It was a lot of fun, thanks for asking. It was heartening to see so many sides of the community represented, and it was wonderful to see littlegays taking their first tentative steps out into a world of men walking about in chaps blowing bubbles everywhere as well as parents bringing their children along to be indoctrinated with  our super secret and insidious Gay Agenda.

Storming about with my not very exclusive backstage pass, I saw more artists eagerly waiting in the wings than I did dancing about on stage. But I did hear them! Here are the highlights of what I heard.

1. Eurovision hopefuls of yesteryear Scooch singing the theme tune from The Littlest Hobo, shown here with THE LILYEST HOBO (do you see) in a literally better than the sum of its lackluster parts mash-up:

2. Mark from A1 singing Take On Me, a modern classic which saw the contemporary boyband taking on A-Ha and not quite winning. Still, A1 were pretty good, Mark was definitely in the hot 75%, and the video for their cover was quite an interesting Web 0.002 update of the original:

EMBEDDING DISABLED BY REQUEST. :(

3. Heather Small singing her “Olympic theme” (i.e. an old song that we are pretending is an Olympic theme), which is called Proud. This worked out well because we were at PRIDE, and London is PROUD of being the Olympic city in 2012. Coincidentally, London can also be PROUD of the fact that it is hosting world PRIDE in 2012 as well.

Alarmists may also want to note that 2012 is the year in which the Mayan calendar ends, leading to a lot of crackpot theorists assuming that the world will end in three years. Perhaps Small’s decision to draw attention to 2012 at Pride was a way of slyly suggesting that gays are going to cause the apocalypse. That’s not very nice, Heather.

It’s not. Sorry, but we won’t be getting another Safe With Me or Day & Night any time soon. :(

What we are getting, however, is an amazing new Shakira single, Loba/She Wolf. It premiered this week and you can now listen to the Spanish version of the song on her MySpace. Your life will be better and more disco today if you do. Here is Loba’s laundry list (do you see what I did there?) of amazing bits:

• The gradual build-up of instrumentation during the intro.
• Those guitars.
• THOSE STRINGS.
• Shakira howling like a wolf.
• Shakira panting like a sex fiend.
• The bridge with those backing vocals and the panting getting more exasperated and then that lovely electronic bit.

If Ginger Snaps had been soundtracked by disco artists, it would have been a bit like this. Expect the English version of the song to appear in the next few weeks.

They make very good new wave-y synthpop and at times might remind you of Friendly Fires – not that I want to start fights or am suggesting that there can only be one and that the two need to duke it out, because really I’d much rather they united to make Fenech Fires, perhaps for the release of a Run DMC/Aerosmith cover single.

Anyway. Their debut single, The Cult of Romance, came out last month (this is not exactly a scoop). It’s a fantastic slice of cool as fuck electropop on its own (it has BELLS), but it’s served well by an Alan Braxe remix that adds some lady vocals to the mix and makes the whole thing an even more laid back and effortlessly wonderful affair. Both the original and the remix have a brilliant “ee-yeah-ee-oh, oh oh” bridge which, I think you’ll agree, showcases the extent of Fenech-Soler’s lyrical prowess.

There also appears to be an EP, and they recently appeared in Mixmag. Brace yourselves for a “meteoric rise”, etc.

Fast-forward several years and she’s released a second album, My Paper Made Men (it’s a mixed bag but, again, shows a lot of pop potential), along with a string of quite good singles. The last single, released in March to little fanfare, was the amazing Nice Boys. Despite sounding a little dated, its poor performance and promotion may just be one of the big pop injustices of the year.

Here’s the video. It follows a flawless pop rubric – moody girl surrounded by pretty boys in formal wear who fawn over her, moody girl surrounded by pretty boys in formal wear who dance around her, moody girl surrounded by pretty boys who fight around her. It looks surprisingly glossy and made up for such a quiet little release.

Okay, so the single doesn’t exactly show much maturing on her part (the album provides a little more growth). In fact, some might say that it sounds a little bit like early Amy Studt, which sounds a little bit like Avril, Miley and Amanda Palmer (okay, 13 year-old Amanda Palmer) getting into an excitable scuffle. But it’s fun! It’s a fun pop song with a petulantly sung chorus. When she shouts “NICE BOYS FINISH LAST” in the background at the 0:40 mark, you’d be forgiven for thinking that you’re listening to Amanda Palmer’s Muppet Babies counterpart throwing her toys out of the pram. It may not be the best showcase of Studt’s growth as an artist, but it’s catchy enough that it probably deserved to create the same waves her initial string of singles did.

Poor Amy. She was last seen separating (i.e. being dropped) from her label and going on an adventure in NYC. Hopefully she’ll bounce back in some way, shape or form, because while Nice Boys isn’t the hallmark of a hard-hitting singer-songwriter coming into her own, it is an infectious little pop song that suggests that she may have some more guilty pleasures up her sleeve.

There was also an AMAZING remix doing the rounds.

This week I thought that it would only be right for our inaugural Friday gif-fest to focus on kooky chanteuse (I think I’ve got that tired descriptor out of my system now) Regina Spektor and her new single Laughing With. Because it’s about God, and thank God it’s Friday, and “oh God this is getting old already Andrew shut up.”

There’s a good chance that this song was originally called Laughing With Shonda Rhimes, but perhaps that was seen as being a bit too obvious. It’s unmistakable though – Laughing With sounds custom-built for an appearance on a certain Seattle-based medical drama, with its solemn talk of death and relationship woes offset by Spektor’s trademark cutesy vocals and zany music video antics.

Let’s look at some gifs.

We start out harmlessly enough. Things are looking quite pleasant for Sara Bareilles as she visits the optometrist during her new obnoxiously precious music video shoot!

Oh, wait.

It’s that Regina Spektor bird. Let’s stop her before she can start singing, because once she starts singing it’s going to get…bad. “No one’s laughing at God in a hospital” she muses halfheartedly. And, I mean, I know, right? Hospitals are like fun vacuums. So much serious business! And there’s more serious business where that came from, and in case you needed evidence of how serious and thought-provoking this song is, Regina’s going to mope about with a disingenuous look on her face, occasionally breaking eye contact with the camera because oh god it’s so sad I’m going to cry awkward glance to the floor exit stage right.

But if hospitals are humorless joke vacuums, Regina is the kooky Patch Adams of pop. She’s here to amuse you with her artsy lolz and her twee japes. Welcome to her ward, where she treats people for diseases like seriousness type II and that icky feeling you get when you see someone you like holding hands with somebody else. Her ward looks kind of like Labyrinth on zoloft. (and, yes, other more artistic things, but shut up)

Which is basically what she’s prescribing for what ales ya, by the way. Musical zoloft, some actual zoloft, some corn nuts and some light humor to cheer you up. Because God can be fun-ee, you see. Like…ripping your own head off funny.

“Ooh, she’s got her head off”, etc. Ha ha! I’ll admit, there’s an admirable ballsiness to an artist who realizes so soon into a music video that it’s all a bit bland and that the audience would probably rather see your head on a stick. But then she puts it back on, so really it’s a bit of a decapitation prick tease.

And then she wanders around some more, and you start to get the feeling that she’s kind of lost. It’s okay though, I know the zoloft labyrinth like the back of my stop-motion hand. Optical Illusions 101 is down the never-ending spiral hallway, just up the invisible stairs.

Woeful, isn’t it? Still, it’s slightly more stimulating than the song itself, which is pleasant enough, but perhaps so damningly pleasant that it could send even Regina to sleep. While she’s playing it.

“No one’s bored with God when he’s something something and they something something zzz…but God can be booooriiiiing“, etc.

It’s not all bad news though. The infectious Dance Anthem of the ’80s will be making an appearance on new album Far as well, and its zany irreverence thankfully recalls Regina’s more vivacious work (i.e. it’s actually got some personality). It’s kooky! And Tori Amos thought she had a monopoly on that bullshit. More importantly, it’s kooky in a somewhat genuine and honest way. It’s cutesy and sweet, and it’s brilliantly poppy (which is a good thing – say what you want about Begin To Hope but its pop posturing was often effective), but it stops itself from being unbearably saccharine with some vaguely dark undertones – standing on sidewalks waiting for johns? Brothels down the street? You! Are! SO! SWEET!

And most importantly – AMAZING BRIDGE ALERT. See, Regina? You can make music that’s full of Feelings while also being incredibly fun and quite interesting! Do that more.

For now, I’d advise that you approach Far with caution and observe from a safe distance for a while. At this stage, what we’ve seen of it suggests that it will run the Regina gamut from po-faced MOR to ‘wacky’ off-kilter pop. Something for everyone then,* but perhaps at the expense of not appealing to anyone as a whole.

Nice dress though.

*unless you’ve always hated Regina, in which case it’ll all undoubtedly sound like a messy cacophony of tedious and pretentious wank to you – sorry. :(

Filthy Dukes are Tim Lawton, Olly Dixon and Mark Ralph, a trio of DJ/producers who sharpened their teeth commandeering Fabric’s Kill Em All club night. Nonsense in the Dark sees the Dukes residing as pop royalty, assembling a court from the many acts who have passed through their dukedom, and the result is a collaborative beast that runs the gamut of indie dance from krautrock to synthpop. And somehow a giant masonic eye figures into all of this.

The album gets off to an upbeat start with the appropriately filthy electro of This Rhythm, an entrancing slice of dance that mixes Samuel Dust’s off-kilter vocals with relentless keyboards and percussion to great effect. It’s an apt opener that acts as a sort of manifesto for the album – this has all of the instancy needed for a party album, but Dust’s almost otherworldly vocals lead us deeper into the labyrinth of pop that Nonsense in the Dark is built around.
The baton is passed into the able hands of Foreign Islands on the punchy, crowd-goading What Happens Next (although perhaps the true star here is the requisite sample of kids spelling things out) and Swedish pop up-and-comer Tommy Sparks on the upbeat Messages, by far the album’s most pure pop moment. Tupac Robot Club Rock – probably the best example of all-out nonsense on the album – sees hip hop outfit Plastic Little spitting delightfully ridiculous rhymes over stadium electrorock that becomes so big that it’s both infectious and comical in equal measure. “It’s like Godzilla!” exclaim the band, and it’s a completely believable statement in the context of such an irreverent stomper as this.

But it’s during the more reflective, melancholy moments of the second half that the album is perhaps at its strongest. The title track squeezes the best out of Maccabees frontman Orlando Weeks and deftly mixes it with glimmering electronics to create a standout that comes from the James Murphy school of bittersweet electro. There’s always the danger of a 6 minute long pop song becoming the indulgent centrepiece of an album that overshadows everything else with its pomp, but this is instead that centrepiece that the rest of the album hinges upon and swirls around, the ideal segue from the first half’s upbeat dance to the second half’s generally darker, more introspective tone. There’s a lilting, carefree element to the song, but it’s off-set by Weeks’ performance and a sombre undercurrent of fleeting love that’s as celebratory as it is heartbreaking (“so perfume this/make it a thing to miss when you’ve gone away/you’ve gone away”).
The biggest surprise of all comes from Somewhere At Sea, the disarmingly affecting closer that sees Sunny Day Sets Fire’s Mauro Remiddi knocking it out of the park over a crashing piano line and a sombre electronic heartbeat. It’s a staggering achievement that the album can go from the dirty electro of This Rhythm and the summery pop of Messages to such a heartfelt and human conclusion without anything feeling contrived or incongruous, and therein lies Nonsense in the Dark‘s multi-faceted charm.

It’s not a perfect record, and there are a few lulls, but these seem largely symptomatic of a bar set too high by the album’s peaks. Indeed, the downside to the band’s brilliant work with an array of vocalists is that the listener may become too reliant on a more traditional pop structure, and so instrumentals like Cul-de-Sac can feel like interludes instead of fully fleshed out songs in their own right.
Regardless, this is an album that never manages to sound average, nor is it guilty of being boring. Much of the album’s success relies on a network of musicians working seamlessly together, and at its core are three performers utilizing the oxymoronic stage in their careers at which they find themselves. Nonsense in the Dark benefits from being that rare creature – a seasoned debut, with the Dukes’ years of experience bringing a wealth of sophistication and well-honed dance intuition to what is nevertheless the fresh-faced and vivacious beginning of an exciting new venture.
So while it’s at first baffling, the giant eye that graces the album cover is actually the perfect poster child for the project. It’s a swirling, hypnotic figurehead for a swirling, hypnotic album that instantly draws you in and slowly reveals its intricacies and nuances over the repeat listens that it deserves.

Score: 9/10

Filthy Dukes on MySpace

Exhibit A: beautiful robot

Girls Alouds’ Untouchable stands as one of Out of Control’s finest moments because of how it overcomes the silliness that should mar it. It’s melodramatic to the point where hearing the girls sincerely crying about “beautiful robots dancing alone” should be laughable. The lengthy intro should come off as an indulgent nod to Ibiza chillout compilations. And amidst the over-the-top Euro pop production there are wooshing sounds. Were the song four minutes long, I would discard Untouchable as a tacky, try-hard slice of pop schlock. But it’s not four minutes long.

I’ll admit: on first listen, I was a detractor. I thought the length was ridiculous and that I’d rarely sit through such a saga. Yet despite myself, I do. I sit through the wooshing and the guitars and the melodrama because the song earns it. The slow burn of the song’s intro, the bursts of energy, the exhausted lulls – they’re all worth it and work towards a heartfelt sincerity that keeps the song afloat.

Exhibit B: scary robot - welcome to the Uncanny Valley!

Cut down to under four minutes, the song doesn’t have enough time to stew. It’s not brought slowly to the boil and simmered, it’s flash-fried. It’s coming onto you far too quickly, so instead of a slow build that gradually tugs at you and draws you in until you’re completely entranced, you get a troupe of robots with boomboxes for heads grabbing you by the shoulders and shaking you relentlessly. And that’s not what Untouchable is about. These aren’t beautiful robots dancing alone, these are heartless T1000s. Where the album version was a daunting experience that earned its way into your heart and left you with a real Arnie’s thumb ending, the single edit is a terrifying chase through a parking lot that attacks your car with its liquid metal arms.*

It’s a cruel irony that a seven minute song should only sound unrelenting after it’s edited. Single edits can work very well, don’t get me wrong. This just isn’t one of those instances.

And don’t even get me started on Torvill and Dean.

*I might have taken this Terminator metaphor a little too far. If you’d prefer a more highbrow analogy, Popjustice have the Mona Lisa for you.

Important facts about the video:

• It’s framed by some very clever intertextuality. Media Studies students will be analyzing this for years.
• It subverts the American suburban idyll paradigm by juxtaposing racy dance routines with the nuclear family to suggest that the American dream is doused in artifice.
• All of the boys and all of the girls are begging to if you seek A her.

Watch the video here! I think you’ll agree it is rather good. You may even be shaking and crying.

Important facts about the video:

• There is interpretive dance. It’s a bit like that scene in Silent Hill with the nurses attacking Radha Mitchell. Except the nurses are covered in balloons and Natasha Khan does a shit job of dodging them.
• It gets properly good when she gets into the car, because Two Suns is very much a ‘road album’ wherein Natasha and her alter ego drive through the desert and duke it out mystically, etc. etc.
• The end is hilarious/amazing. If you’ve seen the single artwork, you’ll probably be bracing yourself for the cameo that basically makes the video.

Click here to watch it (because WordPress doesn’t like MySpace embedding, apparently).

Wonderful stuff, but let’s be honest, it could be better (i.e. have more Karate Kid stuff) and it’s no What’s A Girl To Do.

Daniel is available for download now, and the album’s out next month. I’ll probably review it, and I’ll probably have a lot of nice things to say about it.