You can see them now, look carefully, out the widow, it’s the top-shop nu-ravers! They’re the sort that 12 months ago would have repelled at the thought of people wearing hoodies. Now they’ve got their high-street red skinny jeans and neon t-shirts proclaiming that they were there for Klaxons first ever gig to a man and a dog in New Cross.
It’s these people that have let the likes of Ali Love get away with jumping the good ship electro-pop and ride it all the way to our ears. Now, there’s nothing exactly wrong with ‘Secret London Lover’; but then there’s nothing wrong with not wiping your bum after you’ve had a poo. But however, there are something’s that you just don’t do.
Coming over like the Butlin’s take on New Young Pony Club (not that they’re much cop in the first place either) they fuse woeful attempts to mimic Prince’s almost godly-like funk prowess with some squelching keyboard farts. It’ll send the send the sun worshipping Claphamites it to a delirious love-in. Avoid at all costs.
Reviewed by Lee Puddefoot
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Tuesday 11th September 2007
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