TRACK OF THE WEEK
King Krule
Dum Surfer
As monarchs go, King Krule is a laissez-faire ruler, presiding over a dissolute musical kingdom where consonants have been abolished, jazzy chords congeal and indolent saxophonists come and go as they please. Dum Surfer is a sludgy, surreal crime caper narrated by Peckham’s answer to Jeffrey Lebowski, who might be on to something if only he didn’t keep getting mashed on “skunk and onion gravy” (on the menu at your local trendy gastropub soon). A squalid showstopper that sounds like absolutely nothing else. Except maybe Rock the Casbah at the wrong speed.
Fergie ft Nicki Minaj
You Already Know
The return of “My Humps” Fergie (as opposed to “Hairdryer Treatment” Fergie or “Royal Shame” Fergie) is an unexpected triumph. With a hefty nod to Rob Base & DJ EZ Rock’s It Takes Two, You Already Know is an agile pop banger, even if Fergie ties herself in knots lyrically – anyone who boasts that “I keep shit frozen” is in danger of conjuring the wrong mental image.
Charlotte Gainsbourg
Rest
Listening to Charlotte Gainsbourg is a bit like gawping at fashionable interiors in Wallpaper*. It’s all very tasteful, but because there’s zero sense of jeopardy, it can leave you numb. Of course this single is co-written by Guy-Manuel of Daft Punk. Of course Lars Von Trier helped make the video. Of course it’s breathy and bursting with exquisite ennui. But does it move you?
Marilyn Manson
We Know Where You Fucking Live
In recent years, the erstwhile “God of Fuck” has cut something of a tragic figure, bloated and apologetic, reduced to poking fun at himself in YouTube skits. But scary times call for scary dudes, and Manson has answered the call with a trademark blast of seething unpleasantness. If the lyrics seem to say that the best way to fight oppression is via anonymous death threats, then that’s MM’s moral ambiguity in a nutshell. If you summon the Candyman, don’t expect him to play nice once he gets here.
The Lemon Twigs
Why Didn’t You Say That?
Another response to the horrors of the modern world is to pretend that it’s still 1974 and nobody’s even conceived of drone strikes, zero hours contracts or PewDiePie. Resembling the last two members of the Bay City Rollers to survive a zombie apocalypse, the Lemon Twigs parp out chirpy retro harmony pop that’s sweeter than your granny’s tea. Which, at a time when even Mick Jagger has gone grime, is anachronistic to an almost subversive degree.
