This week’s tracks reviewed: Loyle Carner, Take That and Post Malone

Loyle Carner
Ottolenghi

Look, we could sit here all day and talk about how lovely this is. Spacious, honest, heartfelt, Loyle’s relaxo-rap timbre like honey smothered on velvet knickers. But we don’t have to. It’s called Ottolenghi. This is the Guardian. So obviously it wins this week’s Best Track.

Maggie Rogers
Light On

Remember a couple of years ago when someone made amaranthine rent-a-goon Pharrell cry by playing him one of their songs in class? Well, this is her new – as I believe the kidz are calling it – “jam”. And while it’s hardly going to set Pharrell’s bottom lip aquiver, it’s a perfectly serviceable slice of Haim-esque breeze-pop, which does its thing and slings its hook without ever outstaying its welcome.

Take That
Out of Our Heads

“We’re gonna be out of our heads tonight,” toots Mark Owen in this curious cross between that good song Duffy did and the very worst one Frank Sinatra did. Which leads us to wonder what Take That are like when ruthlessly clattered out of their gourds. Gary is definitely one of those stressful caners who’s convinced everyone’s going to die unless they drink enough water to make their entire urinary tract explode. Howard – remember Howard? – is the one who spends five furious hours alone having a staring contest with the whirly patterns on his wallpaper. And Mark’s the tit who gets out a guitar and says: “I wrote this on a beach in Ko Phi Phi,” isn’t he? Yeah he is; you can tell. What? Review the song? OK. Yeah, it’s all right. 7/10.

Thom Yorke
Volk

Most notable these days for his crusade to prove that receding hairlines and topknots need not be mutually exclusive (though Thom, my dude, they are), your uncle’s favourite whingebag has only gone and soundtracked a remake of your uncle’s favourite horror film, Suspiria, from which this is taken. It’s a discordant, wordless meze of synths and fidgety drums, in as much as it sounds like a cat absolutely going to town on its lower parts while sitting on your uncle’s favourite Casio keyboard.

Post Malone
Better Now

“Music (noun): Vocal or instrumental sounds combined to produce beauty of form, harmony, and expression of emotion”. Your chums and mine at the OED, there. By that definition, this four-minute aural prolapse doesn’t actually qualify as music. So what is it? Well, imagine if someone farted directly down your earhole and, as well as hearing the point-blank bumwaft, your ear could also smell it. That, Auto-Tuned, is exactly what this is.