This week’s tracks

The Guardian - The Guide - - Music - Luke Hol­land

Non­ame Song 31

Not the snap­pi­est artist/ song combo, granted. It might as well be called That Mu­si­cal Noise by What’s-Her-Face. But any­one who heard Non­ame’s de­but LP last year, Room 25, will be de­lighted to hear this picks up right where that left off. Which is to say: lo­qua­cious, rapid-fire raps draped like caramel goo across silky, breathy neo-jazz. Then Phoelix sashays in to squawk a cho­rus so de­light­fully wonky even he sounds sur­prised by the oops-there-goes-my-Pot-Noo­dle chord change. Huh. Maybe 2019 is go­ing to be fine, guys?

Bring Me the Hori­zon Medicine

Were things re­ally bet­ter in the olden days? Old peo­ple seem to think so. Long-time BMTH fans do, too. You can see them sit­ting there, peer­ing over their Daily Ex­press, pin­ing for by­gone days when Bri­tain meant the soft thwonk of cricket, cream teas, fa­tal syphilis and Bring Me the Hori­zon be­ing a scream­core band your par­ents gen­uinely de­spised. Be­cause now they make this sort of edge­less Ra­dio 1-frot­ting Logic Pro emo-pop. And while it’s fine in the same way the taste of car­rot is, it’s also a bit, well, toi­let.

Lizzo Juice

If you’re in the cold em­brace of Dry Jan and are wor­ry­ing you’ll cave, you might want to give this one a miss. Ba­si­cally a Chic-funky paean to go­ing out, hav­ing a laugh, danc­ing, drink­ing and feel­ing great about your­self, you’ll be reach­ing for the Pernod be­fore it’s even fin­ished. Go on. Just have one tiny tip­ple. Lizzo says it’s fine.

Paul McCart­ney Get Enough

Paul, come here mate. Sit down. It’s OK, you’re not in trou­ble. Now lis­ten: Auto-Tune’s like cumin, or that once-ayear “an­niver­sary” lube that makes your nethers tin­gle like a freshly slapped arse, in that it’s some­thing that needs to be in­tro­duced with the ut­most re­straint. And that’s not what you’ve done here, is it Paul? You’ve wanged it all over the place, haven’t you? And it’s an aw­ful noise, Paul. Like yo­delling with bath farts. Don’t cry. It’s just … you don’t al­ways have to do what boys like Kanye tell you, all right? If he’s re­ally your friend, he’ll think you’re cool no mat­ter what, see? Now go out­side and play, you lit­tle scamp. Awh.

Ian Brown From Chaos to Har­mony

With the pos­si­ble ex­cep­tions of “I don’t do PC, I just tell it like it is” and “Here is your host … Stephen Mul­h­ern!”, is there any phrase more cer­tain to send you blast­ing for the clos­est hillocks than “Ian Brown on wah-wah gui­tar”? From the sound of this he plays it like a novice an­gler wildly beat­ing a koi carp to death with a shoe. Ian pro­duced this song him­self. You can tell. It’s very bad in­deed.

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