2003 Michael Andrews featuring Gary Jules: Mad World

The quintessential eighties band, I have to confess I've never had a lot of time for Tears For Fears. From their Janov inspired name to their Janov inspired lyrics, Curt Smith and Roland Orzabal trod a line that sought to combine the intense, black raincoat angst of the contemporary 'indie' scene with the equally contemporary, chart friendly new romantic synth pop ethos. The tension between the two poles meant it rarely worked to any degree of satisfaction with 'Mad World' a case in point - an arm swinging chorus tempered by a wincing "The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had" lyric that gave it the feel of a Duran Duran with a HND in psychology.

For the present Michael Andrews and Gary Jules version, the synthpop is exorcised in favour of a set of lone piano chords that strip down/slow down 'Mad World' into a spaced out ballad. And in taking it at a slower pace, Jules' vocal finds a level of emotion in the lyric that flatters its pretension. That "The dreams in which I'm dying" line is still there, but it's given a relevant slant courtesy of the context of this cover version - Andrews and Jules' 'Mad World' is from the soundtrack to that year's 'Donnie Darko', a film all about dreams and dying. So no harm done. Or at least, not as much; 'Mad World' here has an atmosphere of emptiness that's curiously affecting with more than a hint of desperation; 'Donnie Darko' aside, 'Mad World' would be equally appropriate to soundtrack black and white footage of Nazi concentration camps, and as such it makes for a curious Christmas number one that taps into whatever you regard as the polar opposite reaction to the time of year than the one Noddy Holder had. I just never knew that so many other people felt that way too.

2003 Ozzy & Kelly Osbourne: Changes

I wrote back on 'Bring Your Daughter To The Slaughter' about how satisfying it was to see Iron Maiden at number one, regardless of the quality of the actual song itself. Or rather, how satisfying it was to see a bona fide metal track there at the top (in my eyes it's a vindication of sorts that teenage years spent in denim and leather weren't entirely misguided). Being a Black Sabbath song (originally appearing on 1972's 'Volume 4' album) sung by a genre icon in Ozzy Osbourne then 'Changes' should in theory ring similar bells with me. Moreso really; if Maiden were once regarded as part of the 'new wave of British heavy metal' (or NWOBHM for those in the know), then Sabbath were and remain defiantly old school with 'Changes' itself culled from their early glory years, a time where the Vertigo swirl on the label signified that the music within the grooves didn't see the top ten as its priority.

Rare for their output, 'Changes' is a piano led ballad with nary a power chord of doom in sight. "I feel unhappy, I feel so sad. I lost the best friend that I ever had"; straight and to the point, it's a simple song sung from an unhappy place, and while Ozzy himself delivers it in the same flat Brummie wail he delivers everything in, what his knitting with boxing gloves clunk loses in subtlety he gains with a direct authenticity heightened by the knowledge that the band were clearly stepping outside their comfort zone in offering it up on the album in-between the business as usual grind of 'Tomorrow's Dream' and the piledriving slam of 'Supernaut'.

Ozzy left Sabbath in 1978 for a solo career of diminishing returns that increasingly cast him in role of cartoon goon rocker more famous for his extra curricula activities than his recordings until, in 2002. he managed to break free of genre celebrity/infamy to become a national treasure/village idiot. The reason? An MTV fly on the wall 'reality show' called 'The Osbourne's' where a shambolic looking Ozzy was filmed at home with his family, blissfully unaware that in going about his confused daily business he was garnering more laughs than fanlove while his numerous dogs usefully supplied their own apt review of the entire enterprise by shitting all over his floors (much to Ozzy's dismay/our amusement).

Embarrassing and unbecoming - yes it was all this and more, yet it's precisely because of this show that Ozzy gained his first UK chart topper after over 35 years in the business, albeit with a little help from an appearance by daughter Kelly. And 'appearance' is right - in fact, her presence here sounds like she has been superimposed directly onto the original recording via digital trickery the way (for example) Natalie Cole was able to 'record' all those creepy duets with long dead father Nat. The difference is of course that Ozzy isn't dead. Neither were the remaining Sabbath members Geezer Butler, Bill Ward and Tony Iommi (who actually wrote the song) who are nowhere to be seen on what is essentially a faithful cover of a Black Sabbath song.

Does that matter? Well I think so - this might be a re-recording of the 1972 original, but there's precious little difference between the two as far as the music goes -'Changes 2003' could have been the sort of discarded cut from '72 that usually surfaces on the 'Remastered Deluxe Version' of album re-releases and billed as 'demo' or alternate version' (and I suppose it's testament of sorts to Ozzy's vision that you couldn't put a cigarette paper between the differences in his vocal on both recordings) so some recognition wouldn't have gone amiss. But let's be honest here - Iron Maiden might have got to number one on their own terms with no compromise, but only a fool would think a straight re-issue of a thirty year old Sabbath album track would have been so successful; it's Ozzy's fame and persona alone that took this to number one with Osbourne Jr providing the commercial hook to make this more palatable to a wider/younger audience whose only exposure to the pair would have come via MTV.

But Kelly's presence creates a disturbance in the force sufficient enough to make this 'Changes' a different proposition to the 1972 cut. For a start, whereas Natalie Cole (from my earlier scenario) could sing a bit, Kelly honks her own lines on 'Changes' like a stroppy teen seal in a tin bath in a way that makes Pa's vocal float like Tony Bennett. 'Her own lines'? Ah yes, the other key difference between this and the Sabbath original are a set of partially re-written lyrics that shift the song from a monologue detailing the end of a relationship to a father/daughter dialogue that celebrates/mourns her coming of age and independence. "She is my baby, I love her so. But it's too late now, I've let her go" - it's pure corn on the cob with the schmaltz factor bursting the thermometer in its desperate attempt to bring the television series into the recording studio (and in turn into Ozzy's 'other' career) and recast the slapstick into heartfelt. There's no doubt that 'Changes' would love to leave a legacy as a credible alt version of (Cat Stevens') 'Father and Son', but alas, though Ozzy still has presence enough to carry a degree of authoritative credibility, Kelly's re-worded lyric ("We've shared the years, we've shared each day. I love you daddy, but I found my way") degenerates the whole project into little more than a re-working of 'Orville's Song', albeit with two puppets instead on one; all I hear in 'Changes' is the murky cash-in of an opportunistic showbiz gimmick and it annoys me far more than seeing the name 'Ozzy Osbourne' at number one has any right to do. "We're going through changes" - you certainly were Ozzy, and not for the better either.


* For those not in the know, a 1982 hit for ventriloquist Keith Harris who had a weird on-screen father/son relationship Orville, an execrable, attention seeking green puppet duck who wore a nappy and was always on the look out for any bit of sympathy he could get. Sample lyric:

"Orville: I wish that I had a mummy and dad but I don’t,
Keith: You don’t?
Orville: I don’t!
Orville: I often pretend my sadness will end but it won’t,
Keith: It will,
Orville: It won’t!
Keith: Look, Orville,
Orville: Yes?
Keith: Now that I’m here with you, there’s nothing that you can’t do. So why don’t you make a start and hear what I’m saying, Orville?"

2003 Will Young: Leave Right Now

I've been dismissive about Will Young's contributions to the roll-call of number ones in the recent past, but as this is as the last time we're going to be meeting either him or his 'rival' Gareth Gates then it's a good time for some pondering. First thing, my dislike is nothing personal and boils down to simply my finding his choice of songs and his manner of interpreting them unappealing (try as I might, I simply cannot take to Young's voice). And linked to that, I can say that a certain level of my 'problem' lies with the 'Pop Idol' crown he supposedly wears. Because for a so-called 'idol', Young has produced precious little in the way of evidence to prove that he's worthy of wearing it.

Is that a surprise I wonder? To my mind, pop idolatry is something, if perhaps not quite 'earned', is at least bestowed willingly in reciprocity by a fanbase in a kind of 'social contract'. For example, take David Cassidy - a true pop idol of his day, Cassidy's fame and bedrock for fan appeal had its roots via his exposure in a television show based on a fictitious family ('The Partridge Family') and a series of tie-in musical releases. For whatever reason(s), the hand of fate brushed Cassidy in a positive way in its passing and the collective consciousness of a generation saw something in him that marked him out as something special and worth the hysteria. Monstrously popular in the early seventies, "Cassidymania" lasted for as long as that consciousness was shared; that is, until his audience grew up and was replaced by a new generation who found their own idols to scream over. My point is that Cassidy's managers didn't present him cold with the 'this is the next pop idol, you must worship him' instruction. It's a two way process that began under its own steam and ended when it ran out of it.

My big problem with Young then is that, other than a television show bestowing him with pop idol status, his success always seemed to me to be a matter of obligation rather than a genuine reciprocal experience, a kind of arse about front 'we voted for him so he must be good' mentality. Cassidy's audience polished his star for him themselves, but who exactly was Young's audience meant to be other than a talent show watching demographic, most of whom probably hadn't bought a single in years? Who knows? Those behind him seemed unsure how to market him too. For evidence, look at his output to date, it's all over the place, a scattergun approach that tries to tick off as many options as possible without putting a foot out of place that would result in that precarious boat being rocked - you weren't going to be hearing Will's take on death metal anytime soon, but in that uncertainty, it feels like somebody is cheating and somebody is being cheated.

Not that Young gave them a fistful of options; whatever song they chose to set him up with, they always had to play to Young's strength which, ironically, is also his weakness; that is, a tremulous whine of a voice perpetually on the verge a tear waiting to be shed in return for a spot of mothering. Or at the very least some sympathy; Will's shtick is to play the vulnerable male not afraid to cry card for all it's worth. It's a market that James Blunt would soon come to briefly corner as a different kind of pop idol, but by writing his own material he'd do it on his own agenda and forge the contract the way Cassidy did and so avoid the 'spare part' trap that Young (not a writer apparently) fell into. And ironically, what Blunt did was set out the blueprint that Young should have followed from the off, something that 'Leave Right Now' does in fact do.

An original song, 'Leave Right Now' benefits enormously from being written by Eg White (i.e. someone who knows what they're doing), and while it's a simple ballad that doesn't come from White's top drawer, it does at least present a solid foundation and flexible structure for a singer to work with. In Young's case, this means a simper and a whine around the tale of unrequited love ("I'm here so please explain, why you're opening up a healing wound again"), yet for once he feels right at home; it's a fortuitous match that neatly demonstrates the adage that any stopped clock is right twice a day and Young invests the lyric with enough of a tremor to convince us that he's hurting without falling into pantomime.

And yet when all my analysis is stripped away, I find I literally don't have words sufficient to set out my sheer indifference to it. I'd probably like a lot better if it was being sung by Sam Cooke but then I'd probably like it a lot worse if Little Jimmy Osmond was on vocal duties. When the last full stop of this review is typed and posted then I will have no desire to ever hear it again for the rest of my life. Solid rather than exceptional, more than anything 'Leave Right Now' does give finally give Young the material that allows him to shake off the whole pop idol baggage (I'm guessing that this would have been a sizeable hit had he not taken part), find his own niche and present himself in his best light. Ah, but the final irony waiting to bite was that once found, the niche was lost when his bubble of pop burst (this was to be his last number one don't forget) and Captain Blunt was waiting in the wings to leap into the space he's vacate and pick up the slack. It's a fickle business this 'pop' lark.

2003 Westlife: Mandy

Westlife's Xth number one (I forget which, but there's been so many I think it should be written as Roman numerals regardless), 'Mandy' is a cover version of Barry Manilow's 1975 signature tune. And yes, before you start, I'm well aware that this itself was a cover of Scott English's 1971 song 'Brandy' (Manilow changed the name to avoid confusion with Looking Glass's 'Brandy (You're a Fine Girl)'), but while English has a voice that, if not exactly soulful, has chewy quirk enough to provide traction enough to make the song memorable (albeit not the most famous version), Manilow smoothes out the template with added piano and string arrangement to transform it into a show stopping ballad with all the roughness of a bag of marshmallows.

By keeping the change of name and arrangement, Westlife faithfully recreate Manilow's version by rote, but in then applying a mugging sincerity that possesses none of the personality of Manilow's interpretation, Westlife reduces the sentiment to the regurgitated platitudes of a bland, Mills & Boon tearjerker. In their hands 'Mandy' is the risk free and passionless equivalent of a shot at an open goal; for all its gloss and swish, this 'Mandy' tries no harder than it needs to, and all it needs to do is let the "And you kissed me and stopped me from shaking. And I need you today, oh Mandy" lyric do all the work. It might cut across generations in a way that fellow boybanders Busted don't, but it's tasteless gruel that makes for both a thankless listen and an incredibly dull number one.

2003 Busted: Crash The Wedding

Having carved out their own boyband niche, Busted dig themselves in further with another spiky stab of dayglow bubblegum punk. Musically anyway; whereas previous entry 'You Said No' essayed an every adolescent scenario, the stealing the bride from under the groom's nose immorality tale of 'Crashed The Wedding' is a slightly darker, slightly older proposition that's most definitely going to fall outside of the range of experience of your average Busted fan. And what's more, it does its business with a glee of Schadenfreude ("And now we’re back together, as if he never met her. So looking back, I'm glad I crashed the wedding") that leaves a sour taste in the mouth. "Don't waste time being mad at me for taking her away, anyway she didn’t want to stay" - the Busted boys have no apologies and no regrets over what they've done, and while I'm, not going to climb into the saddle of my high horse over the dubious morality of it all, I will say that I find their cartoon metal at odds with more 'adult', grown up theme of the song. It's the classic wanting their cake and eating scenario and it rings a little hollow, but if they don't manage to get the best of both worlds here they still get the best of one; I doubt the average fan is going to play too much attention to the words while they're jumping around to the moshpit Monkees thrash, and 'Crashed The Wedding' is a very good song to jump around to. So no real damage done. It's just that I think they're a band who work best when they're singing about getting dumped by girls at discos. That's all.

2003 Kylie Minogue: Slow

In which Kylie's rejuvenation into classy pop diva continues apace, albeit with a change of gear - whereas previous post Stock, Aitken & Waterman entries 'Can't Get You Out Of My Head' and 'Spinning Around' did enough heavy lifting by themselves to allow Kylie the luxury of only having to turn up to front them, 'Slow' requires far more input from a vocalist than personality alone to make it work. A sensuous ooze of honey from a spoon, 'Slow' is pre-packed with the spaced out electronica hallmarks of Icelandic co-author Emilíana Torrini's own chilled indie output. And therein lies the problem; while I can imagine the Lolita-like sibilance of Torrini's wide eyed innocence taking 'Slow' to the races, 'erotic' isn't a mode that comes naturally to Kylie herself. And lacking any quirk of her own, she tries to compensate and warm 'Slow' up by consciously lowering her register and thickening her tones (either at the source or via some judicious studio trickery) until her voice morphs into something that doesn't sound much like Kylie anymore. Whilst that doesn't necessarily sabotage the end result, it does make for one akin to Mantovani conducting Wagner - no matter how competent the performance, it's a forced mismatch that serves as a distraction by adding an edge of artificiality that stifles the soft core sensuality it sets out to be generate; I can picture a comic scenario of an intense session of lovemaking being interrupted by one of the participants pausing to query "That's not Kylie, is it?". True it's done her career no harm, but as a song too mannered and unspontaneous to ring truly true, it's more of a sideways step than a forward one.

2003 Fatman Scoop: Be Faithful

I'm not a huge fan of comedy rap. Not because I'm a genre purist or anything, but because...well, because it tends to lend itself to humour the way mother's in law do - i.e. in a rather obvious, lowest common denominator kind of way that more often than not isn't funny. Which might be a disingenuous way of starting this review because I'm not sure that 'Be Faithful' is a comedy rap record. It just sounds like it is. Or a novelty one at least - 'Be Faithful' itself is a tune so sample heavy that I struggle to find anything that pertains solely to the Fatman's own contribution, which makes that title kind of apt. Or ironic. Faith Evans, Queen Pen, The Beatnuts, 50 Cent, Jay Z, Black Sheep - all are liberally sampled to greater or lesser degree, and while I recognise that hip hop has always been about the samples, here they're thrown together in a hamfisted way that makes 'Be Faithful' a clumsily stitched together conglomerate that's akin to one of Dr Frankenstein's more murderous creations. Fatman Scoop (aka all round radio personality Isaac Freeman) bellows out his stuff over the top of it with the excitement of someone who suddenly finds they can defecate Krugerrands, but his "if you've got long hair put your hands up" call and response antics aren't infectious. Not to me anyway. 'Be Faithful' is loud and boisterous for sure, but then so are the drunks who walk past my window on their way home from the pub every night. And even though they might be having a good time amongst themselves, for my own part I just wish they'd shut the fuck up. Which, in a crude nutshell, is how I feel about Mr Scoop. Be off with you man.

2003 Sugababes: Hole In The Head

Since their first appearance on these pages, I've come to look forward to seeing anything by Sugababes at number one. Upbeat sparks of wired pop to a single, 'Hole In The Head' continues the trend but in place of the resistance laden circuits of old, the current on this takes a more direct route from A to B in setting out the girls' 'fuck you' message to an ex. "But late at night when I'm feeling blue, I'd sell my ass before I think of you" - there's precious little sugar about any of this; it's an 'I Will Survive' with a V sign in place of Gaynor's lengthy explanation and delivered with an icy detachment that's clear a reconciliation will never be on the cards. Unapologetically dismissive, 'Hole In The Head' carries a demeanour that sharpens the edges of what could otherwise have been 'Round Round' lite until it draws blood in its passing (the cold "Erased your number from my telephone" adds a particular latter day sting - presumably it was taking up too much memory). "Seven hours, what you calling for? A bunch of flowers and I slam the door. You're in my face, sorry what's your name? Takes more than begging to reverse my brain" - pity Keisha wasn't there to spit her controlled explosions of danceable attitude in the face of the Take That lads when they came back knocking on 'Babe'. It might have derailed the whole boy band bandwagon before it started properly rolling.

2003 The Black Eyed Peas: Where Is The Love?

Starting out as a hardcore hip-hop act with attitude, what Black Eyed Peas gained in critical acclaim they lost in commercial appeal. By 2003 (and the introduction of female rapper Fergie), the band had moved to softened their hard edge with a glossy pop patina and 'Where Is The Love?' was the first public announcement of their new chart friendly style. And yet while there's no doubt that 'Where Is The Love?' does aim for an audience who might otherwise be turned off by hip hop (listen to its chorus back to back with that of Natalie Imbruglia's 'Torn' for a clear point of reference as to how close to the mainstream this sails), little compromise has been made with the theme and lyrics that hit hard enough ("But we still got terrorists here living in the USA, the big CIA the Bloods and The Crips and the KKK") to deliver a level of intelligent anger that puts me in mind of The Disposable Heroes of Hip Hoprisy or a Gil Scott Heron. Or perhaps it would be truer to see it as a hip hop update of 'What's Going On?'. "Mother, mother, there's too many of you crying. Brother, brother, brother, there's far too many of you dying You know we've got to find a way to bring some lovin' here today": Gaye wrapped up his social commentary in a bittersweet floating tenor and resigned tone that emphasised disillusionment with a power greater than if he shouted it in your face. In a similar way, Fergie's vocal on the chorus sweetens the pill of "If love and peace is so strong, why are there pieces of love that don't belong? Nations droppin' bombs, chemical gasses filling lungs of little ones, with ongoing suffering as the youth die young" sufficiently to catch the ear of the casual listener but not in a way that dilutes or dominates the still blunt as a heartbeat rhythm, meaning the credibility of 'Where Is The Love?' is not sacrificed for the sake of commerciality. Out of all the songs of this decade, 'Where Is The Love?' will be one that endures.

2003 Elton John: Are You Ready for Love

In a release that echoes Junkie XL's 2002 mix of 'A Little Less Conversation', 'Are You Ready for Love' is a remix (by Brit DJ/producer Ashley Beedle) of an obscure(ish) Elton John song, originally recorded in 1977 but not released in the UK until 1979 as part of Elton's 'Thom Bell Sessions' EP. Bell, of course, was a major player in the seventies 'Philly soul' scene, and 'Are You Ready for Love' saw John decamping to Philadelphia and dabbling in the Philly soul sound and working with its main architects Thom and LeRoy Bell and the MFSB.*

By all accounts the sessions did not go well, and on the basis of the end recordings I can imagine the frustrations of those involved; Philly soul was about more than just the music, it needed a voice too and this is where the project scuppers itself. Although it's a Bell original, Elton can't invest 'Are You Ready for Love' with the same light glide as a Teddy Pendergrass or a Russell Thompkins - Pinner is not Philadelphia after all, and despite the best efforts of the music, the end result could be n.e.other contemporaneous Elton John song (John has already covered much the same ground on his own 'Philadelphia Freedom' in 1975). Elton is game enough but his vocal is forever looking for the secure story in song handholds that Bell's haiku-like lyric doesn't offer and, lacking the soulful chops to stretch and breeze over Bell's melody, he bogs down its smooth, late night skim and production with a sandpaper friction, a contrast made all the more stark by the addition of backing vocals from The Spinners who only serve to highlight just how far Elton is falling short.

Because unlike the re-working of 'A Little Less Conversation' (which would have suited Elton's delivery here), Beedle's 2003 remix doesn't tinker with or update the base product in any significant way. Rather, Beedle polishes and buffs the original tracks like George Lucas tinkering with his Star Wars films, creating an end product that's different but the same. But whilst Lucas and his changes got the faithful raging, Beedle's mix barely generates a shoulder shrug - apart from a noticeable toning down of those backing vocals to place more of an emphasis on Elton's lead, you'd need the ears of a dog to be able to tell the two versions apart. So why the sudden interest? Well it's use on a Sky Sports television advert for football no doubt played no small role in its re-surfacing, but 'remix' notwithstanding, 'Are You Ready for Love' remains more of an indulgent fanboy pastiche than faithful homage. I'll stick with my Delfonics albums thanks.


* Like Los Angeles' famous 'Wrecking Crew', MFSB were a pool of crack studio musicians based at Philadelphia’s Sigma Sound Studios

2003 Blu Cantrell featuring Sean Paul: Breathe

Another entry in the ever growing urban/R&B canon (this time from Puff Daddy and Faith Evans' former backing singer), 'Breathe' lifts itself above the genre herd via a gallic flavoured, two-step sampled backbeat from Charles Aznavour's 'Parce Que Tu Crois' and Sean Paul barging in with some sunbaked dancehall toasting (Paul doesn't appear on Cantrell's original album version and it's all the more ordinary for it). Together, they add the spice of unpredictability that frees Cantrell's vocal from the rigours of the usual R&B grind and lets her airy "We need to let it breathe" add a layer of whist to a tune that still aims squarely at groin level. Which I guess would be enough to get Charles himself nodding along in approval. Perhaps. But whatever, 'Breathe' deserves more of your time than most genre recordings.

2003 Daniel Bedingfield: Never Gonna Leave Your Side'

Third number one from Bedingfield, 'Never Gonna Leave Your Side' picks up from more or less where 'If You're Not the One' left off, though in terms of quality it's most definitely less. Another step away again from the garage dance of 'Gotta Get Thru This' , 'Never Gonna Leave Your Side' is a wobbling jenga tower of a meandering melody line populated with badly rhymed, "I feel like a knight without a sword, a sky without the sun, cause you are the one" bad metaphor that compliment in a way suggestive of Dan sitting down at his piano and making the whole thing up on the hoof. Maybe he did, maybe he didn't - whatever, 'Never Gonna Leave Your Side' plays itself out like a dribbling guide lyric, rough cut demo waiting to be fleshed out and finished off (try as I might, I can't work out from the "There are no words that could describe how I miss you" and "And I'm never gonna leave your side, again, still holding on, girl, I won't let you go" contradiction as to where exactly the "girl" herself stands in all this - has she gone or what?). Unfortunately, those finishing touches are never applied and so to paper over the cracks between the joints, Bedingfield puts his keening simper into overdrive in an attempt to convince that we're dealing with Greek tragedy here. But, of course, we're not - "They tell me that a man can lose his mind living in the pain, recalling times gone by, I'm crying in the rain"; Dan and his song are wetter than a Wednesday washday, and the only tragedy here is that so many people were happy to be taken in by his asinine guff.

2003 Beyonce: Crazy In Love

Well here's something that doesn't hang around - the debut solo single from Beyonce Knowles roars out of the traps on the back of a blaring live horn sample courtesy of The Chi-Lites' "Are You My Woman (Tell Me So)' and barely lets up for its duration. In fact, its exuberance is such that Knowles doesn't need to open her mouth until a good thirty seconds in, and even then her "Are you ready?" come on heralds a (relatively) subdued vocal that's more soul than sass in recounting her in-thrall desires for her new man. "When you leave I'm begging you not to go, call your name two or three times in a row" - how this hostage to hormones squares with her previous 'Independent Women' stance I'll leave for others to consider; suffice it to say that what it lacks in originality, 'Crazy In Love' makes up for with an invigorating smash of old school crunch, whipsmart hip hop bounce (helped enormously by future hubby Jay Z dropping by) and a knowingly reserved vocal from Beyonce that floats above the mix like steam over boiling water. Excellent, frankly.

2003 Evanescence: Bring Me To Life

I'd like to think that in my time I was a fairly average teenager. After all, I went through the whole 'no one understands me' existential angst of black bedroom walls and tortured poetry of despair dedicated to unspeakably pretty girls who never so much as cast a glance in my direction. So yes, pretty average I reckon. And the pretentious horror of those years still resonate so vividly I can pretty much summon up the person I was back then and confidently say I would have loved Evanescence and 'Bring Me To Life'. As a mid-eighties teen, the self indulgent wallow I outline above was played out to a soundtrack forged in a Gothic indieland where the earthreality of the Cocteau Twins and Dead Can Dance met the hardcore guitar chestpoke of The Sisters Of Mercy and X-Mal Deutschland in a head on smash of black sparks and warm, sunny days spent indoors. Yes, you would have loved to have met me as a 14 year old.

It's from once being such a genre fan that, on the basis of 'Bring Me To Life', I'd place Evanescence at the heart of a Venn diagram where the most obviously commercial trademarks of the above (and other similar) acts intersect to offer elements of influence that provide the necessary hand holds that allow them to distil these four minutes of "save me from the nothing I’ve become" Goth metal despair, sweetened into a hit by the siren wail of alt girl pin-up Amy Lee and roughed up by the less than sweet "Wake me up" barked commands from Paul McCoy and the band's neo-death metal thrash. It's all here - the doom, the gloom and the none more black, but by opting to bite off only the most easily digestible portions from their source material into designer Goth predictability, Evanescence ignore the more 'difficult' components that made those influences interesting - this is deliberately more Stephenie Meyer than Bram Stoker.

That's not a point of criticism per se (even Stoker could be said to have commercialised vampirism), yet in flattening the jags until they're more Danni Minogue than Dani Filth, 'Bring Me To Life' crystallises into an impenetrable hard ball of deathly seriousness with no heart. There's no warmth here either, no coldness, no mystery and none of the atmosphere usually associated with the genre. 'Bring Me To Life' is a flat, reflecting surface that requires nothing off the listener save their own 'misunderstoodness' and in turn offers nothing back to fall into save a stage school "don't let me die here, there must be something more, bring me to life" drama that's as hokey as Meat Loaf and as studiously forced as all those awful poems I used to write. Which I guess is a roundabout way of saying that this is a young man's game that I'm too cynical and jaded to fall for anymore. Which, on a personal level, is far more tragic than anything 'Bring Me To Life' has to offer.

2003 R Kelly: Ignition (Remix)

The self styled 'King of R&B', to date Kelly has enjoyed over a decade of success as writer, performer and producer of a succession of songs that, by and large, have rarely made any impression on me other than indifference. That's a dismissive statement I know, but while I can't say that I'm a huge fan of too much modern R&B in the round in any case, Kelly's own brand of braggadocio is not something I care for in any quantity. But in saying that, I am fond of 'Ignition (Remix). Why? Well its simplicity for one, along with a call-back to 'proper' R&B as I understand it to mean. Because despite that 'Remix' suffix suggesting another plateful of over indulgent fussiness, 'Ignition' has looseness of a rough demo, and its inherent good cheer generates a carefree summer shimmer that always puts me in mind of Otis Redding's '(Sittin' On) The Dock Of The Bay' in its couldn't care less hedonism for hedonism's sake, even if Kelly has more on his mind than just watching some ships sailing by.

"I'm like so what I'm drunk, it's the freakin weekend baby I'm about to have me some fun"). Fun, yes - 'Ignition' plays out like the soundtrack to the ideal summer that only exists in hindsight (or perhaps the sort of summer we all wish the next one is going to be). Yet though its celebration carries a cocksure, living it large overtone, it's impossible to begrudge Kelly - or anyone else in his shoes - for enjoying themselves in the here and now. And to that end it's helped enormously by a just woken up vocal of gritty laziness and a skipping lyric stuffed full of more sexual innuendo than a bad metal track ("I'm about to take my key and stick it in the ignition"). All of which makes for a song that's rare for modern R&B; 'Ignition' is not something that takes itself seriously, and because it invites everyone in to play, I'm more than happy to be carried along.

2003 Tomcraft: Loneliness

I have to confess, I'm always slightly uneasy when presented with any one-off dance/house type single. Not only am I not, by any means, an expert on the genre, I in any case very often feel like I'm being asked to comment on a solitary piece of a jigsaw puzzle. Depending on the size of the piece I'm given or the depth of detail on it then I might be able to say something about a notable line, a prominent feature or a striking colour combination, but in order to fully appreciate it in the round I'd have to see how the part fits into the whole. If you see what I mean. In the same way, I think House singles too can be difficult to take in isolation. As part of a three hour DJ set then any particular tune can act as a key bridge or link to bring the crowd to the boil or to cool them back down with an effect that lessens when the piece is considered on its own. Agreed, a lot of this stuff can be taken and enjoyed on their own merits, but I'm always conscious that context can be everything.

Take 'Loneliness' for example. By itself I can say it's a House track driven by a space filling, ominous trance throb and female vocal of wide eyed paranoia ("Happiness seems to be loneliness") that burrows further and further under the skin with its repetition, of which there are many. I'm guessing that this would be description enough for many to decide if it's worth the wear or not; after all, House music is not for everybody. But is this being fair I wonder? For my own part, I can take 'Loneliness' as a stand alone track at a pinch, but it's crying out to be bookended by tracks complimentary to give it purpose and context the way an arm needs a hand and a shoulder to do the same. If you see what I mean. Again.*


* Interestingly, 'Loneliness' appears on 'Now That's What I Call Music Volume 55' where the compilers have wisely lumped it in between fellow dance tracks 'Husan' (Bhangra Knights vs Husan) and 'Hot In Here' (Tiga featuring Jake Shears). The join is ragged but bearable, more chicken wing than dovetail, but try listening to it in-between other tracks on the compilation like Ronan Keating's 'The Long Goodbye' and Coldplay's 'God Put A Smile On Your Face' - it feels like driving a car from smooth road and suddenly onto a mile long cattle grid that you didn't see coming. As I said, context is everything.

2003 Busted: You Said No

Another all male British band with a difference; Busted combine the boyband ethos and image in the classic power trio format and 'You Said No' is a punky, pop blast of pre-teen angst concerning the age old dismay of asking a girl to dance and getting turned down. "The whole world was watching and laughing, on the day that I crashed and burned at your feet" - well we've all been there, but despite the emo guitar punch, the Busted boys don't furrow their brows or break out the suicide pills* but instead take it on the chin like true Brits with the closing "I know I've got something BETTER than you baby" fuck you resilience that youth should display. And that, along with the promotional video that's all stunt bikes and spiked hair, kind of sums up 'You Said No' for me; a song of youth aimed specifically at the young that makes no bones about it and is all the better for it.

* Or, even worse, start listening to Korn.

2003 Room 5 featuring Oliver Cheatham: Make Luv

Well that artist credit is a bit misleading for a start - 'Make Luv' is a Disco House remix of Oliver Cheatham's 1983 funk soul tune 'Get Down Saturday Night', though the shake up is not major and Cheatham's song is clearly visible through the thin plaster of Room 5's (aka Belgian producer Junior Jack) remix to the extent that he should take lead rather than a supporting role. 'Make Luv' merely loosens the struts of Cheatham's original load to thin out its groove which, with the added aeroplane 'whooosh' samples make its backing track a deadringer for Spiller's 'Groovejet'. Quaint and retro it might be, but 'Make Luv' is a busy tune trying to catch a train that left the platform some years hence.

2003 Gareth Gates featuring The Kumars: Spirit In The Sky

Fourth number one for Gates and with a single making its third appearance; since it's 1970 debut, Norman Greenbaum's song has proved remarkably resilient. In fact, every cover version that's ever charted in the UK has reached number one, which is a record of it's own I guess. If you're not familiar, then you can get the gist of what it's all about from the original Greenbaum and 1986 cover by Dr & The Medics entries. What you won't get from them though is what that 'featuring The Kumars is all about'. For those not in the know, The Kumars at No. 42 was a BBC comedy show about a fictional British Indian family who ran a fake television studio. Which I guess now gives enough of a clue to work out that this is 2003's 'offical' 'Comic Relief' single. They come round quickly don't they?

Both previous versions were based around a folk rock singalong, but Gates delivers a pure pop version that all but obliterates Greenbaum's signature guitar riff under a rolling cartoon bounce that, along with Gate's own performance, regards the song as a source of comedy gold when it's clearly anything but. And to help offset a message steeped in religion and faith, The Kumars supply their own brand of humour, but this only amounts to the occasional reaction/interjection from Hindu's to the "got to have a friend in Jesus" line which, as this is Comic Relief, is mild to the point of comedy with a small 'c' in 4 point font white text on a white background. And being so incidental, it begs the question as to why it's even there at all - Boyzone and Westlife didn't need a sitcom troupe to bolster their Comic Relief efforts did they? Yes it's for charity, but like organising a sponsored seal club on behalf of Save The Children, it leaves me with a strong feeling of distaste at its misjudged disrespectfulnes; sometimes the means can never justify the ends.

2003 Christina Aguilera: Beautiful

After the overt sexuality of 'Dirrty', Aguilera's latest is a change of clothes into power ballad land with a song that highlights issues of self belief and the importance of inner beauty. "Now and then I get insecure from all the pain, I'm so ashamed. I am beautiful no matter what they say" - I've no complaints about the sentiment, but I do question the execution; fresh from writhing around in her undies with a gaggle of male strippers in 'Dirrty', Aguilera tackling this seems as incongruous as Bill Gates singing 'If I Were A Rich Man' with a tone any other than ironic.

Because let's face it, the world knows that Gates is a rich man, so him playing it straight would be farce. In the same way, Aguilera is beautiful (or at least she conforms to a Twenty First Century Western ideal of what it means to be beautiful for many) and so her delivery of "I am beautiful no matter what they say" could easily be taken as an acknowledging boast instead of the (meant for) life affirming statement of self belief. Fair enough, Aguilera doesn't play it that way, and I dare say she hurts the same as everyone else when the lights go out, but the persona she's created doesn't project a credible picture of someone with problems of self image, and because of that it robs the song of much of its power.*

I'm guessing that Christina herself recognises as much and so to try and wipe clean the dirrty and gain the necessary emotional traction to make this believable she slips into a low soul gear to compensate. Unfortunately, 'low soul' for Aguilera involves a lot of "woooh"s, a lot of "woaah"s and a croaky groan suggestive of sticky toffee being prised off a floorboard. This too all to a soft rock arrangement courtesy of writer/producer Linda Perry who labours under the belief she's still working with 4 Non Blondes instead of 1 supposedly shy and insecure one and it whips up a no room to breathe quiet storm in an empty room that's more blowhard burlesque than her turn on 'Lady Marmalade'. In short, it doesn't convince; the strength of the song beneath carries a lot of the weight by itself, meaning this is no disaster. But like a benefit scrounger effecting a limp, Aguilera's performance rings with a hollow falseness that's all too overegged to be a truly palatable pudding.


* What also robs the song of its power is a misjudged promotional video featuring a perfectly made up Aguilera pouting into the camera, intercut with images of an 'Ugly Betty' schoolgirl getting the shit kicked out of her over the lines "words can't bring you down". Words can't, but a good beating will ruin anyone's day.

2003 t.A.T.u.: All The Things She Said

Though Mary Hopkin had taken a Russian folk tune to number one in 1968 with 'Those Were The Days', female duo t.A.T.u. mark the first time a Russian act proper have appeared on these pages. Whilst it's always nice to note the charts are still capable of producing 'firsts', the Russian-ness wasn't the novelty or hook that helped sell this - rather, it was that old chestnut 'sex'. Although Yulia Volkova and Lena Katina were 17 and 18 years old respectively in 2003, for 'All The Things She Said' producer/manager Ivan Shapovalov kitted them out as jailbait schoolgirls, marketed them as real life lesbians and directed an angsty and grimy promotional video that had them kissing in the rain behind a wire fence while a voyeuristic crowd looks on. As a piece, it made Britney Spears' schoolgirl turn in '...Baby One More Time' look positively cartoon-like, and the resultant media outrage was as predictably hysterical as it was cynically generated. But now that that little cloud of dust has settled, what's left? Fortunately, plenty.

Produced by pop veteran Trevor Horn, 'All The Things She Said' is invested with all the rolling thunder and gutsy swagger of an in their prime Frankie Goes To Hollywood; Horn can always be trusted to 'big up' a tune and his influence here is palpable, not least on the breathless rush of chorus where the girls tumble over each in the excitement of getting their lines out. Truth be told, neither has much of a voice, but then neither attempts to disguise it either and the amateur hour aura serves to give 'All The Things She Said' a primal rawness (check out Lena's strained howls of desire on the recurring "This. Is. Not. Enough") that, despite their 'underground' posturing, you don't get from Girls Aloud.

And ultimately, that's exactly what appeals to me most about all this - its complete lack of polish and finesse; for all the careful marketing and sexual product placement 'All The Things She Said' is Europop from the Eurogutter, an untarted rough and ready blast of 'want a better world' teenage angst compiled by components ripped blindly from a box of electronica and then lobbed into the charts with all sparking wires still dangling loose. The lesbian sideshow is merely a distraction for those easily distracted by that kind of thing - 'All The Things She Said' has excitement and energy enough to run its own race without any props.

2003 David Sneddon: Stop Living The Lie

Not to be outdone by Independent Television's success with talent shows such as Popstars and the like, the BBC launched it's own 2002 talent show 'Fame Academy'. The 'crucial' difference this time was a 'reality TV' element that had the contestant's daily lives under constant filmed scrutiny as they went about their musical 'education'. Sneddon won the first series, signed a £1,000,000 deal with Mercury for his troubles and the self written 'Stop Living The Lie', was his first single.

Being the sensitive singer/songwriter type, Sneddon's song is a fey, 'Streets Of London' type "all the lonely people" observation of a man and woman who are more than just a bit glum (he's "Drowning his tears" while she "died long ago deep down inside") but who 'save' each other through love via a chance meeting. A simple enough concept I suppose but one that congeals into stodge through Sneddon's studiously overwritten lyric ("She stands alone in a place where no one knows her name, she catches them staring they turn around and vanish the frame") and torturous, shoe-horned rhymes ("He sits alone at a table in a small cafe, drowning his tears in a bottomless cup of coffee") that turn a blind eye to sympathetic character development and instead hack out its sombre worthiness with the subtlety of a mallet blow to the bluntest of chisels.

And to what end? Sneddon says "We all have a saviour, so do yourself a favour. Stop living the lie", but what 'lie' is he referring to? That, following Aristophanes's Speech from Plato's 'Symposium', each individual is only half of what they are meant to be without a partner and so we should wake up to the fact that in living alone we're all dead "deep down inside" maybe? Maybe, but sorry Dave, I didn't come here to be lectured and patronised, and as the gulf between myself and those that obviously did is too wide for me to bridge I'll finish by saying it's disheartening that the best any 'Fame Academy' can produce is a milksop who makes Clifford T Ward sound like Henry Rollins. This is not one of my favourite number ones, it has to be said.