The Rhythm Method
Not only do they boast the only dodgy contraception-based name in music we can think of – unless we were missing something with Johnny Rotten – the Rhythm Method are admirable for their dedication to England’s history of resigned football anthems. We know England are not going to win the World Cup, and so do they. But they’ve still made a dour Southgate/Kane/Vardy-name dropping shuffle direct from the New Order school of sardonic delivery. The only thing missing is a John Barnes rap.
Despite sounding as if she’s just huffed on a giant helium balloon, there’s something lovely about Nao’s sweetly squeaky falsetto. Another Lifetime is one of those light at the end of the tunnel break-up tunes where you wish your ex-lover all the best instead of a lifetime of pain. So grown up.
I’m Your Man
What would have happened if Leonard Cohen had sacked off sipping raki on Hydra and joined the Beatles in their Sgt Pepper phase? Just imagine his glum wee form shoved into a bright green Edwardian military band outfit. He’d hate it at first, sure, but then after a while he’d take a look in the mirror and think: “Hey, this isn’t so bad.” Next, a bit of jamming with Lennon and McCartney. And maybe, just maybe, they’d come up with something like this: a shimmering, pure love song with loads of bloody brass on it.
Troye Sivan ft Ariana Grande
Dance to This
Usually when two very pretty people hang out the standard response is to sneer and pretend to ignore their luminous skin and outrageously healthy hair. However, there’s something about the pairing of vlogger-turned-queer-pop-icon Troye Sivan and owner-of-the-greatest-ponytail-ever Ariana Grande that isn’t rage-inducing. A song, like most songs now, that sounds a bit like Ed Sheeran might have written some of it, Dance to This skitters about on the fringes of sexiness before retreating back behind its sonic chastity belt.
The latest single from San Francisco’s premier ambient noise-makers Deafheaven isn’t so much a song as an epic journey that starts off by gently meandering down a country lane, listening to the lushest singles by the Cure before abruptly rear-ending a Skoda and driving round and round a roundabout until it pukes. If there’s a grindcore heaven, this is what they’ll play there.