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The Singles Monkey- 4th August (Audioscrib)

The Singles Monkey #2

August 2, 2008 by The Singles Monkey

What with Audioscribbler now as unrecognisable as Jordan is from Katy Price, it seems that the times are a-changing, and no sooner had your faithful furball ‘the Singles Monkey’ dug himself a nice niche at Audioscribbler towers than it seemed he was to be usurped.

They didn’t count upon my super sapien will power and extra strong coconut juice however; after weeks of barricading myself up in the tallest turret, greeting any would be usurpers with barrages of mud and monkey faeces, the editor had no choice but to let me continue with my new found role as the soothsayer of all things b-sided and singular. A quick ring to give Mrs. Singles the good news (she thought I’d popped out for the paper,) and I scurried eagerly towards the bag of singles like Russian athletes would to a private pharmaceutical..

So the big hitters this week in terms of ‘fellas wot hold guitars and that’ are The Futureheads (’Walking Backwards’, Rough Trade), the North East’s finest export since it’s Greggs Bakery franchise, and merciless soul stealers Scouting For Girls (’It’s Not About You’, Epic). Unsurprisingly it’s a resounding 1-0 to the ‘heads, possessing hooks and harmonics that are surpassed only by the increasingly impressive and tight fitting lower garments they’re managing to fit into these days, especially you Ross; good on ya. As for Scouting For Girls; well, to say that they’re the musical equivalent of our good green earth’s greenhouse gases, increasingly smothering our musical landscape and slowly choking the nation’s appreciation of creativity and innovation, would be pretty much spot on. Horribly wooden.

Talking of massive wood, the 12” highlights this week are large meaty and dripping with…quality. Scottish sorts Winona decide to rope in their knob twiddling chums to do all the hard graft whilst they sit back, have a deep fried mars bar and rake in the profits (’Without You: The Remixes’), whilst Brightonians Alloy Mental tuck themselves into a hearty meal of thudding electronica grooves (’I Am’, Skint). Apparently DJ Zinc still kicks around these days as well, his 12” teetering about on some typically jungle styled stilts (’Snipers Den/Take Me With You’, Bingo).

It may be looking like a surprisingly warm summer at the moment, but don’t think the Levellers are taking a day off from protesting and fighting for the common man (’Before The End’, On The Fiddle); oh no sir, which is handy, because we can take in the sun nice and easy knowing that Chapman and co. are still toiling away shouting for causes which we’re all clearly totally behind. There’s isn’t a lone voice croaking across an otherwise ambivalent and passive nation however; for London folky punk types the King Blues are telling socialist stories themselves..and doing it a little better than the Levellers are currently doing at that. (’Let’s Hang The Landlord’, Island) But guys it’s the summer! Kids have broken up for holidays, ice cream vans are working good and hard to ensnare the young un’s and me and Mrs.

Singles are off to Tanzania to see relatives (ok then..Cheshire Zoo); we don’t need this sort of rapt and biting social commentary for a good month or so yet, why don’t you just buy yourself a Screwball (other ice creams are available), reach the bubble gum at the bottom and let your mid year days drift by in a delightful hybrid of brain freeze and sticky goo filled fun. New Adventures seem to be struggling to get into the spirit of the holidays as well (’In Our Hands’, Faded Grandeur), trying to get all angsty and downbeat on us; not going to work though my glass half-empty peering fellows, not when twee scamps Noah & The Whale are getting all corduroy on our collective asses (’5 Years’, Cherry Tree).

Finishing me off with a pubescent orgasmic squeal then are spotty little oiks Late Of The Pier who bombard the senses with something part 1988 and part 2008 (’Heartbeat’, Parlophone); although we all laughed and derided the Klaxons two years ago (ok, well I did, last time nu-rave was pumped into the zoo enclosures at Chester Zoo, Larry the Elephant was on heat and this tragic combination of glo-stick waving choonage and randy elephant loving caused the death of six tucans, a couple of cockatiels and a sloth), it seems that the genre, if such a one exists still is inching towards respectability, and why shouldn’t we applaud that? Why shouldn’t we?

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