TRACK OF THE WEEK
First Hate
The One
You’d have to be made of stone not to fall for the elegiac wonder spun by Copenhagen duo First Hate. The One is full of new-waviness – the lead vocals are more than a little Bernard Sumner – but that doesn’t get in the way of what this truly is: a pristine piece of teenage melancholia. This and the rest of their back catalogue mark them out as an exciting new voice in the burgeoning nostalgia-tinged comedown-pop scene.
Gorillaz
The Apprentice
Maybe this is just because I’m not 13 any more, but I find it very hard to see anything exciting about the return of Gorillaz in 2017. What was once a genuinely subversive project – the sort to stick Roots Manuva and Shaun Ryder on the same album – now sounds like every other 6 Music-festival-friendly, major-label-distributed, sanitised neo-soul album in your dad’s glove compartment. Featuring Rag’n’Bone Man.
Young Thug
All The Time
You can already hear the debates around Young Thug’s new direction beginning to froth in the far reaches of the internet. He’s said his next record – tentatively titled Easy Breezy Beautiful Thugger Girls – will be a “singing album”, and that Drake has exec-produced it. Expect much talk of selling out and “missing the old Thug”. Also ignore it, because if this is anything to go by it will sound great.
Rostam
Gwan
Vampire Weekend’s ex-keyboardist Rostam Batmanglij turns in another solo track, this time a reflective, string-led number indebted to Penguin Cafe Orchestra. It’s difficult to see what artistic ground Batmanglij has gained by going it alone; his arrangements often miss the spike of his old bandmate Ezra Koenig. That said, dreamy chamber pop in this vein is difficult to actively hate.
Lana Del Rey ft The Weeknd
Lust For Life
This track is to ballads what “Eat Pray Love” canvases are to wall art, but that’s sort of the bizarre and endless appeal of Lana Del Rey. She makes music that possesses all the subtle sensuality of rubbing Air Wick scented oils into your partner’s naked body, yet somehow this almost nauseating tackiness makes her more interesting than many of her contemporaries. Add in the Weeknd – a pop star with the magnetism of an M&S meal-deal – and you end up with a track so mediocre it’s practically transcendental.
