I’m not sure I ever trusted the one about timelessness in art; that most conveniently unprovable of theories which posits the value in a sonnet, sculpture or song as intrinsic and therefore appreciable by everyone from Medici of Florence to Kevin Costner in Waterworld.
But if you’re going to have a shelf-life on the works you produce within your chosen field, at least make it more than about eight seconds, which is what Basshunter have done with the execrable ‘Now You’re Gone’, up 13 places to number one in the singles chart this week.
There’s been a fair old kerfuffle about ‘Piece Of Me’ being one of Britney Spears’s stronger pop doses in recent memory, but to these ears it sounds contrived and forgettable – it’s at number two, btw - and Rihanna goes in at six on download sales alone with the very nifty ‘Don’t Stop The Music’.
Lupe Fiasco sounds dispiritingly formulaic at seven with ‘Superstar’, and Kanye West takes time out from being shit at Connect Four to get cosy with Chris Martin at 14 with ‘Homecoming’.
Finally Wombats prove something of a headache at 37 – generic as a windswept clinch in a Mills And Boon novel they may be, but ‘Moving To New York’ proves a disquietingly compulsive affair, thanks in large part to a capering bassline The Futureheads would be happy to call their own.
Meanwhile in the album charts and it's over to DiS’ resident industry insider, who wishes to remain nameless, for news that Radiohead have been robbed of the number one spot on only their second week of physical release by none other than Amy McDonald:
”Poor Radiohead... number one for the whole week on the midweeks then the singing hairdresser pips them at the post. They might be able to turn an entire industry on its head and bring EMI to its knees but they are POWERLESS to the might of Universal's TV advertising budget.”
Stay tuned for more from our anonymous guru the next time I need to sound clued-in and urbane about things I don't understand.
Other than that, looking for life in the album charts this week is like looking for life on Mars; it hurts your eyes a bit, and if you do find anything it’s most likely bacterial. You know how it goes – some records go up a bit, some down, I shan’t bore you with the details.
The highlight? I’ll plump for self-professed song and dance man Seasick Steve, who sticks his head above board at 47 with Dog House Music, a fine collection for roots-huggers that should be.
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