We Are the Pipettes

Quick! Somebody give Smash Hits CPR! Were the legendary pop-mag relic still going The Pipettes would surely be the subject of the double-page pull-out souvenir lyric poster special every other issue, a fresh pose a fortnight. And had Top of the Pops not been sabotaged and sent spinning towards the precipice leaking brake fluid, the candy-floss Brighton trio with a mean kick could easily have been the house band--all the polka dots you could dream of, week in, week out.

The Pipettes understand what it is you love about pop music, see. "Dance with me, it will be alright". And the fact that falling in and out of love probably has a little something to do with it. "It's not love... but it's still a feeling". After a promising run of singles comes an album dense with sparkle, packed only with potential number ones in any reality that makes sense.

It's a glorious scissors 'n' magazine cut 'n' paste collage fantasy of karaoke in Camden bars, '60s girl-groups haircuts, giddy harmonies, string licks like diamond encrusted accessories and passport pictures of past conquests. "Judy" is a witty bittersweet tale of teen identity, like Kenicke with their bootstraps pulled tight by the Shangri-Las, "Your Kisses Are Wasted on Me" is the Go Team trimmed by Phil Spector, and "One Night Stand" is an inverse "I Will Survive", brandishing an unbranded packet of old-fashioned girl power, the other party the victim.

Any signs of life from Smash Hits yet? No? Shame, this should have wiped the floor at the Poll Winners' Party. --James Berry