2005 Shayne Ward: That's My Goal

With the finals of TV's 'X Factor' screened each November, by 2005 it had become a hellish tradition that the winner would be 'rewarded' with the previously fiercely contested Christmas number one - Shayne Ward won, Shyane Ward got the prize. Not only that, Ward's debut became the third fastest selling single in the UK. Ever. Which must mean that the 'X Factor' is strong with this one? Well on the evidence of this, then as long as you consider mid period (i.e. not vintage) Elton John as the benchmark for quality then you're in luck; 'That's My Goal' is exactly the kind of vacuous, piano led ballad that John would have taken to number 17 at any point in his career post 1982. Which doesn't make 'That's My Goal' a 'bad' thing, just one that's a tad dull; That's My Goal' is hack work through and through ("Please don't go, you know that I need you. I can't breathe without you, live without you") with a lyric that Ward's own phoned-in brand of doe eyed sincerity barely lifts above parody. "So when I say I love you, I'll mean it forever and ever, ever and ever" - 'That's My Goal' is as perfectly functional and solidly purpose built as a multi- storey car park. Unfortunately, it's got the same amount of personality too.

2005 Nizlopi: JCB

"I'm Luke I'm 5 and my dad's Bruce Lee, drives me around in his JCB" - and that's a line that just about sums up Nizlopi's song; a first person childhood reminisce of a boy riding with his father in his JCB. Whether that's an actual memory of writer Luke Concannon or purely a work of fiction matters not - 'JCB' has a folksy charm and innocence enough to make its source material irrelevant. I was briefly tempted to brand it the number one Jonathan Richman never had, but on reflection that would be doing both 'JCB' and Mr Richman a disservice I think; 'JCB' is too controlled, too plotted and too carefully written to equate to most of Richman's looser, almost spontaneous output that frequently border too close to twee for comfort. It's that same level of control and writing that keeps 'JCB' away from the trite and the childish with lines like "And we're like giants up here in our big yellow digger, like zoids or transformers or maybe even bigger. I wanna transform into a Tyrannosaurus Rex, and eat up all the bullies and the teachers and their pets. And I'll tell all my mates my dad's B.A.Baracus, only with a JCB, and Bruce Lee's nunchuckers" taking it into the realms of the best of Dahl, Disney, Postgate or Pixar; that is, a work ostensibly for children that carries far beyond it's obvious target audience to resonate with older minds. Like mine. Which finds this an absolute delight. The fact the name of the band is the name of a Hungarian girl Concannon had a crush on in school just makes it resonate all the harder.

2005 Pussycat Dolls: Stickwitu

Oh dear. After the sassy strut of 'Don't Cha', the Dolls go all ickle wickle and profess their undying love, devotion and emotional dependence on their men in a Disney Club ballad that's conservative to the core and drips its goo with all the charm of drool dribbling from a sleeping tramp's mouth. And that's no charm at all. I'll tell you something for nothing though ladies, if any of you were my girlfriend and u wanted 2 stickwitme then u wouldn't be going out dressed like that.

2005 Madonna: Hung Up

It's with a wry smile that I remember the 1989 version of me debating Madonna with a work colleague just before the 'Like A Prayer' album was released. As far as he was concerned, Madonna was a short-term concern with a shelf life that was about to expire. For my own part, I countered with the view that I thought she had a few years left in her yet. In the event, we were both wide of the mark (though him more than me, HA!), because even though I was prepared to cut her some slack (a few years indeed!), I would never have predicted she'd be still having number ones over 15 years later.

Should we be surprised? Frankly, yes - after all, there's no precedent here; pop acts do have a limited shelf life before they're replaced and there was nothing in Madonna's presentation back then to suggest she'd be anything different. Of course, she'd already re-invented herself enough times by 1989 to show that she was savvy enough to not stay still, but even so, female singers with longevity tend to be cut from a more sophisticated cloth than a crop top and 'Boy Toy' belt buckle and one that improves and gains gravitas with age; it's easy enough to picture punters paying top dollar to see a Shirley Bassey belting out 'Goldfinger' for as long as she was capable, but I could never quite picture anyone wanting to see a Madonna of the same age creaking out 'Like A Virgin'. Who would?

The closest point of reference we have is the benchmark set by the ever reliable Rolling Stones, but even they don’t provide a precedent that does her justice; Jagger and co haven’t had a number one since 1969. And though they do release new albums on a semi-regular basis, as a catalyst for another world tour they’re met with little more than a respectful interest; nobody expects another 'Exile On Main Street' and nobody is too disappointed when one duly fails to arrive. Madonna doesn't get such an easy ride; each new album is trailed with expectation, if just to see what she's going to do next, and there's palpable disappointment whenever it fails to meet the expected mark.

In 2005, her forthcoming ‘Confessions Of A Dancefloor’ album was seen as another 'comeback' of sorts after the perceived disaster of her 2003 'American Life' album and so was waited for with baited breath. What exactly were people expecting I wonder? What do they still expect (at the time of writing, her 'MDNA' album was generating similar column inches)? I honestly don't know. I don't think Madonna does either - lest we forget, this pop star at 46 malarkey is new ground for her too and Madonna's position is a struggle that can be summed up by 'Hung Up's promotional video.

In it, Madonna pitches up at a dance studio with a leotard and ghetto blaster (a la 'Call On Me's infamous promo film), and then performs an energetic, quasi erotic aerobics workout to her own song…. while still wearing high heels, full make-up and a straight from the hairdresser's chair blow dry. And there you have it, the dual desire for youthful pop relevance countered by an urge for class, sophistication and a nagging sense that she should be growing old more gracefully; there's no doubt about it, Madonna wants it both ways and, in striving for both, she frequently winds up pulling herself in two. With unsatisfactory results.

As far as 'Hung Up' goes though, by retreating back to her natural territory of the dancefloor with a back to basics circling of the wagons to show the world she hasn't lost her dance chops, Madonna plays it safe. And as far as that goes, it’s a success. As clean and precise as a metronome, ‘Hung Up’ derives its glitzy roll from a keyboard riff sampled from Abba's 'Gimmie Gimmie Gimmie' which adds a sparking fulcrum for Madonna to skip around like the eighties club singer she wishes she still was. Nostalgia of a kind then, but it's not all plain sailing - that sample dominates to the point of it becoming a gimmicky crutch rather than a conduit, for innovation, and for anyone over-familiar (like me) with the Abba original, then ‘Hung Up’ is tainted with a sheen of Europop tackiness that takes off whatever gloss Madonna adds. And whatever I myself expect from Madonna, it’s always something more than a borrowed song.

2005 Westlife: You Raise Me Up

"You raise me up, so I can stand on mountains, you raise me up, to walk on stormy seas. I am strong, when I am on your shoulders, you raise me up... to more than I can be"; less a song and more a corporate motivational tape delivered as mantra and overlaid with a religious fervour, 'You Raise Me Up' is not a 'pop' song by any definition other than that of it being 'popular'. Sure there's a tune that's hummable (based as it on a traditional Irish folk song), but to experience it is like sitting through a self help class delivered by a clutch of trendy vicars doling out enlightenment with one hand while collecting payment for services rendered with the other. Because with its secular/humanist, humanist/secular lyric of thanks to a lover/friend/parent/deity,'You Raise Me Up' is money in the bank for Westlife delivered over five minutes of solemnity that virtually dares you to question its integrity. So is there any point in my doing so? Not really - fans of this kind of thing will be immune to my brickbats and, as Westlife are doing nobody any harm here, throwing them in the first place would leave me with the same cheap and grubby feeling I'd get if I'd been caught haranguing little old ladies with a Richard Dawkins rant as they leave church on a Sunday evening; there are more deserving things to hate after all. So suffice it to say 'You Raise Me Up' does not speak to me on any level save one that kick-starts a subliminal voice deep in my head that whispers 'For God's sake turn it off' into my ear. And though I don't tend to respond well to being told what to do, on this occasion I'm happy to oblige.

2005 Arctic Monkeys: I Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor

I'm getting a sense of deja vu here; just like Oasis in the nineties, Arctic Monkeys seemed to drop fully formed from a mould fired by a readymade fanbase built word of mouth and live performances with the corresponding white heat of media hype and critical expectation fanning the bellows. Just like Oasis, I'd heard of Arctic Monkeys before I'd actually heard anything by them. And then just like my initial reaction to 'Supersonic' (Oasis' debut single), hearing 'I Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor' for the first time left me bemused with an overriding sense of disappointment; just what was all the fuss about? In Oasis' case, their times benefited them and their crash glam wallop came as, if not exactly a breath of fresh air, at least an offering of recycled coolness and last gang in town identity that added a welcome freshness and bite in a chart awash with aimless, faceless dance acts and no guitar europop. Arctic Monkeys had no such helping hand; the mid 2000's had any number of indie rock acts with a whinge or a shout out for everyone. Most are now buried in nameless graves over in the indie graveyard.

But then again, the band can hardly be responsible for other the weight of other people's expectations, and it's clear from its opening chords that 'I Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor' will itself be making no concession to the contemporary; on its own, the lyric namechecks 1984 electropop and Duran Duran hits from before chief Monkey and songwriter Alex Turner was even born ("I said, I bet that you look good on the dancefloor, dancing to electro-pop like a robot from 1984"). It's all metaphor of course, a twisted 'Teenage Kicks' of Turner imagining the cold and disinterested girl who's winding him up ("I wish you'd stop ignoring me, because it's sending me to despair") looking good dancing to cold, disinterested music is a put down of sorts.

But to look at it another way (whilst wearing my post-modern hat of pretension), it could also be reference to the dystopian, no love future ("Oh, there ain't no love, no Montagues or Capulets are just banging tunes and DJ sets and dirty dancefloors, and dreams of naughtiness!") Orwell predicted in 'Nineteen Eighty Four', giving reassurance that if this girl doesn't like him then who cares? She's not going to be liking anybody. Is that pushing it too far? Maybe, maybe not - hindsight has revealed Turner to be a songwriter of no small talent, and subtext is a sign of strength for any lyricist. Regardless of the 1984 references though, this is no La Roux or Ladytron style new romantic revival; in tone, 'I Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor's wendy house garage harks back further again to the jerky guitar shuffles of late seventies/early eighties post punk Postcard or Fast Records acts, albeit with added muscle and purpose that's as rock and roll as Turner's quiff but with an earthy, do it yourself charm that's almost skiffle.

And that's kind of my problem with all this; although Turner doesn't outright rape his influences the way Oasis did, 'I Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor' still flashes with the magpie approach of a songwriter trying on other people's glass slippers for size. Orange Juice, Josef K, The Pop Group, The Mekons...even Bogshed (listen to this back to back with 'Fat Lad Exam Failure') they're all here in a who's who of classic indie pick and mix that renders 'I Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor' prime C86 material updated to C2005. Crucially though, it's not updated by enough to pull it free the gravity field of its obvious influences or for it to lose its hesitant stutter born of an artist yet to find his own voice. A good debut rather than a great one.

2005 Sugababes: Push The Button

I've taken no small pleasure in the jerky, off the wall-ness of Sugababes singles to date, it's been a trademark of unpredictability that's set them apart from the legions of boy/girl bands they jockey for attention with. Cause for concern then when that unpredictability is replaced by a straight pop edge that's almost conservative in comparison? Not really; deceptively simple in its refrigerator hum and toy gun spark, 'Push The Button' finds its groove early then rides it like a rail to the end - you need to be sure of your moves to dance to this one. And though it might lack the angles of old, the low heat simmer of the climb to the implied raunch of the "If you're ready for me boy, you'd better push the button and let me know. Before I get the wrong idea and go, you're gonna miss the freak that I control"chorus is no less a delight. And rare for a genre always keen to push personality over content, the girls forever hover just below the radar and refuse to break cover, opting to keep the tension firmly bottled yet still managing to make that "boy" the best 'female in control' put down since Tanya Donnelly used it with a sneer on Belly's 'Feed The Tree'. Top stuff.

2005 Pussycat Dolls featuring Busta Rhymes: Don't Cha

Originally recorded by session singer Tori Alamaze the same year, Anglo American all girl band Pussycat Dolls do very little with her template save add a rap from Busta Rhymes. To be honest, it's neither needed nor wanted - your views on 'Don't Cha' are going to hinge on your reaction to the brassnecked chutzpah of the "Don't cha wish your girlfriend was hot/raw/fun/a freak like me?" chorus hook that's present in both versions and around which the whole song revolves. Alamaze takes it sultry and slutty, giving it an R&B sleaze tease but while the Dolls add a titanium pop backbone, they are necessarily forced to split it six ways until it becomes more of a competition between themselves than a tempting come on to whichever lucky lad they're singing it to. But no matter how hard Pussycat Dolls or Busta's flow stopping interruptions inadvertentltry to derail it, 'Don't Cha' is wired to the mains R&B pop with an attitude that's irresistible.

2005 Gorillaz featuring Shaun Ryder: DARE

Though they have a number one apiece, Gorillaz are a 'cartoon' band who've never been burdened with the baggage of bile that fixed itself to The Archies. Quite the opposite in fact, but then the comparison is not a level one; despite the cartoon similarities (and both acts had equally well developed back stories for each of the 'band member characters') nobody was ever left in any doubt as to who the people pulling the Gorillaz strings were (chiefly Blur's Damon Albarn and artist Jamie Hewlett ). Their names or faces might not have been on their covers, but for all the media hype and promotion surrounding them, they may as well have been. Would The Archies - either now or then - be regarded in a new light if it were revealed that its was actually Bob Dylan, John Lennon, Brian Wilson and Jim Morrison behind the drawings? Ah, I doubt it - The Archies (and 'Sugar Sugar') played it for pop fun, not critical kudos. And through never seeking the credibility edge that Gorillaz thrived on, there would have been little opportunity for any drops of that creative talent to seep through.

But apart from all the obvious, 'Sugar Sugar' and 'DARE' share a lot more DNA than they would care to admit. 'Sugar Sugar' might be less cryptic, but neither song has much to say for itself beyond a self generating, good time dance vibe. 'DARE' though is a hip hop/dance hybrid with a shuffling funk that fair drips with sweat. Only that sweat doesn't drip from its dance groove but from the tension of its own pretension and studious attempt to be so very 'now'. And if it's unfair to say that 'DARE' never breaks free of the straitjacket of its own conceit, it's certainty stymied by it (which is something that never bothered The Archies). 'DARE' sounds like a track that was born, gestated and worked up entirely in a studio following a pre-conceived remit with one eye on the zeitgeist; a fine approach if you're 10CC, not so in this field. Having Shaun Ryder guest is another careful tick in the credibility column, but his vocal only serves to remind of the Happy Monday's own loose fit, yet no less bone rattlingly inventive, take on the genre. In comparison, 'DARE' is as loose as a tourniquet with a 'beats in splints' rhythm that's too stiff for its own good with a constant repetition and lack of adventure that renders it something of a bore long before it finishes. Anything but DARING in fact.

2005 Oasis: The Importance Of Being Idle

I have to confess that I've been coming to almost every Oasis single to date with a very heavy heart; not so much because I'm always able to predict what I'm going to get or that I'm rarely disappointed in my prediction, but more because in being presented with more of the same, there are only so many ways I can express that disappointment. Which is why I'm pleased to report that 'The Importance Of Being Idle' does confound my expectations by providing me with something different. Not that different, but different enough; 'The Importance Of Being Idle' sees the band shifting away from the rock snarl of old (aided in no small part here by Noel handling lead vocal duties) to something altogether more - dare I say it - interesting. 'The Importance Of Being Idle' is very English rustic but with an urgent drive that belies Gallagher's laziness praising lyric ("But I don't mind, as long as there's a bed beneath the stars that shine, I'll be fine"). True to form, precedents are being followed here, but in crossing the kitchen sink music hall of The Kinks' 'Dead End Street' with the controlled, ramshackle charm of Small Faces' 'The Universal', 'The Importance Of Being Idle' manages to be derivative without acquiring the immoral taint of counterfeiting. Or plagiarism. But add it all up and you get one of the few (for me anyway) Oasis singles that rewards repeated plays.

2005 McFly: I'll Be Ok

Harder edged than previous, McFly's latest has the spiky bop of a crossover indie hit that almost beats Busted at their own game. Almost, but not quite; as fun as it is, 'I'll Be Ok' follows too many dead ends in its race for the prize, throwing too many spare themes and loose ideas into the pot when one really good one would have done. Maybe that's its origins showing through - 'I'll Be Ok' is an assemblage of the 'best bits' of two earlier McFly songs welded together in a musical cut and shut. But with the joins not sealed with due care, 'Ill Be Ok' fun is rendered fun without being overly memorable.

2005 James Blunt: You're Beautiful

Back on McFly's 'Obviously', I paused to muse over popular music's fondness for songs about the unobtainable female (or male, I guess, let's not be sexist). I suppose the classic example of this micro-genre would be Roy Orbison's 'Oh Pretty Woman' ("Pretty woman, walking down the street. Pretty woman, the kind I like to meet"). I didn't highlight it back then on purpose; I was saving it because I knew 'You're Beautiful' was coming up and I wanted to keep my powder dry. Because at heart 'You're Beautiful' is little more than a beefed down re-write of Orbison's song, albeit with differences enough to be able to point out why I hold the latter in such affection but have an opposing opinion of the former.

Like Roy, a random girl has caught James' eye and he'd like to get to know her better too, but let Blunt tell you himself: "I saw an angel. Of that I'm sure. She smiled at me on the subway. She was with another man. But I won't lose no sleep on that, because I've got a plan. You're beautiful, you're beautiful, you're beautiful, it's true. I saw your face in a crowded place, and I don't know what to do". And that's it - there's nothing cryptic or obscure about 'You're Beautiful' and Blunt wears his feelings on his sleeve in thick tubes of glowing neon. You know where you are with this one. Unlike Orbison though, there's no twist in the tale happy ending for Blunt who, at song end, accepts "it's time to face the truth, I will never be with you."

Presented that way then it's all so much harmless fluff and any sane reaction would be a shoulder shrug of indifference at the same old, same old. But taken in the round, the cynical exploitation of Blunt's keening raises my hackles like those of a cat being chased with a spouting hosepipe. Blunt the 'artist' presents his little boy lost persona in a way that's distasteful in its emotional manipulation; 'Oh Pretty Woman' was as much about Orbison as the unnamed female, but 'You're Beautiful' is all about sympathy, not empathy, and he plays his audience like a violin. We aren't meant to share an 'I've been there' moment with James; no, his quivering simper instead plays the vote winning, self pity card for all its worth (the video even has him committing suicide Japanese style ferchrissakes) in its search for someone to fall for it. Ultimately, it means that for all his angst, I simply don't believe he has any interest in that particular girl at all - Blunt and his "There must be an angel with a smile on her face" is a means to an end, a very bad, three minute chat up line and his teary hand wringing no more than a palatable version of Buffalo Bill's fake arm cast ruse to get women in the back of his van; for all the forced sincerity in his voice, Blunt may as well be singing in front of a mirror. This is ghastly stuff.

2005 2pac featuring Elton John: Ghetto Gospel

I think it's fair to say that 2pac Shakur is to hip hop what The Beatles are to Western popular music and Bob Marley is to reggae. That is, an artist occupying a position atop a lofty pedestal within their genre that garners them critical acclaim that, at the same time, provides such exposure for their identity that even people with no interest 'in that sort of thing' recognise them. Not that that makes them immune to criticism of course; The Beatles alone have no end of detractors happy to grind an axe to cut them down from their tallest tree perch, but to my mind such people always have the added burden of having to work that little bit harder in presenting their views so as to overcome the overwhelming common consensus that rails against them and is only too happy to dismiss them with a roll of the eyes as bloody minded cranks.

Perhaps Eminem had usurped him by 2005 (and perhaps Jay Z in latter years), but at the point of his shooting in 1996, Shakur certainly held the crown of the most famous/recognisable rapper in town, if only for his name and manner of death and not his face and the body of work he created in life - far fewer people would recognise 'California' as his work than they would recognise 'Strawberry Fields Forever' or 'No Woman No Cry' than they would his name and his shooting. And his fame was such to warrant 'afterlife' releases long after his death; 'Ghetto Gospel' is in fact taken from his posthumous 2004 album 'Loyal To The Game' and produced by Eminem in a neat handing over of the baton.

Eminem's input here is important; the 'featuring Elton John' credit is not reference to a duet recorded with Shakur his lifetime but a later sample from John's 1971 'Indian Sunset' that was overdubbed later (it's not on Shakur's original take). Why? Well, though 'Indian Summer' ostensibly relates the saga of the native American Indian being usurped by the white man, the sample lines "Those who wish to follow me I welcome with my hands. And the red sun sinks at last into the hills of gold, and peace to this young warrior without the sound of guns" chimes well with 'Ghetto Gospel's own appeal for unity and an end to gang warfare and sets up Shakur as the Messiah ("Those who wish to follow me I welcome with my hands") to deliver it. With 'Ghetto Gospel', the message is more important than the medium, and with the a generic hip hop beat backing him, it's a track that stands or falls on the delivery of that message.

And therein lies the problem; regardless of reputation, past glories or the way Shakur spits out his lines with venom, the rhymes come with a flat edge of predictability ("Don't them let me get teary, the world looks dreary, but when you wipe your eyes, see it clearly") that cushions their impact, an outcome not helped by Eminem slowing Shakur's original take (presumably to better accommodate the John sample) until Shakur's free flow turns to sludge with none of the sparky rhyming crash. And though it might be too harsh to see the John sample as taking its cue from 'Stan' to throw a bone to white audiences in the name of greater commercial appeal (an obscure 1971 Elton John song wouldn't be the best vehicle for that anyway), the blend of artistic style is nevertheless of oil and water, a paring that sounds as out of place and out of time as a seventies, piano led ballad being crudely pasted onto a contemporary hip hop tune. Which is what it is really. As a song, 'Ghetto Gospel' is clunkily competent, but as 2pac Shakur tracks go, it's not one of his greatest. And while it no doubt provides a further boost for that legacy the way every Bob Marley or Beatles re-release does, it also provides its own ammunition for those who would seek to detract.

2005 Crazy Frog: Axel F

Well this one is simple enough to dissect - a dance remix of Harold Faltermeyer's 1984 instrumental hit 'Axel F' (aka the theme from 'Beverly Hills Cop') with a vocal overdub of a comic voice imitating the sound of a two stroke moped engine ("A Ring Ding Ding Dingdemgdemg") - how does that grab you? Well, not too well if its showing in various 2005 end of year 'Worst Of' lists are anything to go by, but maybe a lot of the ennui is owed to the fact of the whole 'Crazy Frog' enterprise taking on a life of its own that year. Apart from the song, there was an ubiquitous 'artist made flesh' cartoon frog that popped up with a leer just about everywhere, bolstered by virtually every other mobile phone having 'Axel F' as its ringtone. That level of saturation is going to wear anyone down, and that's before the "A ram da am da am da am da weeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa" starts up, but cut away the baggage and we're back at my harsh as a bare lightbulb opening description, no more and no less. And as far as that goes, the component parts don't sparkle in the sun.

The Faltermeyer remix that carries it is pedestrian and would have sounded so the mid-nineties. And though the 'words' (provided by Sweden's Daniel Malmedahl)* at first blush are the amusing distraction of a child full of too much fizzy drink running around a train carriage, unless you're willing to buy into the surrounding media hype (or have a fondness for obnoxiously hyperactive kids) then there's nothing else to provide a handhold of depth or context to stop that very hyperactivity becoming its own downfall as it goes about its business of grating away on the nerves. For my own part, I see 'Axel F' as just another work of Eurodance hokum, albeit one a good five years late for the party. And late for the party is exactly how I feel about it - listening to 'Axel F' is like walking late into a stand up comedy show and only catching the closing punchline that reduces the audience to raucous laughter but not knowing what came before that made it so funny. 'Axel F' certainly seems to have amused a lot of people too, but I find the whole thing so insipidly uninspiring that I have no notion that I'm 'missing' anything and no desire to find out for sure either way.


* Comedian Fogwell Flax was doing this routine back in the eighties. Now he was funny.

2005 Oasis: Lyla

Oasis, no less than U2, have always aspired to secure a place in The Club of usual suspects in any 'Classic Rock' line-up - that particular stall was set out on the opening track of their debut album when Liam drawled "Tonight, I'm a rock 'n' roll star". That aim was arguably achieved long before 'Lyla', long before this decade even began in fact, helped in spades by a rabid fanbase and compliant media who heard things in 'Wonderwall' and 'Live Forever' that I never could. Both would say that the loss was mine, but even though shifting line-ups and a vague 'dad rock' backlash had taken some of the edge off the lustre by 2005.

But nevertheless, enthusiasm and expectation surrounding the band was still enough to take this, the debut single from their sixth album, to number one; 'Lyla' is a teeth bared, hard metallic clunk of sound where an opening borrowed from 'Street Fighting Man' gives way to a dumb, brick wall hitting Ramones-a-like chorus that does nothing of note bar drag on for at least half as long as it needs to, and each round of the "Hey Lyla" chorus polishes its impenetrable surface further and further until it reflects only what it thinks it is. What does it think it is? Well, a 'classic rock single' in the vein of the same ones The Rolling Stones and The Ramones used to release. Why is it 'impenetrable'? Well, because in holding up a mirror to its own inspiration, it forgets to add anything of its own or show any understanding of what it's actually trying to achieve; 'Lyla' puts me in mind of someone trying to pass themselves off as a master baker because they know what a cake looks like. The U2 of 'Desire' were guilty of trying too hard to get membership of The Club in attempting to naturally hitch onto a lineage they could never have been a part of; 'Lyla' is arrogant enough to believe it can barge its way to acceptance by force alone. But it can't, and despite what they were proclaiming back in 1994, 'Lyla' manages to neither rock nor roll. In fact, it's joyless and dull. Very, very dull.

2005 Akon: Lonely

Those who've stuck with me over recent months will know that one of my common beefs with latter day R&B/hip hop is that, taken in bulk it all starts to sound much of a muchness. If it wants to catch my Philistine ears then an entry in this genre is going to need a hook or selling point to elevate it out of the crowd. And with a sampled chorus of Bobby Vinton's 1964 hit 'Mr Lonely' sped up until Mr Vinton sounds like either Mr Pinky or Mr Perky, then hat's one thing 'Lonely' certainly has. It's a starling move that grabs the attention early doors and sets up 'Lonely' as being played for comic effect, but that notion gets dispelled soon as Akon starts up. Which is also where it all starts to unravel.

So why is Akon lonely? "I woke up in the middle of the night and I noticed my girl wasn't by my side"; so, the old story then. And why has she gone? "Been all about the world ain't never met a girl that can take the things that you been through. Never thought the day would come where you would get up and run and I would be out chasing you" and "baby girl I didn't mean to shout, I want me and you to work it out. I never wished I'd ever hurt my baby and it's driving me crazy" - ignoring the sinister overtones of implied domestic violence (which might explain why she made such a silent exit from his bed), it's fair to say that Akon hasn't been a model boyfriend over the years. Which isn't a crime in itself, but what crawls under the skin is Akon's egotistical lyric of self centred chauvinism and rampant self pity that puts his own unhappiness centre stage. Never mind what his unnamed "baby girl" wants - Akon doesn't care and his understanding is whittled down to a plea of "so stop playing girl and come on home". Does anyone need an R&B version of 'Back For Good'? I'd say about as much as Akon deserves our sympathy. To which the answers are 'no' and 'none'. But at the very least, 'Lonely' gets a reaction out of me that goes beyond ho-hum indifference, so it's achieved more than most.

2005 Tony Christie featuring Peter Kay: Is This The Way To Amarillo

Ah now - a song that seemed a permanent fixture on the radios of my childhood,* taken at face value then 'Is This The Way To Amarillo' has no place at all in the 2005 charts. That it's here is down to 'Comic Relief' - McFly may have had the 'official' single, but comedian Peter Kay recorded a promotional video where he lip synched the song while flanked by an endless succession of B grade celebrities. Which is where the 'featuring Peter Kay' credit comes from - Kay doesn't actually appear on the song which is in fact a straight re-issue of Christie's original 1971 single.

Originally written by Neil Sedaka, 'Is This The Way To Amarillo' and Christie's junior Tom Jones posturing and vocal always had an all inclusive footstomping, glitzy cabaret charm tailor made to open (or close) any Vegas wannabe show on the chicken in the basket circuit. But whilst no song with the audacity to rhyme "Amarillo" with "hugging my pillow" can ever lay claim to being high art, this 2005 'comic' setting and Kay's gurning lowers the tone by tarnishing it with an unwelcome taint of kitsch and bawdiness that's camper than a troupe of boy scouts in the woods. The result is an uneasy feeling that someone is having the piss taken out of them. And ok, I guess by the very definition of 'Comic Relief' then someone is, but any money raised for a 'good cause' notwithstanding, digging 'Is This The Way To Amarillo' from out of its seventies grave in this way does neither it nor Christie any favours in the long run; Christie's subsequent promotional duties unfairly set him up as a fool singing a fool's song. Fair enough that he was game enough to play along, but better by far for both song and artist to have no legacy at all than this one. Both deserve more.

* But then I could be getting it mixed up with an ubiquitous television commerical for Armadillo sherry that used a re-recorded version of the song ("Show me the way to Armadillo") to encourage punters to turn up at their local off licence with any plastic containers they could get their hands on which would then be filled with budget sherry by the gallon and straight from the tap. I bet it tasted rank.

2005 McFly: All About You/You've Got A Friend

A McFly double A side and 2005's 'official' Comic Relief charity single, 'All About You' is a brass augmented acoustic stroll through lead vocalist Tom Fletcher's love for his girlfriend/wife to be. Youthful pop with a spring in its step, 'All About You' is McFly's most fully realised number one to date showing little of the meander of old and only an uncanny (to my ears anyway) resemblance to Buddy Holly's 'That's What They Say' stopping me from embracing it more enthusiastically. The world wasn't waiting for another earnest but dull run-through of Carol King's hardy perennial 'You've Got A Friend', but that's precisely what McFly offer up on the flip side. As a song it's solid enough to withstand just about anything, but I'd have a lot more patience for McFly's version if its promotional video didn't feature the band poking around and performing in an African village while random facts ('2.3 million children have lost one or both parents to Aids') flash up on the screen. At a stroke it tars King's micro study in one on one personal assurance with the macro brush of the same patronising hand wring of conscience clearing drabness that Girl's Aloud tarred 'I'll Stand By You' with (and which sits ill with that 'zany' cover). Or maybe I'm just being too sensitive. Again.

2005 Stereophonics: Dakota

Out of all the UK indie/US emo rock guitar bands prevalent in the mid 2000's, Stereophonics can most accurately lay claim to be the missing link between Busted and AC/DC. For my money, there was always a vein of honest, no fuss, working class grit in their output, the like of which you don't find in the likes of The Killers, Bullet For My Valentine, The Rasmus, Jimmy Eat World etc etc that accords with the honest, no fuss, working class grit of AC/DC, whilst at the same time keeping the bouncy pop sensibilities of Busted. And while I can't say for certain, I'd happily bet the farm I could list the sort of music valley boy frontman Kelly Jones grew up listening to. Because it would be the same that I did.

Maybe that's why I find 'Dakota' appealing on a number of levels; the neo Neu Krautrock clicktrack of the opening, Jones's hot gravel vocal, the wistful "Thinking about thinking of you, summertime think it was June" Hefner/Wedding Present kitchen sink reminisces of the lyrics, the air punch of the "You made me feel like the one" chorus - there's much to be enjoyed here. And even though they are spare parts borrowed from elsewhere, they are parts engineered into a well built motor that's able to purr and roar in equal measure. That motoring analogy is useful too in that 'Dakota' plays out like the flip side of 'Born To Run'; the promotional video has Jones driving an American convertible forwards, though with his mind stuck firmly in reverse and ghosts of the past as his passengers."Wake up cold coffee and juice. Remembering you, what happened to you?"; 'Dakota' is the innocence of Springsteen's teenage dreams turned into the experience of a drive time anthem more suited to a weary, too much time to think about what might have been, middle aged commute home on the M25 than the open road of Highway 61. "I don't know where we are going now, I don't know where we are going now"; oh yes, I'm always a sucker for some wistful regret, and this is one of the better examples of that particular genre.

2005 Nelly featuring Tim McGraw: Over And Over

Nelly featuring Tim McGraw? Hip hop crossed with country? Ok, I'm willing to go with it, though in truth Nelly's smooth R&B dominates 'Over And Over', and while his co-star's vocal is prominent, the 'country' is confined to a sedate, rocking chair rhythm and a touch of steel guitar. And yes, 'Over And Over' is as laid back as that description suggests; that isn't a problem in itself, but what does become a problem (for me anyway) is the tail chasing loop the song finds itself in after barely thirty seconds - can a song be more aptly named I wonder? Probably not; Nelly and McGraw ramble their "Cause it's all in my head I think about it over and over again" chorus with an repetition of an Alzheimer's sufferer and in a way that slow turns the thumb screws of tedium with the ruthless efficiency of a medieval torturer. Because whilst I'm sure 'Over And Over' doesn't set out to torture, its sheer lack of colour and variation wears my patience to a nub, generating tension enough to lob a nailbomb into the chilled, laid back vibe it aims for. In fact, there comes a point where I start thinking the "I think about it over and over again" is an clever, post-modern joke and that Nelly and McGraw are taking the piss in seeing just how far they can push it. They're not though, and because they're not all of the above might seem a bit harsh on the guys, but it's what I'm hearing - as a skit between tracks on a Nelly album then it would go down a treat, but spread over four minutes then I'm afraid 'Over And Over' crawls under my skin quite quickly and jabs hot pins into my nerve endings from the inside until relief can only come from turning it off.

2005 Jennifer Lopez: Get Right

Taking its lead from 'Crazy In Love', 'Get Right' builds itself around another 1970's horn riff sample (James Brown's 'Soul Power 74'). Unlike the Beyonce song that knew when less was more, 'Get Right's sample almost becomes the be all and end all of the song, spreading its hard, truncated blare thickly in an endless repetition that, when paired with Lopez's reed thin vocal, manages to exorcise all of Brown's funk. The right frame of mind could take the resultant clatter as a logical dance extension to Jeremy Deller's innovative 1997 'Acid Brass' project.* The wrong frame of mind, however, could see it as just plain irritating. Which means that though Jen and 'Get Right' strive to be edgy, it in fact winds up walking a different edge altogether.

* A musical collaboration with Stockport's Williams Fairey Brass Band that fused a traditional brass band with acid house and Detroit techno. It's well worth tracking down.

2005 U2: Sometimes You Can't Make It On Your Own

I used to love the Looney Tunes Road Runner cartoons when I was a kid. Or rather, I used to love watching Wile E. Coyote try and catch him. The bird itself I always found insufferably smug and annoying, but there was something about Wile. E's persistence and 'never say die' approach to his task that always struck a chord. And in my willing him to catch the bird and rip its throat out, I used to get frustrated by those occasions where Wile E. would run off the edge of a cliff in pursuit and keep chasing with no ground beneath his feet. Then he's always suddenly, look down, realise he was hanging in mid-air and with a gulp he'd plummet like a stone. If he hadn't paused then he'd probably have been able to run forever on nothing but self belief, but that split second of self awareness was enough to send him falling to his doom with another plan foiled. I learned a valuable lesson there that has stood me in good stead during this thing called life.

It's a lesson U2 could have done with learning too; a constant comment regarding each of their entries so far has been in relation to their persistent attempts to sharp elbow their way to a star on the rock mythos walk of fame. As I wrote way back on 'Desire', "if this stuff isn't going to come naturally, then it isn't going to come at all" and their attempts to force it tend to result in something that's always reeked of a self awareness that was their own undoing. Too knowing, too trying too bloody hard - any number of U2 songs would have been improved immeasurably by the band simply getting on with it and not pausing by every doorway to see what they could ape, what they could steal or what they could attempt to innovate. Because in taking their eyes off their quarry to see what's going on around them, U2 have a habit of losing all momentum and falling just like Wile E does.

Which makes it frustrating (for me) when they do eventually manage to come up with a song like this; inspired (if that's the right word) by the death of Bono's father, 'Sometimes You Can't Make It On Your Own' sees U2 ignoring all distractions labelled 'post-modern irony' or signposts leading to dusty American rock and blues to deliver a song that runs straight off the edge of that cliff.....and keeps on running. "I know that we don’t talk, I’m sick of it all. Can you hear me when I sing? You're the reason I sing"; buoyed by its own natural self belief and honesty, 'Sometimes You Can't Make It On Your Own' locates its emotional core quickly and then latches itself to it like a ship to an anchor with a minimum of fuss to the maximum of effect.

Not that U2 ever threaten to blow up a storm to shake it loose - 'Sometimes You Can't Make It On Your Own' recalls the slow burning swell of Achtung Baby's 'So Cruel' or 'One', but without Eno's fiddling to distract them the band behind fall into auto-pilot mode behind Bono, content to fill in the gaps behind his lead without any sideways glances at what they 'could' or 'should' be doing. And in so doing, they do what U2 do best. I'm not sure it's a good 'single', and I've always thought 'Sometimes You Can't Make It On Your Own' would work better as an album track, but regardless, it remains the most satisfying U2 number one to date and a prime example of why, even though I'm always up for dismissing them, I'm never fool enough to write them off completely.

2005 Eminem: Like Toy Soldiers

Second single from Eminem's underwhelming 'Encore' album, 'Like Toy Soldiers' replicates the structure of 'Stan' by using a sampled vocal part as a chorus/link between Eminem's rapped verses, in this case the main chorus line from Martika's 1989 hit 'Toy Soldiers'. But whereas Dido's "My tea's gone cold, I'm wondering why I got out of bed at all" on Stan added to the doom of that song's gloomy, wet Sunday atmosphere , Martika's (here slightly sped up) "Step by step, heart to heart, left right left, we all fall down" provides a secure foothold on what's basically an Eminem soliloquy on the various ongoing beefs within the hip hop community (which gives Martika's "Bit by bit, torn apart, we never win, but the battle wages on for toy soldiers" a satirical bent in context).

"Now it's just out of respect for not runnin' my mouth, and talkin' about something that I knew nothing about. Plus Dre told me stay out, this just wasn't my beef, so I did, I just fell back, watched and gritted my teeth" ; 'Like Toy Soldiers' is personal, perhaps too much so - if you know the story and the personalities behind the lyrics then you can turn the key and unlock the secrets, but to the layman fan just here for the music then he may as well be rapping in Greek. Past digs at Britney or Fred Durst are one thing, but the machine gunned references to "The Source", "Murder inc" "Benzino" and "the Ja shit" etc. renders 'Like Toy Soldiers' introverted and cryptic to the point of impenetrability to anyone the wrong side of the tent watching Eminem pissing out. And while he still dazzles in his sparky rhymes and wordplay over a sparse canon picked out on a piano, there's precious little of this trademark wit or bite on show to lighten the load. 'Like Toy Soldiers' is very much the curveball in Eminem's back catalogue, one that plays out like a page from a private journal and relies as much on Martika's sample for it's success as Dido's subsequent career depended on his use of one of hers.

2005 Elvis Presley: It's Now Or Never

Single number five* in RCA's re-issues programme, there's little I can say about this that I've not already said either first time round or two reviews back on the 'Jailhouse Rock/One Night' re-release. So rather than risk repeating myself, I'll say no more.

* Actually, although 'All Shook Up' would have been the first, it was ineligible for the charts this time round on the grounds of its packaging (it came with a storage case designed to hold the remaining re-issues in the series). Elvis Presley, rebel to the end.

2005 Ciara featuring Petey Pablo: Goodies

Sole number one from the 'First Lady of Crunk&B' (though I'm not sure what the competition was like), 'Goodies' is an 'answer song' (or at least a female response) to the rampant sexism of Usher's 'Yeah!' - in place of Usher's machismo, Ciara subverts a genre seemingly based solely on sexuality via a slow burning crunk groove tells those leering lads that they can look but not touch ("Keep on lookin' 'cos they stay in the jar"). More of a mood or lifestyle message of abstinence than anything substantial, 'Goodies' is threaded with a spaghetti western whistle theme as filtered through theremin that's good value, and the descending chorus tune is memorable and pop enough for Lady Gaga to 'borrow' it for her 2009 hit 'Telephone'. And while by no means a singer of distinction, Ciara's limited range plays to its own strengths with a loose limbed, 'Love To Love You Baby'-esque gasp of breathlessness while Petey Pablo's raps spice up what could have become monotony. All of which makes 'Goodies' is a masterpiece of understated economy that, via Ciara's shameless teasing ("I bet you want the goodies.Bet you thought about it. Got you all hot and bothered") shows the bragging boys and their machismo where the power really lies.

2005 Elvis Presley: Jailhouse Rock: Elvis Presley: One Night/I Got Stung

An eighties revival is one thing, but now a fifties one; what's Elvis Presley doing back at number one??? A fair question, and let's be clear here, these recordings aren't latter day mash-ups or 'versus' remixes - they are straight 2005 re-issues of the original 1958/59 recordings. Why? Well in celebration of the 70th anniversary of Elvis' birth, his label (RCA) re-issued all of his UK number ones in chronological order, from 'All Shook Up' to 'Way Down'. A nice idea, and all very well I suppose, but it does beg a question; just who was buying them? Elvis completeists who have to have everything by the man? Maybe; every single one of these re-issues would make it as far as the top five so there's a certain consistency there. Or perhaps they were bought on the basis of a feeling of a 'no home is complete without them' cultural obligation that made these a 'must have', the same way that window displays of re-issues or re-mixes of The Beatle's back catalogues can still stop traffic. Or maybe it was because these recordings from the early days of rock and roll still sound fresh, vital and relevant, particularly when they have the luxury of following an act like Steve Brookstein.

And yes, they do still sound vital - that two stop opening snap and Elvis' urgent declaration that "The warden threw a party in the county jail" still sounds like an announcement akin to a door being booted open. And that's an apt descriptor - how many of the singles that followed owe it a debt? Well, not many according to Tim Luckhurst. Writing in The Times (in 2005), Professor of Journalism Luckhurst stated "American giants such as Bob Dylan and Frank Zappa merit our affection. If he had started singing after John Lennon, Presley would not merit a place on 'I'm A Celebrity, Get Me Out Of Here". The fact that Lennon has acknowledged that without Presley, he wouldn't have started singing in the first place (making Luckhurst's observation a bit of a nonsense to start with, and an ignorant one at that) notwithstanding, I'm prepared to gather Luckhurst's hospital pass and run with it to a certain extent: how would Elvis have fared on any 1950's equivalent of a reality show like 'Pop Idol' I wonder?

Because if there's one thing that the number one singles these shows have spawned to date have shown us, it's that they like to play it safe. Cover versions, ballads or safe pop that pushes no boundaries, Pop Idol (et al) winners clearly have no brief to advance popular culture in any direction other than sideways; when Steve Brookstein covers 'Against All Odds', he does it straight. No chaser. Contrast then with Elvis, who turned up at Sam Phillip's Sun Studios in 1954 to record 'Blue Moon Of Kentucky', a popular Bill Monroe bluegrass waltz from 1946. The version whipped up by Elvis, Scotty Moore and Bill Black is anything but a safe, cover and instead turns Monroe's pedestrian waltz into something that caused Phillip's to shout "BOY, that's fine, that's fine. That's a POP song now!" In any event, it certainly wasn't bluegrass.

Would a contemporary talent show panel be so enthusiastic at Elvis subverting an iconic American genre and song into a genre all of its own, the hybrid offspring of a white man singing Monroe's song in the manner that recalled the frowned upon 'race music' with a frenzied backbeat that was nevertheless so straight you couldn't lose it I wonder? This was new, this was original, and while I'm tempted to say that a modern equivalent would be Brookstein (or one of his ilk) 'doing' Phil Collins in the style of the Velvet Underground crossed with Dub Step, that would not come close to doing Elvis' achievement justice. After all, the Velvet Underground and Dub Step already exist; until Elvis struck up the band, the sounds heard on 'Blue Moon Of Kentucky' didn't. It's as simple as that.

For the here and now, 'Jailhouse Rock' and 'One Night' sound exactly as they did when we first met them. Neither age nor contemporary context has dulled the sheen of the former nor radically improved the latter. Over forty years old they may be, but these 'fossils' from the past have as much bite and swagger as the dinosaurs that roamed around Jurassic Park - old and out of place maybe, but get too close and they'll bite. How many of the more recent songs will we be able to say the same about forty years hence I wonder? 'Firestarter', the last truly 'what the fuck' number one is already showing its age; 'Jailhouse Rock' leaps over its head with one hip swivelling bound and dares it to keep up. And do you know what? It can't. Elvis Presley taking 1000th UK number one spot?* I couldn't have written that script better if I'd wanted to.


* With 'One Night' Which means that 'Jailhouse Rock' was the no less aesthetically pleasing 999th UK number one.

2005 Steve Brookstein: Against All Odds

Third eighties revival on the bounce, and the second outing here for this Phil Collins song following Mariah Carey and Westlife's 2000 version. And to continue with the ongoing trends, Steve Brookstein appears here as the inaugural winner of 'The X Factor', another television talent show that in fact replaced Pop Idol with 'Against All Odds' being his debut single. And by the 'x factor' I'm assuming that the organisers behind the show had identifying someone with that certain spark of something that marks out a true talent the way X marks the spot on a treasure map in mind, but if that is the case then, on the evidence of this at least, Brookstein's buried chest is full of fools gold.

There's no doubt that the man can sing; even a cursory listen reveals that much. To go further, I'm happy to admit I'd rather hear this version than either Phil's squally original or Carey and Westlife's bombastic take. However, Brookstein himself mines no secrets from the source material and locates no hidden depths other than faithfully replicating what's there on the surface. Can Brookstein be blamed for that? Maybe there is nothing more there to be mined, but even so Brookstein makes no attempt to make the song his own other than to paste his own 'Steve Brookstein' vocal over the backing tune. Hardly the 'X factor' is it? Anyone could do that, couldn't they? Well yes they could, and had Brookstein done as much without the benefit of prime time, multi media exposure then I doubt this harmless roll of souvenir woodchip would have caught anyone's ear. In fact, his next single, 'Fighting Butterflies', released in 2006 (long after the hullabaloo was over) only managed to reach 193 in the chart. Which seems more like the 'Z Factor' to me. The prosecution rests.