But man, if ever there was a scene made for Shipley’s First Hypothesis, it may well have been the bit where Alicia heals a dead dog…

[Video][Website]
[6.12]

Al Shipley: This is more synth and drum machine-driven than the average Keys single, but the melody sounds like it was written for an Olympics opening ceremony. And the tension between the contemporary production, the cheeseball tune, and the restrained but sexy vocal is what makes it work.
[7]

Matt Cibula: Okay, THIS is what A.Keys should be doing — mixing up the decades, nailing down a pretty song through careful singing instead of trying to show off her (overrated) pipes. And I rather admire where the song goes, lyrically.
[7]

Alex Macpherson: With its crashing drums and whirring bass reminiscent of “The Beautiful Ones”, “Try Sleeping With A Broken Heart” revs up like a jet taking off. Appropriately, Alicia Keys delivers a tour de force performance, at once curl-up-under-the-duvet intimate and scream-it-from-the-rooftops desperate: she trembles with lust, gasps beneath suffocating loneliness, punches the air with anthemic determination. The song is a cascade of spine-shivering moments: the plea of “well, you can try sleeping in my bed,” the peal of “you know that I’ll always be in love with you,” the explosion of the chorus, the implosion as a drifting piano line fades to black.
[10]

Alfred Soto: I hate this woman and her phony, pus-infused nuevo soul schtick. This time she lets cold synthesizers and booming drums carry the emotion that’s beyond her voice and brain. Its brevity is a plus. But how on earth do some people hear Prince in this thing? “The Beautiful Ones” was weird; this is co-dependent.
[5]

John Seroff: Alicia Keys’ debt to Prince is obvious. Much of her music references his style and sound; she even managed to eke out a minor hit with her remake of “How Come U Don’t Call Me Anymore”. “Try Sleeping With a Broken Heart” manages the odd feat of sounding more like it was written by Prince than her Prince cover does; the growling intro, the breathy acrobatic vocal tenor, the corny 80’s synths, the clipped pacing, the drum machine percussion and the underlying simplicity of the theme all hearken back to Parade-era Purple in the worst way. I say “worst way” because what “Broken Heart” gains in verisimilitude, it lacks in verve and personality. As of late, Keys has buffed her ragged edges and burliness down to an arena sheen. Must all be part of her growth as a commodity; she’s just at home these days on 106 and Park or Lite FM. I suppose that’s good news for Sony’s shareholders, but I miss the days when Alicia’s voice had grit and snarl and her music had more texture than a frappe.
[4]

Martin Kavka: The beat is so ordinary, and Keys’ voice so thin, that it makes the broken heart seem as serious as a misplaced Hello Kitty notebook. And the sentiment is just weird — if “making it without you” is equivalent to “holding on to the times that we had,” is it really without you? Is it really making it? I’ve never respected the you-dumped-me-so-now-I-will-go-to-the-club-and-be-slutty genre as much as I do after listening to this dreck.
[2]

Anthony Miccio: “No One” is Alicia’s only previous single to excite me enough to look past her insufferable preening, and this one works much in the same way: Classical fanfare and classic breakbeat run through synth-filters until novel while Alicia gets endearingly – and humanizingly – close to bawling. I found the previous pledge of devotion more affecting than this pledge to endure (like her ability to overcome obstacles was ever in doubt), but the formula still works.
[7]

Edward Okulicz: Alicia Keys is, emotionally speaking, the girl who cried heartbreak once too often. It’s good to hear her pick out some heretofore untapped warmth in her voice, and the bright arrangement is an unexpected surprise. But the verses here are a problem; she’s always been a shrill over-emoter because her voice is just so smugly unsympathetic, and here she sounds reined in, but even more so like she’s suffocating.
[6]

Alex Ostroff: For all her classical training and songwriting ability and commercial success, I’m never exactly sure who Alicia Keys is as an artist/persona/pop star. That said, this song is massive and anthemic in all the right ways. “Have you ever tried sleeping with a broken heart? Well, you could try sleeping in my bed.” is a great histrionic line – one of many. From a million miles away to the bottom of the sea, “Try Sleeping with a Broken Heart” fully commits itself to melodrama and succeeds admirably.
[8]

Martin Skidmore: A big ballad, sung and composed with skill, but it lacks anything to grab me — energy or excitement, passion or power, towards the end even a sense of direction and purpose. I can only shrug.
[4]

Anthony Easton: Formally so perfect that the heartbreak does not seem real, and not even in a false bravado, my-skills-overwhelm-my-sadness kind of way.
[3]

Michaelangelo Matos: The verses sound like Klymaxx. The chorus sounds like subpar Klymaxx.
[4]

Doug Robertson: There’s a bit of an Eighties Whitney vibe going on here, but Alica’s not Whitney and, no matter what a cursory traipse through the synth-tastic charts might make you think, it is definitely not the eighties either.
[5]

Mallory O’Donnell: Sort of the greatest wet-eyed walking in the rain montage song for a nonexistent 80’s black comedy in which rock concerts are attended and life lessons are learned. Sort of.
[7]

Tom Ewing: The “we built this city” keyboard twinkles, the somehow muffled drums, the rising synth buzzes – this is kind of a high-budget take on glo-fi! Well, perhaps not, but the sound of the record would be intriguing and snuggly even if Keys didn’t absolutely smash the song – her soaring determination, that firework “I’ll always be IN LOVE WITH YOU”, the way she takes such an absurdly epic track (lightning crashes on the chorus) and keeps it conversational so the “la la lala” scatting at the end feels like a quiet victory. A treasure.
[10]

Cecily Nowell-Smith: Some feelings are so little and fragile you have to curl in on yourself to keep them safe; some feelings are so total it’s hard to believe they’re only being felt inside one small body. This song is stadium loneliness. Foggy synth, paddy drums, Alicia Keys all breath, like whispering down a dead phone in the middle of the night. “Have you ever tried sleeping with a broken heart? Well, you could try sleeping in my bed.” It’s devastating. And then the whole thing soars, her voice clears, the synths tower up and the drums crack twice like thunder — this sublime moment, as huge and heart-stopping as joy. Sometimes you’re so stupid with sadness, you throw yourself at hopelessness thinking it’s the noblest act of faith. This song is that giddy instant, that pose of defiance: when, for an infinite second, your heart feels as big as the world.
[9]

Essex teen becomes the first to test Shipley’s First Hypothesis…

[Video][Myspace]
[4.79]

Anthony Easton: Really fucking annoying voice, innit?
[2]

Alfred Soto: As winsome as an Auto-tuned Harriet Wheeler stooping to swoon in front of power chords.
[5]

Alex Macpherson: Is this for real? This girl is seriously Autotuned to be out of tune? It’s hard to decide which component of “Number One Enemy” is least worthwhile; but between the gross, cheap-sounding, ear-aching treble of the production, Chipmunk’s awkwardly shoehorned rap and Daisy herself, all strained, unconvincing attitude and little real character, it’s pretty much a race to the bottom.
[1]

Jessica Popper: Daisy Coburn is an Essex teenager who everyone was scrambling to sign in early 2009. After a year of preparation, she’s about to finally release a single, and since a) it is brilliant and b) it has Chipmunk on it, it’s bound to be a massive hit. Daisy could be this year’s Pixie Lott, but a more real, identifiable version, who I think could be extremely popular with teenage pop fans. I hope so, anyway, cos some of her songs are very ace indeed.
[9]

Martin Skidmore: She delivers it with confident force, and I guess Chipmunk is the right guest for this debut, though he offers little. The shouty chorus is catchy, and there are good moments in the verses too — I like the pace she can deliver at, for instance. I think she could be very big.
[7]

Iain Mew: An unholy concoction of sub-“Year 3000” electrorock, point-missing Allenisms, misplaced attitude and Autotune. Remarkably, Chipmunk shows up, does little more than flick through his collection of laughs and vocal tics, and is still comfortably the least annoying person on the record.
[2]

Doug Robertson: Chipmunk’s contribution does neither of them any favours, but it’s good to have it included just so that there is at least some sort of flaw in the Daisy Dares You machine, no matter how vague it might be. This is supremely sassy and confident, blissfully unaware that no-one should hit the scene this fully formed and with the tunes to back up the hype that’s washed over her like a particularly enthusiastic shower.
[8]

Matt Cibula: WHAT IS GOING ON IN MY BRAIN THAT I LIKE THIS SONG. I AM GOING BACK INTO THERAPY
[6]

Tom Ewing: The Seven Ages Of Man As Expressed In Reactions To Daisy Dares You: 1. Fear 2. Fancying 3. Mockery 4. Righteous Anger 5. Youtubing Transvision Vamp Videos 6. Paranoid Monitoring Of Offspring 7. Writing To Have Your Say
[6]

David Moore: Mildly autotuned UK teenrock, could have been on The Princess Diaries soundtrack or something — at one time the singer’s own rap would be artlessly shoehorned in before the final chorus (cf. Lindsay Lohan’s “That Girl”) but Chipmunk selflessly shamelessly offers his services here instead. Did Emma Roberts recently finish a Nancy Drew movie in London, or did this just happen?
[6]

Edward Okulicz: Punk-pop pastiches that thrill the kids while enraging boring adults is like the best genre of music ever! But even great genres have terrible examples, and this one’s heretofore unknown Achilles heel is for it to be both shrill and tinny at the same time.
[1]

Michaelangelo Matos: Avril always sounded too fucking real for my blood anyway. Not to mention not Irish enough. And Chipmunk! “All that she keeps on telling me/Is that she’s not your enemy.” Me, too!
[3]

Alex Ostroff: “Number One Enemy” is an Frankenstein’s monster of a pop track. It splits the difference between late 00s Veronicas-style electro on the verses and early 00s guitar girls on the chorus. The way Daisy squeals out “STOP!” and stretches out “enemy” especially reminds me of vintage Avril vocal affectations — never a bad thing. Chipmunk’s half-sung bridge tosses some latter-day Lil’ Wayne in the mix for good measure. It’s catchy enough, but I can’t help but feel like I’ve heard this all before.
[7]

Anthony Miccio: Death by autotune.
[4]

Six songs in, it’s our first one from Leeeeeeeds…

[Video][Website]
[6.08]

Alfred Soto: She’d do what all over again?
[4]

Martin Kavka: In the press for this album, Rae has stated that this is not a song about her state of mind after the death of her husband. Rather, it’s about her decision to persevere in the relationship after they had an awful fight, and her belief that the heights of love outweigh any and all pain. I almost believe her. When she repeats the title phrase, the production envelops her, she seems to be in a trance-like state of joy, and that joy is infectious; for a brief moment the force of her will transforms widowhood into beatitude. However, in the last thirty seconds everything disappears except for her voice and her guitar, as she reminds her husband that he’s “searching for something I know won’t make you happy.” The pain cannot but return, perhaps more sharply than before. I’m in awe of the emotional roller-coaster of the song, yet I look forward to the day when Rae falls in love again and retires this song from her setlist.
[9]

Anthony Easton: Knowing the story makes one a little angry, but on hearing the song the complete sublimation of self into desire, into the openness of a heart when all good and common sense would suggest that the heart should be tightly closed no longer seems deluded or foolish but decimating in how proper and right the course of action seems.
[9]

Anthony Miccio: No amount of backstory can seem to keep her voice from receding into the background.
[5]

Alex Ostroff: I can appreciate her technique, especially the way she exquisitely bends the blue notes, and the texture of her voice. But the whole thing is so languid, and drifts along, “so weary” that all of a sudden the song is over and I’m left wondering where it went. There are some wonderful phrases here, both lyrically and vocally, but it never moves me the way I wish it would.
[5]

Martin Skidmore: The diffidence alone makes this far preferable to her irritating huge hit. It’s neo-soul, and her voice is pleasant enough, but possibly too weak to carry the emotions the song wants. I like the quiet backing well enough, and it’s all okay, but it’s far too easy to ignore.
[4]

Doug Robertson: CBR, as she’s never called, is clearly still more than happy to stay right in the middle of the road, where there’s nothing to distract or entertain, just the consistency of the cats eyes flashing past again and again and again and again and…
[2]

Mallory O’Donnell: Corinne Bailey Rae’s voice is a thrilling, compelling thing – almost uncanny in its ability to navigate between dramatic exterior shots and warmly-lit interior ones. The problem with her performances is that she utilizes this gift to the point of exhaustion. Combined with her predilection for MOR schlock and NPR soul, the result is nearly always a song that becomes baroque in its’ own self-absorption. Luckily, there’s a huge target audience for this sort of thing, giving us hope that she’ll stick around long enough to sing something actually worth hearing.
[3]

John Seroff: I can’t say I ever studied Corinne Bailey Rae; the songs off her eponymous 2007 album struck me as pretty, lightly unctuous, on the verge of cloying and not particularly memorable. Nothing prior had prepared me for the clarity and honesty on display in “I’d Do It All Again”. The song is gentle but terribly sad; shades of an Astrud Gilberto quaver, the directness of Sade, the fatalism of an Amy Winehouse heartbreak. “All Again” is a craftsman’s ballad: solidly built and adorned with skilfully personal touches. You can’t help but hear the maturation and tight-lipped wisdom in Bailey Rae’s voice; there’s pride, restraint and strength here, qualities I’d love to hear more from women in pop. It’s a young year, but “All Again” is one of the kindest songs that 2010’s given me so far.
[8]

Matt Cibula: I’m afraid that most of us won’t have the time for this slow-burning piece, and it does start off a little snoozy. But have patience, you crazy pop people — it bursts into something wonderful. Dammit, now I’m going to have to take the lovely CBR seriously as an artist.
[7]

Iain Mew: Sounds on the most surface of levels just like the pleasant smooth soul of before, but you barely have to scratch that to get to the utter bleakness beneath. Desperate flash of steel in the title phrase aside, there’s barely any light here at all. As wallowing in sadness goes, though, this is an excellent way to do it, not least to marvel at Corinne’s voice. It was always impressive but never deployed in nearly so quietly powerful a way before.
[8]

Tom Ewing: Even aside from the personal tragedy that’ll be the record’s number one angle, I wonder if not making much of a smash freed her up to do somewhat more intriguing stuff. This single won’t do anything to alienate the coffee-table crowd but it does its mood-building and peaking thing with a sureness and sophistication which surprises and disarms me a bit.
[7]

Edward Okulicz: There’s an interesting tension here, in the way she’s trying to do a sort of personality-defining mini-epic about something profoundly personal, and her clearly unerring radio pop instincts. You can hear the latter in how the song is still playlist-appealingly short, and how it sticks in the melancholy before it gets a chance to be truly wrenching, but overall, she’s showing a lot more presence and (no sarcasm here) soul than before, and hints at some really brilliant records to come from her in the future. Not yet, but this one’s good.
[8]

And, of course, the most interesting thing I know about this feller is that his dad played for Celtic…

[Video][Website]
[7.07]

Martin Skidmore: You’d have thought that his position as a godfather of rap might have given him good opportunities for attention, but he’s been invisible for a long time (his last album was in 1994). This comeback sounds like an old bluesman (his voice sounds very worn and roughened) singing with Massive Attack — the sensibility here is entirely Robert Johnson. This of course is a very good thing, and I have some residual love for Gil, so I hope this is a successful return.
[9]

John Seroff: I was lucky enough to see Scott-Heron live recently. He was forty-five minutes late and made bad dad jokes for almost a half-hour on stage until he finally sat down and threw himself heartily into moving, astonishing, musical genius. The voice is still there; it’s the focus that’s scattered, and that says a lot about what does and doesn’t work with “Me and the Devil”. Scott-Heron’s hard-earned rasp plays well enough on this ill-advised Robert-Johnson-by-way of-trip-hop tribute, but the song itself sounds arduous and deeply inessential; some sort of Spare Ass Annie curiosity, a deep cut best reserved for trivia competitions and wiseguy mixtapes. I love Gil forever and ever but who really needs to listen to this?
[5]

Anthony Easton: Satanic, not in the camp sense, or the teenage rebellion sense, but in the ghostly shadow, endemic crossroads, of Johnson’s hounds and McTell’s cold dark ground. Ghostly — Heron has been haunted, and will haunt. You can “bury his body” but the spirit will rise from the dead. He will never die.
[10]

Martin Kavka: The video ends by showing Heron reading “The Vulture.” Forty years later, the power of that poem has not abated. No trip-hop Robert Johnson cover can even come close. The juxtaposition makes me sadly wonder whether the entire I’m New Here project is just a craven attempt to market a tidy package of suffering to an audience who can experience some ersatz redemption once the album ends and they happily discover that they are not in a cell on Rikers Island.
[3]

Alfred Soto: Surely it’s not Scott-Heron’s fault that he sounds like a Gnarls Barkley sample on his own track. The frisson of tension, especially at the 3:30 mark when the spoken-word portion begins, comes from tone: a Leonard Cohen type examines the issues he helped bring to light with something of the old disgust, as if Barack Obama’s presidency called up the ghosts of the Nixon administration. While not particularly effective, it’s memorable: nostalgia at the service of outrage.
[6]

Matt Cibula: Please to ignore the “spooky” video and just focus on the sounds Gil Scott-Heron is wrenching out of his heart. I haven’t heard anyone make a Robert Johnson song sound this scary and threatening since Robert Johnson. Extra point for subbing out Johnson’s casual domestic violence.
[8]

Anthony Miccio: I’m embarrassingly unfamiliar with Gil Scott Heron’s oeuvre, but I’m going to guess most of it doesn’t sound like a tinny trip-hop remix of “Way Down In The Hole.”
[4]

Alex Macpherson: Ominous trip-hop production frames Gil Scott-Heron’s unsettling, blackened blues well, but it’s his own wracked croak that compels most on “Me And The Devil”; the voice of someone who’s lived to tell more tales than most.
[9]

Chuck Eddy: Production is big and dubby and trips its hop moderately deep but, uh, Gil used to be a pretty great songwriter once, and after 16 years (actually, more like 26 since he did anything anybody much cared about — “Re-Ron” was ’84), not to mention a few notable wars and presidents he’s yet to sink his teeth into, you’d think he might come back with something more thought-provoking and devastating than a Robert Johnson cover. What happened, did he just read Mystery Train or something? Also, sorry, but changing Johnson’s “beat my woman ‘til I get satisfied” to “seed my woman…” feels like a whitewash. So basically, better than that Michael Franti hit last year, but not that much better. Still crossing my fingers about the new album, though I should probably know better by now.
[6]

David Moore: There’s a little sideways smile that comes through the gloomy trip-hop and macabre blues imagery. On this track (and its accompanying album — highly recommended) the tone bounces between triumphant and sadly reflective, funny and sour, coldly straightforward and totally cracked. Not surprising that in addition to the neo-blues and spoken word stuff he managed to write an excellent Leonard Cohen song (“I’m New Here”), too.
[7]

Tom Ewing: Nasty, boiled-larynx blues shouting over a trip-hop backing which, if I’m being honest, tries a little too hard to abrase. But even if there’s a faint whiff of 1998 about the music, Heron’s ranting is alive and hag-ridden enough to make the record more than just an exercise in style.
[7]

Pete Baran: Pop birdwatchers should be happy that Gil Scott Heron has returned, having to make do with Robin Thicke too much recently. If you heard “Me and the Devil” in a dream you can be pretty sure that it’s just about to turn into a nightmare.
[8]

Alex Ostroff: One veritable legend covers another. How could the result be anything but brilliant? Every aspect of this Robert Johnson update radiates dread, from the rasp of Scott-Heron’s voice, to the chopped & screwed vocal treatment, to the lumbering buzz of the bass. In other hands, throwing a master like Gil Scott-Heron over 2step beats might have sounded like a desperate grasp for relevance or trendiness by suits, but it’s a surprisingly intuitive decision. If anything in 2010 expresses sorrow, ache and gravitas equivalent to that of 1930s blues, after all, it’s the twisted soundscapes of dubstep. The production sets the mood without ever domineering the mix, allowing Heron’s affecting performance to bubble up through the murk.
[10]

Edward Okulicz: Easy to like, easy to admire but frustratingly imperfect; the vocal performance here is cracked enough to be plausibly from the pits of hell and it’s a well-selected piece to update too. The choppy trip-hop menace that backs it keeps time behind but sounds shockingly dated and flimsy. It needed to be dark rumblings, brimstone and evil shards of bass; instead, it’s 1997 and Death in Vegas are remixing the Sneaker Pimps with a sample of an old bloke on top!
[7]

Is it Stacey? Does it matter?…

[Video][Website]
[5.36]

Tom Ewing: I think I admire Los Campesinos! for doing indie pop how she used to be done: bloody-minded, clever-clever, heart-on-sleeve. Awkward, in a word. They have an aesthetic and standards and are prepared to be confrontational about those: they actually believe in “indie” as opposed to just making it, or at least that’s the impression I get when I listen to their snappish, self-certain singer. But that aesthetic’s not for me any more and I couldn’t imagine ever putting this on. Especially as it reminds me of Kingmaker.
[5]

Doug Robertson: The people who love Los Campesinos! seem to really love them, but frankly they seem about as fuss-worthy as a square section of tarmac. They’re not Bis, and they never will be.
[3]

Alex Ostroff: Team Campesinos are in fine form here. “Romance Is Boring” is a masterful kiss-off, which finds our antiheroes yawning through the end of a relationship, basking in your diffidence, and slathering the track in feedback. Their feigned indifference is belied by Gareth’s delivery, sung with a barely restrained sneer. The bridge might be the best bit, as he howls out “YOU AND I WE ARE NOTHING ALIKE – I AM A PLEASURE CRUISE!” while sounding like nothing of the sort. If the entire song were about one metronome click faster, this would be an easy 10. As is, it remains one of the five best songs on my early favourite for album of 2010.
[9]

Martin Skidmore: Tedious indie rock, lifted some by the moments when lots of them sing together, which gives it a touch of brightness and force. This is lost if you listen to the terrible lyrics.
[3]

Alex Macpherson: Literally can’t imagine anything worse than having to date Los Campesinos! dude and his inability to say or do the simplest thing without turning it into an arch affectation. Dump the motherfucker now, take his little hissy fit that you’re not like him as a compliment and note that his horrendous song contains the line “I will bake phallic cake,” and reflect on bullets dodged.
[0]

Matt Cibula: A bit of a bash, innit? I like these humans, not really sure why, probably because they back up the preciosity with indie questions in the form of amusing sneers. But someone should tell dude that it’s not really gender equity if he doesn’t give the ladies equal time.
[7]

Michaelangelo Matos: The way their guitars short out is kind of cool, I’ll grant them. But when the dude scowls, “If you were trying at all,” they lose me: the typical sincerer-than-thou rock-dude whine of the would-be dispossessed, calling bullshit on a world he doesn’t have nearly as much comprehension of as he thinks.
[5]

Anthony Easton: This could be a hell of lot more hateful. As for now, it is petulant.
[5]

Alfred Soto: From the song title to the vocals, these guys have got their concept down: a prolonged sneer, beloved by Anglophiliacs, with accompanying snot. Too brief to demand much concentration, it’s a welcome palate cleanser.
[7]

Martin Kavka: This piece of squawky nihilism, a fun pub singalong, proves that lazy heterosexuals are the greatest threat to the “sanctity of marriage.” Bonus point for the video by Alex de Campi, which pulls off the feat of making a 150-second narrative thematically complex without sacrificing clarity.
[7]

Anthony Miccio: Emo-kons, turning every potential anthem into a trudge, only overpowering themselves.
[5]

Edward Okulicz: Too shambolic to really hate – though curiously lacking in impact given how shouty the chorus is – and a few ear-curling lines add interest, but the driving, vital “The Sea Is A Good Place To Think Of The Future” suggested they could do more. Listening to this in its shadow makes me wish they’d be a bit less Ballboy and a bit more Do Me Bad Things.
[5]

Ian Mathers: For the first time in their career, Los Campesinos! have made a record you could describe as a ‘grower,’ but that doesn’t mean they’ve abandoned the giddy thrills that have always characterized their music. Here the way Tom Campesinos’ lead guitar does more than just shadow the vocal line during the chorus (all those little flourishes!) combined with the continued efficacy of a group of people shouting all at once is more than enough to ensure that LC! are matching the increasing depth of their music with plenty of hooks.
[8]

Chuck Eddy: More “rock” than expected, and more concise. Sounds like Blur pretending to be the Buzzcocks. I like the little scritches scritching out at odd angles. Having a sense of rhythm is probably too much to ask. Could use more tune, though — I’d think they’d have that part down. And the girl doesn’t really add much.
[6]

Three songs in, and it’s our first serious top 10 contender of the year…

[Video][Myspace]
[7.91]

Anthony Miccio: Curious to hear the original. I mean, this is a Fatboy Slim remix, right? Right? Ririririighhhhhtttttttt?
[5]

Matt Cibula: Well, I’ll step up and call this the single of the year. Everything is SO MASSIVE and bold and colo(u)rful that I can’t help but love it. Also, this should partially make up for my completely ignoring the entire genre before now.
[9]

W.B. Swygart: So many things to say here, but the one that keeps sticking is “I was in a Bedford nightclub, man saw a member of the group – TAKE THAT!” Because I have no idea what’s going on with it. Is Wiley bragging about the level of nightclub he can get into? Is Wiley bragging about going to Bedford? Is Wiley bragging that a member of Take That (probably Jason Orange) is willing to travel to Bedford to be in the same nightclub as him? Is Wiley bragging about being sufficiently knowledgeable to know that someone is in Take That but not know which one of Take That they are? I just have no idea, none whatsoever, but it’s stuck with me, stuck very hard indeed, as has the rest of this brilliant controlled eruption of a song, which doesn’t seem to give a shit who it fucks with or how much it hurts itself while fucking with them – those first 45 seconds alone, where it stops, starts, stops again, pulls itself inside out, stops again (yes, without starting), then starts, then brags about its involvement on a record that it wasn’t involved with, and just keeps pounding and snapping, standing in the same spot yet in constant motion. Brilliant, brilliant, brilliant.
[10]

Martin Skidmore: I am a big fan of Wiley’s energetic rapping, but what makes this exceptional is Chew Fu’s crunching and propulsive electro backing, which is genuinely powerful. I’m a bit mystified as to why it wasn’t a much bigger hit, since it’s as good a club banger as grime has produced, for me.
[10]

Michaelangelo Matos: This has got to be the dumbest-great breakdown I’ve ever heard. (Or greatest dumb breakdown; either way.) Jersey Shore is negotiating rights for season two, I hope.
[7]

Doug Robertson: Bang! There is no messing, no flab and definitely not even the merest hint of boy band-esque wussiness on display here, just an aggressively friendly statement of intent that burns with a righteous energy and passion. Less dubby than previous, this is the sound of a man who enjoyed the taste of Dizzee style success that Rolex got him and is determined to grab a slice of that pie for himself.
[8]

Tom Ewing: Mainstream-baiting grime star heads to America to recruit a dance producer for a hilariously lairy electro thumper. If “Bonkers” hadn’t got to number one, would this record even exist? Glad it does, though: “Take That” packs the cartoon punch its title suggests, Chew Fu turning the dayglo aggression way up while Wiley mixes defiance and defensiveness in his classic style. His brief rhymes skip between thrilling belligerence, funny non-sequiturs about the other Take That, and letters-to-the-editor style point-scoring about Roll Deep charting with “Shake A Leg”. Only Wiley would so patiently remind us of a No.24 hit: he is fast becoming a national treasure.
[9]

Alex Ostroff: Is it just me, or does “Take That” retroactively render most of Dizzee’s Tongue n’ Cheek project redundant? Brooklynite Chew Fu marries house and grime without losing the bounce of one or the menace of the other — a balance Armand Van Helden, Calvin Harris and Tiesto couldn’t quite manage. Between the epic bassline and Wiley’s ferocious delivery, it honestly doesn’t matter that he spends the song defensively flashing his street and industry cred.
[8]

Alfred Soto: At heart this dervish wishes he could channel aural excitement into a thrown gauntlet to which Dizzee Rascal can respond. But what do you do when someone hands you a Xerox copy of an important document? Stick it in the paper shredder.
[5]

Edward Okulicz: Everything about this song is a gigantic exclamation mark. The slapdash self-references fit perfectly with the massively stoopid beats — and Wiley is larger-than-life, brash and likeable on top of it all. Dizzee Rascal breaking through last year wasn’t for nothing — if there’s going to be a stampede of songs like this busting the charts, 2010 is going to be highly entertaining.
[8]

Martin Kavka: “Firestarter,” funnier, fartier.
[8]

Just so we’re clear, that’s Vampire Weekend as our highest-scoring single so far this year. How’s your humble pie tasting, haters? Mmm? MMMMM?…

[Video][Website]
[6.60]

Alfred Soto: Contra‘s toughest track is a heady swirl, combining the guitars from Talking Heads’ “I’m Not in Love,” Sting’s vocals from Reggatta de Blanc, a stop-start chorus, and a line about finding a sweater on the ocean floor into something new, strange, and thrilling, but still resolutely buttoned-down. That’s a compliment.
[8]

Chuck Eddy: Was originally thinking that hard twisted James Brown vamp at the start (best part of the song — hell, best part of the album probably) reminded me of the Pop Group or Pigbag, but now I’ve decided it’s more Contortions! Doesn’t last long, of course, but the ska taking its place feels reasonably frantic, especially with those rickety tickety winding-alarm-clock sound effects á la the Fabulous Poodles’ “Toytown People”. No idea what the dorky words are about, but it’s still the least twee cut on Contra, which btw has way too many dull slow songs sans hooks and is hence a major disappointment after the debut which I actually kind of liked believe it or not.
[7]

Tom Ewing: Vampire Weekend are a fine pop band but they’re not a singles act: their attitude to picking hits seems to be to just grab the thrashiest track on their album and throw it out there. First “A-Punk”, now “Cousins”, a more frenetic tilt at the first record’s “Campus”. The Afro-pop angle is nowhere in sight, unless Mombasa’s been twinned with Swindon recently: XTC, circa Drums And Wires, are the presiding influence here. Ezra Koenig never sounds as committed to uptight nerdery as Andy Partridge did, though, and away from its palate-cleansing role on Contra “Cousins” is a little slight.
[7]

Doug Robertson: People already own the first Vampire Weekend album, so why exactly would anyone want to buy something that is essentially just the same thing, only slightly different?
[4]

Anthony Easton: Everyone I talk to is sick of the schtick, but it dropped away for me on this album. The music is fun, and the choruses might be second rate Gabriel or Simon; but Simon and Gabriel took themselves too serious, and Vampire Weekend’s wryness undercuts any attempts at changing the world. Pleasure for pleasure’s sake is something to strive for.
[7]

Alex Ostroff: Accused of being a one-trick pony, Vampire Weekend’s second album spirals out in new directions. Songs on Contra expand into electronic textures, construct themselves around unlikely samples and are often slower, more measured and subtle compared to the debut. It’s striking, then, that lead singles “Horchata” and “Cousins” have been the tracks most ‘typical’ of the band’s brand. “Cousins” is a slice of double-time ska à la “A-Punk”, propelled forward by decorative drum rolls and the trilling, swirling guitar line. Not much new here, but it’s a good cap to the first phase of VW, rushing through their old bag of tricks in under three minutes, and fading as chimes ring out.
[8]

David Moore: Sloppy and prim simultaneously, there’s something over-thought about just about every element here: the syncopated hiccups, the imprecise drum-rolls, the kinda sorta Dick Dale falling guitar line, the silly chimes at the end. Like a dissertation on why slipping on a banana peel is funny. I have a feeling these guys would handle a pie in the face about as well as Richie Havens.
[5]

Edward Okulicz: I’m not a fan of the twin-guitar noodle attack, but the layers that add colour to this are very appealing, and the spastic flayings of the chorus are fun too.
[6]

Michaelangelo Matos: Who do they think they are, Skavoovie?
[6]

Matt Cibula: I already got called an idiot for comparing these young fresh fellows to Haircut 100 on BSCReview.com, but this track reminds me of another great multiculti pop band: The (English) Beat. It also reminds me that every Dave Wakeling needs a Ranking Roger. Still, love the pep!
[7]

Mordechai Shinefield: Not the strongest or most interesting song on Contra by far, Ezra sings, “You can turn your back on the bitter world,” but sounds joyant, bouncy, speeding away like third-wave ska bands once did. When I saw them at United Palace Theater this month I swear I saw people skanking, validating the seasonal Ska Is Dead shows that proudly display the irony of Reel Big Fish playing a show announcing their own demise. Ska didn’t die, it just called itself indie and got a Best New Music tag.
[6]

Anthony Miccio: Even if Ezra Koenig’s band of once and former Phish fans could muster half the groove of the Police or the Attractions, I only tolerate this kind of aspiring new wave when it goes for the gut melodically (“Oxford Comma”) or physically (“A-Punk,” this).
[7]

Pete Baran: Loses a Weezer point for mentioning a sweater in the first line, but the rest is another stab at what makes Vampire Weekend so vibrant. You can talk about afrobeat arpeggios all you like, but it’s the breakneck drumming here which keeps the whole thing going. Short and sweet.
[8]

Martin Kavka: By releasing “Cousins” as a single, it seems to be that their strategy is to show that they reject the myopia of the upper class. This probably isn’t wise, for it sets up a competition as to who can “turn [one’s] back on the bitter world” the least, which will end with no lone looking saintly. But the production is crystalline, and I’ve found myself listening to this a lot, even if I yell at Ezra Koenig all the while.
[7]

Andrew Casillas: I still can’t shake the prejudice that this sounds a bit too much like an Elvis Costello & the Attractions-pastiche. Then again, at least they’re aping Elvis Costello, and not bloody Peter Gabriel again.
[6]

OK, so the Best-Off has basically been a fucking disaster, but we’re not completely admitting defeat just yet. However, it’s nearly the end of January. And a lot of stuff has happened that we need to catch up on. For instance, this is top five in the US. Somehow…

[Video][Website]
[4.20]

Chuck Eddy: Barney Rubble, laughin’ like a hyena. Barney Rubble, what a little weiner. Where’s Wilma, anybody seen her? Got a baby elephant vacuum cleaner.
[5]

Doug Robertson: Mr Flintstone? Seriously? If that counts as a cutting edge reference does that mean that if he does a song where he uses a rocket as an unsubtle metaphor for his penis he’ll refer to himself as George Jetson?
[3]

Matt Cibula: This track is drivin’ around with bald feet like Fred Flintstone. Too much forced cleverness, too little actual wit. Doesn’t piss me off though.
[4]

Alex Ostroff: Wayne and crew have perfected the art of phoning it in. Every second line in “BedRock” is a pun worse than the average dad joke, uttered with a smirk or announced with great import, as though “I keep her running back and forth – soccer team” is a line to be proud of. Nicki Minaj is the only one with a pulse, contorting her voice with palpable enjoyment, and dropping the funniest moment of the track as an afterthought (“I just be coming off the top – asbestos”). No matter; Young Money exist mostly to bide time until the chorus, where Lloyd somehow takes a joke that was already old in Donae’o’s “Head, Shoulderz, Kneez & Toez” remix and makes it drowsily catchy.
[6]

Martin Skidmore: There seem to be something like seven rappers/singers on this, for fuck’s sake. It’s all very lightweight, not helped by Lloyd’s rather childish singing of the hook, and the only verse I particularly liked was Nicki Minaj’s sharply delivered counterpoint.
[6]

Martin Kavka: After Lil Wayne’s verse, there are still four minutes left! There are some ephemeral moments of excitement — Lloyd’s “my room is the g-spot”, Drake’s quotation of Aaliyah — but what makes the song a snooze is the production. The melody line consists of five notes, and one shouldn’t be surprised to discover that there are only a finite number of ways to combine them.
[4]

David Moore: I kind of like Young Money! They’re unconscionably stupid. You should avoid operating heavy machinery while listening to them. With the exception of Nicki Minaj, Soulja Boy could run laps around every one of these schmucks. Singing. Heck, he’d finish the race before Gudda Gudda figured out which direction everyone was running in. The nail in the coffin for this one, though, is the snooze of a beat, monotonous staccato thirds, and the failure of Lloyd, the only consistent glimmer of hope, to cut through the roster’s bloat and turn the song into his own twisted little X-rated cartoon.
[5]

Al Shipley: A rap crew that does nothing but radio R&B posse cuts full of braindead half-punchlines doesn’t have much potential, but “Every Girl” proved they could at least turn out a killer single. The follow up fails everywhere that its predecessor succeeded, though, with Tyga and Gudda Gudda upstaging and out-annoying their more famous groupmates.
[2]

Anthony Miccio: Hard to believe that Drake, one of the younger guys here, is the same age Ludacris was when he released Back For The First Time. Cris’ comic yocks were more assured and inspired than those of any of these clowns, whose name can explain away only so much privileged puerility.
[4]

Michaelangelo Matos: At least Wayne fails to make a feminine-care product joke when he mentions the words “summer’s eve,” for which we can all count our blessings.
[3]

Four skinny indie kids, four skinny indie kids…

Iain Mew: Doing lots of ‘interesting’ things to not much effect vs. thrillingly cutting straight to the point – has to be the latter.

Alex Macpherson: The anthemic supremacy of Karen O and her boys simply shows up her competition in girl-fronted indie as total amateur chancers.

Cecily Nowell-Smith: I can’t like “Stillness is the Move” but I’m surprised by how much I want to: its stiltedness, the pile-up of vocals, the suggestion that all its little trickeries are only the necessary disguise for an emotion so mundane and so true it’s hard to say directly. By contrast, “Heads Will Roll” is so straightforwardly bombastic in its ping and peal and appealing hints of housiness, and of course Karen O’s incredible fox-in-the-woods yelp. Still, it’s the one that’s honestly likeable.

Tal Rosenberg: As much as I would like to put the Projectors in here, because I don’t think this song is nearly as bad as some make it out to be, I’m going for the Yeahs 3 because ultimately there’s just more drama, more motion, more more.

Jonathan Bradley: The Dirty Projectors’ indie R&B contains too often the worst features of indie rock: preciousness, sloppiness, and a tendency toward the abstruse. “Stillness is the Move,” though, is genuinely lovely. The off-kilter guitar-line flutters like the Indian motifs Timbaland was once obsessed with, and there’s some laudable proficiency in the vocal, even though its refusal to ease itself into the instrumentation distinguishes it as something distinct from the R&B mainstream. “Heads Will Roll”, though, slices like a serial killer. Karen O’s darkly glamorous death march is one of the best songs 2009 has to offer, and the Dirty Projectors’ charming left-field experiment in pop can’t compete.

Chuck Eddy: I never even heard the Dirty Projectors song before today; are they trying to sound like Frank Chickens? Well, in the “good” parts anyway. When they’re not trying to sound like Mariah Carey or twiddling their thumbs instead. But “Heads Will Roll” wins, by virtue of being one of those rare YYYs songs that doesn’t make me immediately run screaming for my old Pearl Harbor and the Explosions records.

Martin Kavka: Both of these songs have some weird mood swings in them. “Stillness Is the Move” is an Amerindie fusion of Ofra Haza and Joni Mitchell, and drowns in its own belief that combining two voices is equivalent to having a voice of your own. Karen O’s attempt to coo in the bridge “Heads Will Roll” fails quite magnificently, and I’m very glad when her tenderness returns to unite with her apparently supercilious snarl.

Frank Kogan: “Stillness” sounds like wooden puppets trying to emulate Minnie Riperton; is potentially intriguing but stillness isn’t much of a move, actually. Karen O’s not the most supple singer either, but this best-off is no contest as she gets feisty and encounters a fearsome dance of death while her band leaps unexpectedly to competence.

David Moore: In a year of stuff-I-clearly-don’t-get from Animal Collective and Maxwell and Fever Ray, “Stillness Is the Move” perplexes me most in trying to understand what on earth people who like it are actually hearing. I want to hear it — the intersection between Mariah Carey and Talking Heads should at least make for an interesting trainwreck — but it’s just a soggy mess of clumsy beats and half-way decent vocal melodies not particularly well-delivered (she’s not Mariah — she’s not even Mirah!).

Jessica Popper: I was all ready to pick YYYs over this until I saw the video. No idea who this band are but I’ll definitely be looking them up.

Edward Okulicz: “Heads Will Roll” still wants for a better chorus, but otherwise snaps and pouts in an altogether pleasing fashion. “Stillness Is the Move” is more unorthodox and certainly doesn’t go for the easy points, but its tricks are in the background; Karen O puts her trump cards up front in the massive shrieks of the pre-chorus of “Heads” and lets you know she’s there.

Alex Ostroff: “Stillness is the Move” is astounding and transcendent but tentative, where “Heads Will Roll” is all Karen O’s imperious voice bossing me around and crushing my will. Probably the toughest choice to make, but the Yeah Yeah Yeahs take it in the end.

Alfred Soto: Honestly, even DJ Quik and Kurupt would have a hard time knocking “Heads Will Roll” from atop my list of singles. “Stillness is the Move,” that cornucopia of quirk, gurgles loudly in the corner, hoping to get noticed.

Renato Pagnani: “Heads Will Roll” is a great rock song and all, but I just really, really dislike “Stillness is the Move.”

Al Shipley: The only deciding factor here is that one song has bowlcut fashionista Olive Oyl soundalike Karen O on it, and the other doesn’t.

Andrew Casillas: “Stillness is the Move.” If only for the “get a job as a wait-er-ess!” line.

Erika Villani: The lyrics to “Heads Will Roll” are frustratingly dumb. The lyrics to “Stillness is the Move” are also frustratingly dumb. I guess I choose the one that reflects just enough sunlight to sound good as a Solange Knowles song.

Matt Cibula: Whoa, another surprise. I didn’t think I liked Dirty Projectors until re-listening to this rai-reggae jam, while “Heads Will Roll” is less than the sum of its parts for me.

Rodney J. Greene: Indie musicians have been copping dance motifs all this damn decade, whereas the Dirty Pros’ appropriation of mainstream urban radio fodder is brave new territory. Theoretically, this should put the advantage of an easy, seamless, if forseeable, aesthetic into hands of the YYYs, while the DPs have the greater ability to shock and impress, but have to clunk their way into it. However, the synthesis within “Stillness Is the Move” is so fully-formed, that the Projectors improbably bypass any awkward learning curve. Their song feels both original and comfortable. It feels like it came right out of a mold that doesn’t yet exist.

Tom Ewing: This is weirdly hard! “Heads Will Roll” is brilliant but, dammit, “Stillness Is The Move” has really GOT something. Maybe it’s the glass darts guitars or the way the singers hop around like girls on stepping stones, but right now if I had to play one it would be that. On the other hand – “OFF OFF OFF WITH YOUR HEAD”. Actually though, I sort of hate the “glitter’s all wet” line, so that makes my heart feel better about the way my gut is voting here.

Ian Mathers: Like I said in round one, I’m not a huge fan of “Heads Will Roll” compared to what else is on the YYYs’ album, and I’d gladly vote a lot of the other songs I have to pass up over it. Luckily for it, “Stillness Is the Move” is a turgid piece of crap that never ought to have seen the first round of our tournament, let alone second. Everything potentially great in it was done better by Talking Heads in the late 70s/early 80s, and the lyrics… ugh.

John Seroff: A cursory listen of Bitte Orca hasn’t enthralled but “Stillness” is the Jam, crisp R&B held aloft on an Beninese-sounding guitar hook. I hate to piss on anyone’s parade, but I still don’t get the YYY love on this board and am looking forward to seeing them shuffled out of this playlist ASAP.

Michaelangelo Matos: YYYs, even though I like them both a lot. It’s so much more fierce.

Jordan Sargent: In the toughest choice in this round, I’m choosing Karen O.’s campy and murderous city street romping — barely — over the Projector girls’ rather beautiful vibrato. As far as rallying cries go, few songs from this year have “Heads Will Roll” beat.

Pete Baran: Barely a battle; the Yeah Yeah Yeahs play their strongest hand over a track that is just that little bit too mannered to work as the pop oddity it could possibly be.

John M. Cunningham: For most of the year, I’ve been tepid on the Dirty Projectors, but that’s starting to change, in part because “Stillness Is the Move,” with its hiccupy vocals and tricksy guitar figures, continues to intrigue and impress; nothing against the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, who give good snarl on the chic, dance-fueled “Heads Will Roll,” but this one goes to the upstarts.

Erick Bieritz: The Yeah Yeah Yeahs do a good enough Ladytron impression, but cower before the ferocity of “Stillness Is the Move,” which is all flaring flanges and like a deep sea beastie.

Anthony Miccio: Neither is totally convincing, but only one drags…

VOTES

“Stillness Is the Move” – 11 (Chris Boeckmann, Jessica Popper, Andrew Casillas, Al Shipley, Tom Ewing, John Seroff, John M Cunningham, Erick Bieritz, Erika Villani, Rodney J Greene, Matt Cibula)

“Heads Will Roll” – 22 (Martin Skidmore, Iain Mew, Chuck Eddy, Frank Kogan, Alex Macpherson, Cecily Nowell-Smith, Mallory O’Donnell, Anthony Easton, Martin Kavka, Michaelangelo Matos, Pete Baran, Ian Mathers, Edward Okulicz, David Moore, Alfred Soto, Anthony Miccio, Jordan Sargent, Renato Pagnani, Alex Ostroff, Jonathan Bradley, Briony Edwards, Tal Rosenberg)

Well, that was easy.

And now, ladies and gents, Mr Graham Kelly with our quarter-final line-up:

Graham Kelly: Hello.

The draw for the quarter-finals of The Singles Jukebox End-of-Year Best-Off 2009 is as follows:

“You Belong With Me” by Taylor Swift
versus
“Loba” by Shakira

“Hey Playa! (Moroccan Blues)” by DJ Quik & Kurupt
versus
“House of Flying Daggers” by Raekwon featuring Inspectah Deck, Method Man, GZA and Ghostface

“Fifteen by Taylor Swift
versus
“Trap Goin’ Ham” by Pill

“9xs Outta 10” by DJ Quik & Kurupt
versus
“Heads Will Roll” by Yeah Yeah Yeahs

That completes the draw.

Many thanks, Graham.

So yes, eight songs remain. With any luck, we can get this all sorted out by the end of the week, cos fuck knows there’s a hell of a lot of other stuff we need to get looking at. Girl on bleachers vs. woman in cupboard will kick us off tomorrow…

Electrik Red’s “So Good” only managed to score 5.00 in the regular season, but it’s made the second round – only to come up against DJ Quik & Kurupt’s big drummy juggernaut, which scored 8.06. On paper, it shouldn’t have a prayer – but on the internet…

Martin Skidmore: I like the Electrik Red album, but this track has bizarre out of tune moments that I find intolerable, whereas Q&K’s track is the one of the most exciting singles of the year.

Tal Rosenberg: Both of these songs are hypnotizing, but I prefer the aggressive diva-dubstep of Quik and Kurupt to the ballroom bump of Terius, Tricky and Electrik Red. The former just has the tighter grip.

David Moore: Ooh, shit, damn. See, this is how you have fun without breaking a sweat — I’m guessing this pairing will agonize a few folks ’round here but y’all should know in your heart of hearts that “So Good” just feels right. (Even Erika, who probably doesn’t want to vote for this on principle but will because she already compared it to TLC and you can’t take that back.) Nasty but classy, a come-on and a shakedown, frivolous and essential. SO GOOD.

Erika Villani: This doesn’t seem like a fair fight. “So Good” is a bouncy warm-weather track with a couple of clever lines (I believe I called it “pleasant enough” back when we first reviewed it, and I haven’t changed my mind since then). But “9xs Outta 10” stomps and flickers, bullies but also haunts — making “So Good” compete against this is like throwing an adorable baby into a boxing ring.

John Seroff: Even though “So Good” has some pleasantly residual old jack swing flavor, holding it up against Quik and Kurupt’s monumentally gothic tongue twister is like pitting a child’s red balloon versus a Congolese nail fetish.

Briony Edwards: Electrik Red wins because of its lovely pretty tune, and the like-silk vocals, and the fact that they look like they like to have a jolly old time.

Jonathan Bradley: Kurupt directs Quik’s orchestra like a conductor, ushering the cut-up vocals along with his mesmerizing, shifting flow. It’s an impressive performance, and I feel disappointed to have to relegate it to second place behind Electrik Red. But 2009 has been The-Dream’s year, and none of Kurupt’s wordsmithery can compare to the simple ecstasy of “So Good” and its “Ooh… shit… damn” hook.

Iain Mew: A very close one. “9xs Out of 10” and its shifting structure feels like it’s doing something new and exciting in a way that “So Good” definitely doesn’t. But Electrik Red’s languid cooing is that bit more irresistible.

Rodney J. Greene: Okay, now Swygart is a bastard. These are maybe my two favorite songs in this whole round. Both Kurupt and Naomi are breathless, but not in the same way, or for similiar reason. Young Gotti is because he just spit nineteen assonant words in a row before even taking a moment to consider refilling his lungs. Ms. Allen is because ooh, *gasp,* daaamn she found a man who can walk the walk, run the run, and fuck the fuck. Sounds like he could probably fly the fly, too, while he’s at it. After successive bouts of running around like a headless chicken after first concacts with the mash-stomp beat, the forbodingly operatic cut-and-pastes dropped, and each successive flurry of rhymes, “9x’s Outta 10” doesn’t seem quite as exciting when you know what’s going to happen, whereas there’s no resisting the charming afterglow of ER’s technicolor funk.

Chuck Eddy: Claims of Electrik Red’s greatness are even more unfathomable to me than claims of The-Dream’s, and possibly even a practical joke everybody’s been playing on me that I’m too naïve to figure out. ”9xs Outta 10,” by contrast, was easily the best song about probability released all year.

Frank Kogan: Stop-start motion, and when it stops, nine times outta ten, it’s gon’ start again, and my ears and eyes are w/ Quik and Kurupt as they jerk forward, and when it stops, nine times outta ten, it’s gon’ start again, and my ears and eyes are… Meanwhile, on the Electrik side, a leftover woman finds a man’s bed irresistible and has a bed of sound to coo atop; I respect this but don’t actually care about it, except for the cooing, and when it stops…

Martin Kavka: Every time I hear “So Good,” I want to know why The-Dream and Tricky Stewart don’t let even Naomi Allen, much less the other girls, have any personality. Every time I hear “9xs Outta 10,” I strain to find new superlatives, and just give up.

Doug Robertson: Electrik Red are just too in thrall to Kelis to win this contest and, while Quik and Kurupt wear their influences on their sleeves, they at least taken them from a number of different sources and so manage to at least create the illusion of originality.

Matt Cibula: By far the most difficult second-rounder for me — love both these, but Electrik Red stays down to earth while the other…well, it just comes out of a funky future that will never come about.

Alex Macpherson: Two incredible songs which have been integral to my 2009; I probably admire “9xs Out Of 10” more but have jammed “So Good” more, so this goes to Electrik Red on the basis that I’ve voted one Quik + Kurupt song through already.

Ian Mathers: I kind of hate to send two songs to the third round by the same group (although due to the vagaries of the brackets, Quik & Kurupt aren’t the only act that I’ll so bless), but not only is the still gobsmacking “9xs Outta 10” one of the most impressive, overwhelming rap songs I’ve ever heard, it’s against a song I honestly can’t remember since we covered it.

Mallory O’Donnell: While the Electrik Red might be nearly as derivative as Quik’s “Grindin’” rewrite (minus, of course, that lovely looping vocal), it’s far more enjoyable to actually listen to.

Tom Ewing: “9xs”, once the shock of the newness has worn off, feels a bit like having your knuckles rapped repeatedly. It’s kind of meant to, but still. “So Good” I reviewed idiotically back in the day so I’m going to vote for it to make amends.

Jordan Sargent: “9x’s Outta 10” set the stage for the best expirimental rap record of the year by being truly left field and bewildering. It’s a rather perverse -— and brilliant -— study in minimalism and structure, with Quik’s beat snaking and clattering around Kurupt’s measured and incrimental raps. That said, “So Good” is nothing short of stunning, maybe the best match of content and sound this year. All songs about great sex should be this breathless and shimmering.

Alex Ostroff: While it’s impossible to distill the appeal of Electrik Red into one song, “So Good” is the closest you’ll get — it exquisitely captures the tension between propriety and loss of control, class and vulgarity, confident swagger and the pleasure of being caught off guard, that lies at the heart of the record. Don’t mean to be a hater, but oooh shit. Damn.

Andrew Casillas: Seeing as “9xs Outta 10” may be the best rap single of the year, I’ve gotta give it the win over something the-Dream likely wrote as he was waiting for the valet to bring the Maybach around.

Michaelangelo Matos: Rap single of the year, no contest at all.

Pete Baran: One of those angular rap tracks where your interest flicks endlessly between the beats, breaks and the lyrics, every now and then the words are just stupendous, it’s the complete package.

Al Shipley: This should be a tough choice, since these are the lead singles from my two favorite albums of the year, but it actually isn’t; “So Good” all the way.

Edward Okulicz: The Electrik Red album is great fun, meshing successful commercial R&B with a couple of the more left-field WTF tendencies of some of my favourite flops – you can hear the spirit of Brooke Valentine’s bizarrely unsuccessful album in some of its more glorious moments. “So Good” is a damp squib as a single though, if this were “We Fuck You” it might walk it, but, hey, it’s up against “9xs Outta 10” so maybe not. Still as thrilling, vital and downright odd as the first day I heard it, it’s still perhaps the rap single I’ve felt most comfortable loving un-self-consciously as a pop fan; on the strengths of its amazing sonics, otherworldly wordplay, fierceness and raw dancefloor-crushing appeal, this is hard to go past.

Alfred Soto: In the battle of the nuevo old school jams, “9x’s Outta 10” takes the prize for rocking the bells like LL over Electrik Red’s Vanity 6 routine.

VOTES

“9xs Outta 10” – 18 (Martin Skidmore, Chuck Eddy, Frank Kogan, Anthony Easton, Martin Kavka, Michaelangelo Matos, Andrew Casillas, Pete Baran, Ian Mathers, Doug Robertson, Edward Okulicz, John Seroff, Alfred Soto, Anthony Miccio, Renato Pagnani, Erika Villani, Matt Cibula, Tal Rosenberg)

“So Good” – 13 (Iain Mew, Alex Macpherson, Cecily Nowell-Smith, Mallory O’Donnell, Jessica Popper, Al Shipley, Tom Ewing, David Moore, Jordan Sargent, Alex Ostroff, Rodney J Greene, Briony Edwards, Jonathan Bradley)

We do like our goliaths.

NEXT – Round 2 finally gets a fork shoved right into it, as Dirty Projectors and Yeah Yeah Yeahs face off for the last spot in the quarters…