anyone's face off.
Above: Kier hates for her fans to go hungry.
Out now, it's a funky assault against war (go figure), with a gulping bassline just begging to be swallowed up. Miss Kier's scenrey chewing vocal is as hungry for it as ever. Just when the heck will she hurry up (to go easy) and release something as a solo artist?
Whilst the world continues to wait for La Toya Jackson to find a cure for AIDS that rhymes with iTunes, the even more selfless self-promoter Heidi Montag has dived right in with the next best thing and released her debut album Superficial. Heidi's fame fatale is front-runner for album of 2010.
I've never been into hardcore rap until now, but the the rushed momentum of Look How I'm Doing is a ferociously stunning responce to all the haters. With simmering synths and neck-popping bare-boned beats sicker than a bullimic at an all you can eat buffet, Heidi chants with a terrifying confidence more destructive than a Haiti weather report.
The breathless Turn Ya Head is autotuned to perfection. 'I'm the bitch that you don't wanna miss' is more justified than her first nose job. 'I'm just on a mission to take you home with me tonight' seals her fate. Legs to the ceiling. The lightweight disco of Fanatic has Heidi 'choking' on a fat beat whilst pledging a healthy obsession.
The first genuine classic on offer, the downbeat Superficial is an oddly affecting autobiographical tearfest full of defensive projecting and a tight delivery sympathetically rhyming 'bitch' with 'rich'. Her robotic persona is brainwashed by her column inches, sounding damaged and amused at the same time. It's no easy task to make sounding miserable so much fun: 'it ain't that easy but it ain't so hard'.
She sings her lungs and her baps out on More Is More, getting plenty of action on a care-less stomper with volcanic heat and lyrical sass acidic enough to give herself another face peel without even a magazine deal needed to fund it. 'Boy you're making me laugh' is sung with even less expression than her new face - the struggle is life-threatening.
Infused with a fresh obsession for wanting to have a good time, One More Drink has all the agony of remembering a night out like the weird gin-stench when you go to the toilet the morning after. Except Heidi's peeing onto a pregancy test whilst trying to remember what basketball team it was.
The distressed-sounding Twisted is a disco surge putting Shakira to shame, and the singer sounds remarkably similar to Marion Raven's The End of Me. Hardly surprising, Heidi sings with a bad taste in her mouth: 'everyone's tell me what you've been doing, who you've been screwing'.
The chugging Hey Boy is her very own Nothing In This World. It's probably the same software at least. The coquetishly cock-hungry My Parade sells herself familiarly as 'the main attraction'.
The excruciating cuteness of the by-now world famous Blackout has lost none of its stylistic bite from the icky verses and an oh-so-sublime 'whoah' perfumed chorus that will leave skidmarks all over your heart. Her sacred mission is none better realised than on a song Miley Cyrus would saw her front teeth off for. Fall in love with it over and over again.
The slinky seduction of I'll Do It gives in yet again to the tempation of being centre of attention, the hot topic of trashy rumours and endless speculation about being 'a hot mess' with edible panties (not that she wears them).
So the fame-climber script climaxes (for now) on closer Love It Or Leave It, autotuned tighter and tougher chants regarding her invinvibility. The misconception of her dead-eyed delusion doesn't get in the way, it merely feeds the appeal, which is the most superficial thing of all because Heidi Montag is a pop star, like it or not.
Running out of concept isn't a problem for Heidi when the topic has as much juice as simply being Heidi does. And the material is the most consistent on any album of 2010 thus far, which is hard to see being challenged any time soon. The synthetic gloss of Blackout is painfully beautiful, and the rest of the album isn't much worse either using her adorably feeble vocal suction to its maximum potential. Whether or not it's the thrill of the fame whore not falling flat on her new face, few pop stars have the class or capability to project explicit trashiness with such beguiling intensity, forging phoniness into art whilst selling every beat with contagiously grimacing self-regard and occaisional seconds of girl-group airhead beauty.
What a shame the pulsating energy of Body Language is missing, not to mention her definitive flashing version of Fashion.
Skip to: Blackout, Superficial, Look How I'm Doing, More Is More, Parade, I'll Do It
Fresh off the heels from Fresh!, dance music's next big thrill was fresh off the boat Cuban superstar Gloria Estefan who released her mighty quite-alright opus Gloria! album, stunning her MOR fans with a record full of fast beats, feminine quips and feirce campness, all combining to revive her career just in time for the pinnacle of cougar disco of 1998-1999 (Diana, Tina, Cher, Madge, Olivia, Bette and Belinda were all at it).
Thrusting herself into gear was the first single Heavens What I Feel, wherein Gloria's craving for a gay disco hit turned her into such a nervous wreck that she failed to even write this one herself. Lubricated with self-esteem issues ('I was not supposed to fall in love with you' she sobs), she doesn't quite have the vocal range for all the notes, but this merely adds to the drama - and the gays do love their drama you see, so job done Glor. Danceable phoniness at it's most, dare I say it, glorious.
Starting with sunkissed cooing, the singer's infectious gurning goes full pelt on the fastlane disco pounder Don't Stop ,which should have been the album's secret weapon, instead it was relegated to being a Spain-only release. Campaining against the male orgasm calls for a weaponry of succinct beats and a militant belief in dancefloor cliches such as 'today is here to stay'. Not even Lonnie Gordon could match the epic request 'don't stop the earth from turning'.
Cringe-fest Oye's male chanting sounds like being gangbanged by a bunch of waitors of all ages when you tell them you don't have any money to pay for their latin cruisine. It was chosen as the second release from the campaign, pre-empting a barrage of bad J-Lo and Marc Anthony singles, Gloria's authentic latin grasp is a little faceless for my liking, but I do love the predatory 'hey boy, I see you looking' verses and tongue-rolling 'can no longer fight it' bridge. In spite of the mess, it's so insistant it would probably only take me 3-4 doubles to drop my pants for it.
On this next track you won't get a squidgier shimmy without having more than one STD. She really surprises me on the hot flush Real Women: I expected something horrid, but the clotted irregular dance beat groove is irresistably ribbed and smooth in equal measure. The song title means nothing to me, thankfully avoiding the fashion to define a real woman in terms of curves and what not, it's still gay-friendly. The emphatic energy is as weightless as the handbag you'll be swinging above your head listening to this whether you have to steal one off an old lady to get one or not.
Feelin' is an easygoing midtempo Lil' Suzy style throbber. It's pleasant enough, and continues the promotion of a consistent gloss throughout the album. Infinitely propped up by Love To Infinity as a bonus track.
Anti-agnes album track Don't Release Me is an unecessary collabo with Wyclef Jean. Estefan's tickly crooning just don't cut this way sadly. Various ploys are used, such as a briefly enjoyable Chic-esque disco section that at least makes the second half vaguely not bad.
The dizzy momentum of speed-ballad Don't Let This Moment End is a pulsating toilet flush of a dance track. It's ironic that by the time of this song's 1999 release that good ol' Glor was already being accused of copying Nana Cher's comeback efforts. Admittedly, it wasn't strong enough for haters to see beyond a supposed tactic of turning to the pink pound for a quick buck. It was also so good that I am worried I may have forgotten to include it in my 3 part best singles of 1998 post. Despite being one of the least adventurous tracks, the track is tempered with flourishes of tinkling piano keys and light-headed strings. Her agony is convincing, with neck-snapping beats encouraging the best out of her on the soggy chorus pledging to keep things going.
If being molested is your thing, Touched By An Angel is another uplifting surge of those everything-is-going-right moments we all strive for. Corny for sure, I just wish it lived up to its title and I felt more violated.
Dodging the ballads yet again, the smouldering Lucky Girl tosses up the same ingredients of Rhythm Is Gonna Get You, which is no bad thing, but the similarity is distracting on the first verse (the mistake isn't repeated thereafter). The chorus' skirt-flapping and sizzling tempo get things going and its stinging piano breakdown sounds identicle to the one of the Almighty single edit of Alexia's genre-defining Uh La La La, which are amazing qualities for any song to feature.
The thigh-chaffing salsa stomper I Just Wanna Be Happy serves as the album's anthemic Go Away/Party Time trump card. How she has pulled this trick off 3 times never fails to amaze me, this was the Single Ladies of its time with Queen of the jungle style tribal callings that Beyonce could only muster if her car broke down right before she reached the drive-thru window to pick up her chicken wings.
Third single from the album Cuba Libre reached #3 in Spain. Compared to the heat that preceeds it, this one's silky groove is a bit too vanilla for me. A solid finish.
The album is a compelling triumph, a latin platter of hot and thumping latin jams and oozing orifice-itching latin jams too. Even if her velvety timbre isn't strong enough on the slower jams, her raw technique on the sleek salsa montuna Oye, gushing lead single and the more willing and faster Don't Stop (sadly not a Kelly Marie cover, cue next post) amongst many others provides enough evidence that she is ready to make it worth it when it counts. A dance album so good it must have scared the shit out of J-Lo.
Skip to: Heaven's What I Feel, Don't Stop, Touched By An Angel, Lucky Girl, I Just Wanna Be Happy
Before vanishing off the face of the earth, as well as flatly denying she was J-Lo's mum's twin sister (go google for yourself), Kym Sims firmly established herself with one last classic and largely unnoticed 90s dance anthem I Must Free (US Billboard Dance #6). Yes it sounds like Too Blind To See It, but boy does she siiiiing on this one. It's a full-on surge of adrenaline, not to mention some very scintilating Infinity Within era Deee-Lite sounding organ sounds. Until 2009 comeback rumours come into fruition...
Dannii always stresses that releasing music sucks the life out of her, leaving her baps irreversably damaged as she struggles to find enough oxgen to stand and sing at the same time. Her 1997 comeback album played on the Dannii brand's previously dismal reputation as being a bitch by calling herself a girl instead: worldwide record buyers just weren't buying it, yet slowly but surely by 2008 demand on her messageboard was so high that she finally caved in and told her webmaster to 'do what you fucking like' and the rest is history: The deluxe edition of Girl (Dannii's heartfelt potrayal of plastic surgery) still excites, so here are some key moments worth checking out if you don't already have the best Minogue album of all time.
The agitated calm of the enchanting utopia Am I Dreaming is sublime - the production and backing vocal currents swirl all over the joint whilst her icy vocal is very restraint yet incredibly strong (Dannii's vocal deposits are not to be sniffed at you know - Kylie's of course stink of piss, which was her official excuse for the piss-poor Impossible Princess album tracks). You really get the sense that these shyly structured songs meant a lot to her: the subjective So In Love With Yourself is quite moody, slightly broken, a bit under her breath and her salty vocals delicately full of spite and diplomatic indignation.
I do agree that All I Wanna Do and Disremembrance are the obvious singles, but the sprinting take off on the Trouser Enthusiasts remix of Heaven Can Wait is even more majestic, and the rippling Xeonomania Everything I Wanted makeover would have been a more sensible option as opposed to the haunting album version which was a bit sparse to become a major hit (even if it was the song that turned me into a proper fan).
To me the theme of the album is her second-guessing of herself, I just find it more compelling than say Gina G's seminal classic Fresh! or the makeshift brilliance of Cher's Believe, which both shared some of the same collaborators, but it's Dannii's efforts that actually sound completely tailored to what's bothering her or whatever. It's a very sensitive album, which is why I don't quite get the campy accusations this record often recieves - apart from the isolated dance-bopper Movin' Up it's the most un-artificial album she could have made. Because it's so intimate, the final track is almost an interruption (although I'm glad it's included as it's the only track with no underlying insecurity).
The deluxe edition is the essential purchase - Keep Up The Good Times is splattered with rampant Alexia-style piano keys, and the blistering Hi-NRG Someone New is her tour de fource. However, the Innocent Girl version of All I Wanna Do is on Unleashed, and to me her plaintive ad libs here make it my favourite Dannii recording. And the Mekon dub is so good it's almost a shame she sings on it at all!
The only tanny to get me hard, Dana 'danger muff' International's legendary anthem Cinque Milla makes Lady Gaga seem like Mandy Moore by comparison. Geri Halliwell famously paid tribute to the iconic banana rape scene in her own Ride It video and subsequently recorded the best song Dana never recorded, Love Never Loved Me, whilst Dana herself was kept busy becoming Israel's alternative to Dannii Minogue recording trance songs and becoming a judge on the country's equivalent to the X-Factor.
The high-impact track is taken from her third album Maganuna.
One of my first ever (shit) posts on this blog was reviewing Vitamin C's seminal More album (think of a typsy Rachel Stevens' Sweet Dreams My LA Ex and sluttier Britney's Toxic). Planned as a third singlie, her cover of I Know What Boys Like was perhaps too kiddish for a nudging 30 year old to be messing around with, but I never tire of this live performance in front of under 5s where Colleen touches her boobs repeatedly in a not at all inappropriate fashion:
Heidi Montag should cover this - and guess what album I've still to get around to reviewing...
Diva Incarnate is a massive fan of Deee-Lite: so much so that to review their classive debut album World Clique is just a tad overwhelming and, well, kind of puts a lot of pressure on a writer to articulate sometimes purely visceral reasons as to why something is one of the most important albums to have influenced their pop aesthetic. Enough nonesense then, their third and final studio set Dewdrops In The Garden was nowhere near as immediately succinct and unflinching in it's innate explosion of charisma and innovation, but stands a chance at claiming to be just as impressive as their landmark debut.
It also saw key member Towa Tei dropping out the troup and merely producing one track. In his place steps in DJ Ani (pronounced 'on e' of course), who later justifies himself with a remix of a track from their sophomore album, called Don't Give Up. The grooves on this album are more sensual, Kier proves herself as a fluid rapper, and they almost clinch themselves several early 90s potential dance hits yet fail to properly exploit such poossibilities by admirably sticking to the oozing rave trips and their label Elekra by this point clearly weren't giving a fuck either.
Say Ahhh... is the mellow opener, a buttery-dripping rap from Kier and her most natural vocal yet. 'Take off your shirt, I'll take off my bra, keep holding on until you say ahhh'. Kier's final withdrawing 'yeah, yeah ... yeah' could finish anybody off.
Mind Melt is effectively an interlude, a poem written by Ani's Father. I still recite the emphatic delivery of 'come around, come around' to this day.
Bittersweet Loving is the first of two emphatic shots at achieving a genuine ubiquitous dance hit that ought to have joined the ranks of Haddaway, Urban Cookie Collective and Sybil. Kier and fellow member DJ Dmitri's relationship had severed by this point and Kier's emancipation is gigantic as she sings rapturously 'I've never felt so free before' with a vocal authority second to none:
The jiving 'put some sugar and stir it up' is even more uplifting. If the album version doesn't quite hit the spot (it's probably too dreamy for its own good in places), the Todd Terry mix is favoured sometimes by myself for it's lethal sharpness.
Above: some 2-dollar tranny whore earns her cash - what self-respecting gays are giving away their drinks money?
The elasticated roaming bass on River of Freedom and it's hallucinatory trance make it my favourite Deee-Lite track ever. Kier's vocals are heartfelt and lush ('the sails are made from our dreams, there will be better days down stream ... we've been building ship for years, because the river is made from tears'). It just has that vanishing point all good dance tracks should have, where you feel completely immersed and distracted. It flits from detail to fascinating and ultimately meaningless detail. Crucially, the melancholy flashing past is anchored by a stunning tune and sounds so simple a zonked zombie can relate to the pathos. What is a shame is the track ends up getting tangled up in its final minute, although I do enjoy the burping bass continuing to rev itself up even if it's sort of running on empty.
Below: Lady Kier does her thing at Wigstock debuting the song Somebody.
For years I kind of despised Somebody - I thought it was just nothing. Years later and I'm completely drugged by Kier's leadership vocals - she truly comits herself to this one, which is more of a hardcore vocal track than anything else. Perhaps because Towa's insanely unique production has taken the stabelizers off, this track is examplary of how distinctly different Deee-Lite are here. Again the track ends as if being mixed into another track, except it's being 'mixed' into a final minute of simply concluding.
The jazzy A Tribe Called Quest-esque When You Told Me You Loved Me is bizarrely the closest they come to reaquainting themselves to their signiture style. It's hard to resist Kier's persona which is smudged all over this like being french kissed by a million drag queens at once.
Keir's languid rap on the oozing Stay In Bed Forget The Rest (a subtle pun I didn't get until a few years ago) actually sounds like a dimmed light. Pssst-ing for attention. Fall asleep with paradise, dreams of tahiti'.
The ultimate telephone song, Call Me is the album's What Is Love or Pussycat Meow, except it's a bedroom chill-out and not an explicity flamboyant dancefloor jam like their previous doodlebeat tracks. I love how Kier starts off a one-sided conversation responding to what we can obviously guess involves getting the subtle brush off, before turning the tables when at the finish it is the person at the other end of the line getting their wires cross and Kier then gives this love interest the 'I'll call you' kiss-off herself. The sherbet-frosted ambience filters all the right settings courtesy of Towa Tei. Fans of Kylie's GBI might be interested to hear the true partnership for such perfection.
The evaporating blissfulness of Music Selecta Is The Soul Reflecta is a humming throb with Kier's delicious deadpan refrain, 'give is a beat, slammin and jumpin'.
Sampladelic is a convincing update of Deee-Lite Theme, 'catch the relic, the sound is sampladelic, yeah' excites with almost as much fervor as 'from the global village in the age of commication did' back in 1990. It really could/should have been the opener.
Bring Me Your Love contains the album's best trash-dance fantasy hook:
I was in the checkout line Checking out the mighty fine By the time I got to the parking lot I took home more than what I boughtYou’re my tenderness My chocolate drop Don’t you ever let your good lovin stop
And yet it's pace is fashionably stop-start (before it became properly utilized by top 40 dance songs), which kills its catchy potential and this is probably why it remained a club release only.
Above: since the official video for Picnic has been disabled from being linked, here is a live performance of Somebody, a track given high status from the Dewdrops era.
First single Picnic In The Summertime, possibly one of the most underrated summer song, is track 12. Casual music buyers will have switched off by now, but the soul mama come rapper invites you to 'come at me like a panther 'cause you know yes is my answer'.
Arguably even better is Apple Juice Kissing, with a Clash sample and more immediate rhyme and 'smack on my lips, apple juice kissing makes me roll my hips' being a miles tastier hook.
The fidgety momentum of Party Happening People reminds me slightly of a bafflingly huge UK #1 song called Doop.
DMT is another trippy episode with an under the influence foggy mise en scene.
Above: performances of Music Selecta and Bring Me Your Love from the 1994 Rise Up tour.
What Is This Music is a 30 second outro before they blow their chances with Bring Me Your Love yet again as a remixed hidden track. Oh well, they certainly did try and Dewdrops In The Garden is totally worth the initial disappointment of not being as good as World Clique as it's an amazing album that should be judged on its own terms - they were a new band by this point. Sometimes feeling as if you really need to be taking the same drugs, their florescent fashion is worth gasping at whatever your sensations.
An ever so slightly mispalced sequencing and occaisionally mis-judged mixes regarding track durations almost distract from Deee-Lite giving us perhaps their most committed and trying performance yet. Kier kept her heartfelt groove and the rivers of applejoice kisses prove they still had a thirst for beats. The pop momentum is patchy, which could have been avoided, but Kier's voice - ambitious, ebullient, moist and full of femme - is their tour deee force that any diva who sets out to create inclusive dance music had better go for every time out.
