Ah well readers, it’s taken a tough time settling back into England. I’ve left one of the poorest countries on my home continent to move back to, well, one of the poorest countries on this continent!* And to make matters worse, the weather’s so cold that my nipples haven’t seen this much daylight since I was put on a rack for allegedly making anti-chimpitic slurs (those Chimpanzees sure don’t have a sense of humour, I can tell you).

That turned out alright though; being the comic figure that I am, my limbs merely stretched to outlandish proportions and subsequently my social circle briefly involved Gonzo from the Muppets and current Heavyweight Boxing Champion Nikolai Valuev.

They were good guys, and we spent long barmy nights talking of the ways of the world, the lays of the land.. and mostly about how freakin’ tall we all were. Sadly, my height was but a temporary façade, and soon enough I regained my usual shape, thus once again having to go out dogging with ex-Upper Room bassist Beau Barnard and TV’s Alex Carter of Hollyoaks and Emmerdale fame**. But I digress, let’s get on with this chart round up shall we?

Two new songs are in the top 10, readers, which I’m sure will give you the greatest of thrills. Firstly, some cock-a-hoop sounding face-off between Kid Cudi and Crookers called ‘Day ‘N’ Nite’ has made it all the way to #2, whilst much more loved corporate-machine-money-spinners-cum-surprisingly-cult-indie-nerds-guilty-pleasures girl group Girls Aloud leap up a mighty nineteen places (count ‘em) to #10 with ‘The Loving Kind’. Lady Gaga’s ‘Just Dance’ still clings to the top however like an oversized ape would a famous New York landmark, swatting the competition aside like they were mere NYPD helicopters.

Lady Gaga even has the nerve to have a second song inside the top 40 this week as ‘Poker Face’ makes #30. Greedy cow. Cast your eyes slightly lower down the 30’s and you may be delighted/galled to find the much-hyped White Lies in at #35 with ‘To Lose My Life’; well done chaps, look where all that hype got you- on top of Pink.. (she’s at #36, oh ye of filth filled minds!) For those of you who hate teenagers with real emotions and things, you’ll be pleased to know that Fall Out Boy reside at a mere #97 with ‘America’s Suitehearts’.

In the album chart.. oh look, The Script are up from #6 to top spot, knocking Kings Of Leon’s ‘Only By The Night’ down to #2. I would possibly like The Script more if they gave up on their music career and started working as professional Baby Punchers; forsooth they are truly abominable. Even worse is that loveable-comeback-but-getting-abit-tired-that-it’s-gone-on-so-long comeback rogues Take That have fallen to #6 this week, whilst the putrid spectre that hangs over the weekend charts – Lady Gaga – has jumped on in at #3 with ‘The Fame’. Sigh.

Fleet Foxes continue their ascent back towards the top ten like a determined scarab beetle having been knocked off a window sill; they’re up four to #13. Meanwhile all of the 10/10’s, five stars and general masturbation over Animal Collective’s ‘Merriweather Post Pavillion’ has seen it reach the mighty heights of, errr..#26, just above pop’s ugliest man- Seal. Well done. Bafflingly huge climbers this week are Razorlight who jump a mighty 43(!!) places to nestle just inside the top 40 at #38 with ‘Slipway Fires’; hopefully the head of a large pulping company detests the irritable Master of Excrement (by which I mean Borrell, not Andy Burrows who remains a thoroughly nice chap), so much so that he personally bought a few thousand just to try out on one of his new machines.

Until next week folks!

So let me set the scene readers; there it was, a barmy Autumn day at Audioscribbler Towers, and me and some friends from some rival publications- Vinyl Owl, LP Leopard and NME editor Conor McNicholas- were bored of an afternoon and considering our good editor at Audioscribbler was pre-occupied in his usual mid afternoon ritual of taking his vehicle to the car wash (although quite why he feels the need to pay an usher to wash his BMX for him is beyond me), we decided to have a jungle party: jungle music, jungle decorations, jungle dru- you get the picture. However, what started off as a civilized and salubrious affair soon turned sharply with the arrival of my good friend Terence.

Terence was an Indian Elephant who I grew up with in Tanzania; unfortunately for him he’d developed a nasty shaved coconut addiction and the only course of action to take was to send him to rehab at Chester Zoo. I’d heard things had gone well for him since; he’d kicked the coconut and taken up Buddhism. Upon his surprise arrival at Audioscrib HQ however it was apparent that stories of his recuperation had been somewhat misplaced and he ran amok aboard the good towers: tearing down the south wall during a heated game of teather ball with myself, and crashing through the second floor after attempting to emulate his wrestling idol ‘Mr. Ass’ Billy Gunn and giving Vinyl Owl a Fame Asser. Vinyl Owl sadly died during the incident.

You can imagine Kane’s shock as he returned to the building; still reeling from my last party I’d held, Faeces Friday, he saw the building in ruins (Kane now operates Audioscribbler from a moderately sized bouncy castle that he’s paying rent on,) and instantly arranged for my quick deportation back to Tanzania. Mrs Singles- unwilling to give up the privileged aristocratic lifestyle we’d grown accustomed to in Warrington- left me and times were tough as I struggled to settle back into jungle life; battling with my own coconut addiction and falling in with a particularly scummy gang of merecats. Finally however, I was granted a reprieve, after sending article after article the way of Audioscribbler (some of them roughly hewn on discarded pieces of Wriggly’s gum wrappers), I was finally given a spot with the Audioscribbler editorial team, provided I kept out of the North of England at all times. And thus with a renewed vigour I return to you, the Chart Monkey!

So, back in my comfortable lazy boy chair it’s time to bring you news of the weekend’s top 40 charts (remember them?); sure you only need to sell about 34 copies of you’re single these days to make it into them, but isn’t it always fun looking at lists? No…just me then?..oh right…

In the singles chart Alexandra Burke finally gets bludgeoned off the top spot by the horrendous 80’s synth-meets R’n’B atrocity that is Lady GaGa; now seriously, I love the 80’s, I was born in it! But if I’m about to be subjected to yet another year of hapless electro-retro clowning and “harsh tasty beats” then I’m going to line up all the key figureheads of the 80s and have them shot: yes I mean you Bros, Martin Kemp and TV’s Thomas Magnum of Magnum P.I fame. Looking somewhat embarrassed and propping up the top 5 are southern country yokels-cum-soulless arena rock band Kings Of Leon with ‘Use Somebody’; was Because Of The Times really only 2007? Seems like an eternity.

The Killers are still hanging in with ‘Human’ at 11 like that last nugget floating about the toilet bowl and, oh look! Kings of Leon again at 12 with ‘Sex On Fire’. MGMT make good on their numerous end of year accolades by seeing ‘Kids’ rock back up to 16; for my money though the best tune in the entire top 20 is comfortably Britney’s ‘Womanizer’. Yup. The rest of the top 40 seems to read like some sort of highly polished poppy R’n’B groundhog day: Beyonce, Kanye, Rihanna, even Mr. Fiddy in there at 27 with Get Up; it makes for depressing reading so it does, let’s look at the album’s for some light relief shall we? Oh..

Kings Of Leon displace Take That from the top spot much like a slightly less maimed shrew would push a more severely injured shrew off a rock so that at least it could die in the sun. The highest new entry comes in at a dismally low number 28 with the Minogue’s remix album (‘Boombox: The Remix Album 2000-2008’) shuffling into line politely behind the yawning line of albums as seen in some grotty rag’s top 50 albums of last year; that’ll be you MGMT (‘Oracular Spectacular’, 8 ) Elbow (‘The Seldom Seen Kid’, 12) and Fleet Foxes (‘s/t’, 17). Other re-releases range from the pretty alright Glasvegas (‘s/t’, 37) to the downright convulsion inducing Keane (‘Perfect Symmetry’, 31); and as if that isn’t enough, which twats decided to renew their parents love with Mick Hucknall over the festive season!? The red-haired fuckbox resides at 29 like an old boxer who refuses to quit even when he has a constant line of saliva emanating from the bottom left of his mouth and can’t remember the letter ‘J’ ever being in the alphabet (‘25- Greatest Hits’). 2009 needs some new releases and some new releases quick…

A merry Tuesday to you all good readers! Yes, yes, douse those burning torches, rest down your pitchforks; I may be a touch late but doesn’t the poor, humble Singles Monkey deserve a bank holiday break too? And what a break it was my fellow hind-legged walking-on chums!

Mrs. Singles and I spent our day in the Cotswolds picking wild berries and visiting Alex James from the successful Britpop group Blur. I tell you what, that Mr. James has lost none of his guile and wit despite swapping the drugs and alcohol for cheese and aeronautics over the past few years. Why; one of his many practical jokes involved hiding a rusty nail in a particularly large slice of Edam; to cut a long story short Mrs. Singles is now in hospital suffering from tetanus! What ho!

And so it’s with a heavy heart that yours truly returns to the dilapidation and general unsanitary working conditions of Audioscribbler Towers; slipping through the faeces laden corridors to my desk (well..a seventy year old typewriter perched precariously on top of a large Weetabix box,) I’m greeted with a face that is as grey as a British cloud and as lumpy and unstable looking as the texture of porridge. Why it’s none other than the Modfather himself Paul Weller (‘All I Wanna Do/Push It Along’, Island), serving up another double helping of gruel that does little to ease the Tuesday morning blues.

A quick scout around my office for something chirpier reveals several above board and not so above board alternatives; the most relevant here being the Mystery Jets new single (‘Half In Love With Elizabeth’, 679) which even the most deaf of folk have surely seen someone else perform it in sign-language by now, such has been the ‘Jets enduring popularity over this summer. Popular is a word that’s fast becoming attached to Scottish rockers Biffy Clyro as well, with frightening abandon at that! (‘Mountains’, 14th Floor).

“Mon the Biffy” indeed! But no “mon the Vegas” thank you very much, as Alan McGee’s latest ‘most-important-band-in-the-world-of-all-time-like-ever-since-music-began-no-really-I’m-serious-this-time’ group find that the added bonus of severe financial backing allows them to soar such heights as re-release a song less than twelve months old (‘Daddy’s Gone’, Columbia). Now that’s cutting edge!

Re-releasing seems to be the be all and end all for Danish pop tarts Alphabeat (‘Boyfriend’, Virgin). It’s another song that’s been around for longer than the Singles Monkey’s coconut powder habit, yet one that the group shamelessly whore out again in the hope that it’ll get another fumbling, lethargic ride from the general public. This reminds me of the time that Muse released Muscle Museum six times in a week. Or something. I need some reassuring words; Roots? “I’ve seen a future where the culture looks corroded”, (‘Again & Again’, Big Dada), cheers Roots… Does It Offend You Yeah? seem chipper as usual however, and a little less rope-gnawingly annoying with their latest effort to boot (‘Dawn Of The Dead’, Virgin). In fact it sounds like a much better version of Keane’s new direction; kudos to you electro-urchins! Only the monkey God knows what The Subways would do if someone tried to give them a synthesiser (‘I Won’t Let You Down’, Infectious); give it the big “rock n’ roll” and smash it up probably, which isn’t surprising given their increasingly Neanderthal and plodding rock n’ roll tendencies. Yawn.

And so not for the first time this summer it’s up to Brighton’s music scene to save us from another week of miss-hitters, re-releasers and label executive fisters. This week it’s the turn of Fujiya & Miyagi to loosen the noose around a disillusioned Singles Monkey’s neck (‘Knickerbocker’, Dumb Deaf & Blind) with a ridiculous yet infectious slice of pop electronica. And with my faith in the A side release well and truly restored (at least until next week) it’s time for me to big you a fair bon voyage! Bon voyage indeed!

Britain’s had more Gold than I’ve had sweet monkey loving these past few days (Mrs. Singles is on the menopause); but that doesn’t mean your trusted, now slightly erotically charged, Singles Monkey isn’tgoing to be running the rule over this week’s motley selection of singles; truly this ragtag mix is enough to de-erect any sort of animalistic excitement from mine throbbing loins. Drop the sail!

First into the firing line, swooning and preening like a bunch of rather over-zealous cockatiels, are Magistrates (‘Make This Work’, XL Recordingds) whose recent bout of NME coverage and appearance at dull-as-Dermot O’Leary festival V will no doubt push them into a nicely bloated crevice with all the other bland, indie-by-numbers pop groups. Look at them all in there, arguing over jean waist sizes and whose turn it is to score the ching. It’s poor form I tell thee and not for me, so instead I’ll turn my mangy head over to canny mackems The Week That Was, if only to momentarily rise gasping and wheezing from the cesspit of derivative guitar-based slurry circling my ears (‘The Airport Line’, Memphis Industries). The Week That Was have done well for a group hailing from a city that apparently stands ‘beyond re-generation’ (clearly none of the taskforce have visited Ipswich of late; now that’s irretrievable), and it’s a pleasant return from ex-Field Music man Peter Brewis. Good show!

Sticking with musicians from the North East for a minute, it’s with a heavy heart that ex-Yourcodenameis:Milo man Paul Mullens defection to one-hit wonders The Automatic is giving hitherto diminishing returns (‘Steve McQueen’, B-Unique); like Paul’s native Gregg’s pasties, The Automatic’s new single still lacks enough meat to really be digestible; ho hum. I’ll tell you what though oh grizzled readers of the interweb, compared to lad-crowd gathering shitboxes The Fratellis they sound like the ruddy Beatles (‘Look Out Sunshine’, Island). Managing to do worse than their debut album clearly takes some doing and for this dubious achievement brothers Fratelli I tip my hat to you. A band who are far more worth your most valued and treasured attention are the cutesy but irresistible Thomas Tantrum (‘Work It’, Sindy Stroker’s); if they’re not one of the success stories of this year’s In The City unsigned convention then I’ll design myself a large hat with a theme depicting the Boer wars of the 19th century and devour it whole (I will as well).

There are a couple of heavy hitters flanking the sides of this ramshackle group of past-it before they made it indie bands and small fish-in-large-ocean type groups; Basement Jaxx are back with an extremely limited vinyl (‘Planet 1 EP’, XL Recordings) whilst Black Eyed Pea Will.I.Am still doesn’t realise that the only reason he made it in the industry in the first place was because no one could take their eyes off Fergie (‘One More Chance’, Interscope). Strange that. Stranger still is that it takes The Shapeshifters to resuscitate this dying week of singles; you know the fellas, ‘Lola’s Theme’? Little kids milling about on a rollercoaster? Yup, that’s the ones. Well they’ve come back sounding like something straight out of late 1980’s Manchester and you know what? It’s pretty good (‘Chime’, Nocturnal Groove) and so as long as you can zone out the brain cell defyingly poor Faint (‘The Geeks Were Right’, blank.wav) then this week really isn’t looking too bad for you at all. Congratulations on that!

Not since Apollo Creed decided that incensing an Iron Curtain programmed steroid-packed Ivan Drago with cheap street dancing and creaking James Brown crotch thrusting was a sure fire psychological advantage ahead of a fight has there been anything looking as battered and bruised as the UK singles chart. Never fear though because like the Beijing smog engulfing the Olympiad (why didn’t we just send athletes from the Middlesbrough region? They’d be sure to thrive in the conditions,) so we have some heavyweights about to drift in an all encompassing manner upon the charts. I may be high from smoking coconut powder (in fact I’m pretty sure I am) but that’s not stopping me from hopping up and down with excitement about this week’s bag; or in fact endlessly salivating out the corner of my mouth…

Fresh from being down-sized in Cardiff, R.E.M try to regain their stock by throwing a two and a half minute pop assault at the charts (‘Man Sized Wreath’, Warner). Don’t worry lads the Millenium Stadium may be ten times the size of the Cardiff International Arena but at least you’ve got a roof now in case of the inevitable Welsh torrents, take that Millenium Stadium!…oh, wait…it could be worse though Stipey; wipe your beady eyes, mop that beady head. I’d cover your ears though because that repeatedly convulsing cat over there in the corner is in fact The Cure’s Robert Smith (‘Perfect Boy’, Geffen).

Maybe it’s my golden African tan, maybe it’s my four grams of coconut powder, but I’ve never been enamoured with Smith and his pasty bunch of band mates, lurching around the place like a load of Pirates Of The Caribbean extras. Please Robert, have a throat lozenge, hire a builder in to take all that plaster off your face and settle yourself down for a lifetime of hearing ‘Boys Don’t Cry’ sung drunkenly and poorly by a load of pissed up students down any number of our good and green country’s indie nightclubs.

Talking of which, remember that band from Wigan? They had that song about symphonies and being a slave to the sterling all your life; (I should know, the sheer number of times people have tried to train me into a butler, for less than minimum wage too I might add; it’s all good fun until you accidentally drop the tiramisu and then its straight back to Chester Zoo!) yeah, I though that song was overrated too, but pressing on like Jason Manford through a Peter Kay routine they’re back with a new single (‘Love Is Noise’, Parlophone) which incidentally features my 2nd cousin Herman on backing vocals; he always was a chancer.

Stepping away from all things major label funded and mammoth for a minute, your trusted fur ball of filth has trained his dilated and bloodshot peepers onto Edinburgh’s Broken Records (Slow Parade, Fandango), who throw a huge, hairy blanket of luscious sweeping choruses over my head, interspersed with some soaring impassioned vocals and well placed piano. Good on you chaps, good on you. For Pete’s sake, like not mentioning the war to the Germans, never mention ‘Welcome To The North’ to The Music; they continue to actively wipe away the oozing puss of their second album with a return to their hi-hat/snare thumping, disco rocking ways of old (The Spike, Polydor). With sexy results.

Talking of which, the power trio of sex, Nelly, Akon and Ashanti, will be voice modulating their way into the charts this week (‘Body On Me’, Island). Maybe it’s just me, but the way Nelly incessantly raps on about doing the horizontal shuffle seems to be rather akin to that one kid in your class at school who claimed he was having sex five times a week even though he was only 12.

Now then, what’s that mosquito buzzing around my ears? Oh sorry! It’s merely the helium-voiced Delays brothers desperately trying to attract the general public’s attention with their honest-to-god good 80’s throwback pop songs (‘Keep It Simple’, Polydor). This time they’ve even enlisted Keith from The Office to give them that last sweat-ravaged push over the mainstream line; trouble is guys the Mystery Jets have simply hop-skipped and jumped over what you’ve been trying to do since the release of ‘You See Colours’. Sorry about that. They’re much better however than the cock-posturing (or make that just cocks) Ok Tokyo, who wear sunglasses, display wanton exposure of tacky synths and throw a tacky falsetto around like it were a crudely hewn, handmade Frisbee (‘Sums’, Split). So why’s it so fucking catchy!? Oooh I’m mad; where’s my pipe?

Santogold was tipped by the mighty Drowned In Sound no less as being a one to watch this year (‘Lights Out’, Atlantic). In the ensuing months she’s gone on to prove just this, not that her champions would notice, what with them discussing the apparently inevitable musical apocalypse and generally ripping each other so many new arseholes that sewing equipment companies worldwide are announcing massive profits thus levering themselves above any current global economical downturn. Well done sewing companies and well done Santogold! What with all these hyped huge and hung artists knocking about, Kids In Glass Houses no doubt thought that their tepid brand of five years past its sell-by-date American teeny punk metal had escaped the senses of your increasingly brainstormed Singles Monkey (‘Saturday’, Roadrunner). Little did they know that I’ve a keen eye for shit, lord knows I’ve thrown enough of it in my time (isn’t that right editor?) and the Kids have unfortunately been found out.

Nothing this week however can prepare you for the sheer baffling absurdity of Bloc Party’s new “effort” (‘Mercury’, Witchita). When historians look back on the first decade of this millennium they may to decide to christen it as ‘the decade of shit, second rate, primary school Casio (other brands are available) keyboard brass’, what with all the Ronson-esque horrorshows floating about the place at the moment like particularly unwanted floaters. I wouldn’t be surprised if the scrawny gimp had got his double-neck guitar wielding hands on this effort, such are the terrible trumpet sounds emanating from this unholy stench; quite frankly I’d be surprised if the other three members of Bloc Party even bothered turning up to record this. Sorry Kele, this record really does make me feel ‘like eating glass’ (I’m sorry but I had to get just one in readers.) With all this flotsam now drifting pleasingly behind me there’s nothing left for me to do other than crack out the pipe, winch my moderately-priced office chair back and pop in an episode of ‘Human’s Do The Funniest Things’ (The 10 o’clock news.) Bonjour!

What with Audioscribbler now as unrecognisable as Jordan is from Katy Price, it seems that the times are a-changing, and no sooner had your faithful furball ‘the Singles Monkey’ dug himself a nice niche at Audioscribbler towers than it seemed he was to be usurped.

They didn’t count upon my super sapien will power and extra strong coconut juice however; after weeks of barricading myself up in the tallest turret, greeting any would be usurpers with barrages of mud and monkey faeces, the editor had no choice but to let me continue with my new found role as the soothsayer of all things b-sided and singular. A quick ring to give Mrs. Singles the good news (she thought I’d popped out for the paper,) and I scurried eagerly towards the bag of singles like Russian athletes would to a private pharmaceutical..

So the big hitters this week in terms of ‘fellas wot hold guitars and that’ are The Futureheads (‘Walking Backwards’, Rough Trade), the North East’s finest export since it’s Greggs Bakery franchise, and merciless soul stealers Scouting For Girls (‘It’s Not About You’, Epic). Unsurprisingly it’s a resounding 1-0 to the ‘heads, possessing hooks and harmonics that are surpassed only by the increasingly impressive and tight fitting lower garments they’re managing to fit into these days, especially you Ross; good on ya. As for Scouting For Girls; well, to say that they’re the musical equivalent of our good green earth’s greenhouse gases, increasingly smothering our musical landscape and slowly choking the nation’s appreciation of creativity and innovation, would be pretty much spot on. Horribly wooden.

Talking of massive wood, the 12″ highlights this week are large meaty and dripping with…quality. Scottish sorts Winona decide to rope in their knob twiddling chums to do all the hard graft whilst they sit back, have a deep fried mars bar and rake in the profits (‘Without You: The Remixes’), whilst Brightonians Alloy Mental tuck themselves into a hearty meal of thudding electronica grooves (‘I Am’, Skint). Apparently DJ Zinc still kicks around these days as well, his 12″ teetering about on some typically jungle styled stilts (‘Snipers Den/Take Me With You’, Bingo).

It may be looking like a surprisingly warm summer at the moment, but don’t think the Levellers are taking a day off from protesting and fighting for the common man (‘Before The End’, On The Fiddle); oh no sir, which is handy, because we can take in the sun nice and easy knowing that Chapman and co. are still toiling away shouting for causes which we’re all clearly totally behind. There’s isn’t a lone voice croaking across an otherwise ambivalent and passive nation however; for London folky punk types the King Blues are telling socialist stories themselves..and doing it a little better than the Levellers are currently doing at that. (‘Let’s Hang The Landlord’, Island) But guys it’s the summer! Kids have broken up for holidays, ice cream vans are working good and hard to ensnare the young un’s and me and Mrs.

Singles are off to Tanzania to see relatives (ok then..Cheshire Zoo); we don’t need this sort of rapt and biting social commentary for a good month or so yet, why don’t you just buy yourself a Screwball (other ice creams are available), reach the bubble gum at the bottom and let your mid year days drift by in a delightful hybrid of brain freeze and sticky goo filled fun. New Adventures seem to be struggling to get into the spirit of the holidays as well (‘In Our Hands’, Faded Grandeur), trying to get all angsty and downbeat on us; not going to work though my glass half-empty peering fellows, not when twee scamps Noah & The Whale are getting all corduroy on our collective asses (‘5 Years’, Cherry Tree).

Finishing me off with a pubescent orgasmic squeal then are spotty little oiks Late Of The Pier who bombard the senses with something part 1988 and part 2008 (‘Heartbeat’, Parlophone); although we all laughed and derided the Klaxons two years ago (ok, well I did, last time nu-rave was pumped into the zoo enclosures at Chester Zoo, Larry the Elephant was on heat and this tragic combination of glo-stick waving choonage and randy elephant loving caused the death of six tucans, a couple of cockatiels and a sloth), it seems that the genre, if such a one exists still is inching towards respectability, and why shouldn’t we applaud that? Why shouldn’t we?

Lo’ and behold – what’s that unholy odour emanating from the dark underbelly of the basement that is Audioscribbler HQ?Why fear not readers for it is I, The Singles Monkey; here to digest and bring to you each week’s bag of single releases as the format tries to kick and squirm with a desperation appropriate for the dying animal that it is (just to put this article into some sort of context). Never fear though single lovers, because in these troubled times there are always diamonds just waiting to be ensconced from the rough that they hide in. What’s that? The Kooks have a new single out this week? ..shit.

The last band I remember who had a single called Shine On, Jet, were undeniably shit, and disregarding all that we already know about Brighton’s finest skinny jean clad indie bandwagon jumpers, this is as good an indication as to how The Kooks (Shine On, Virgin) new ‘un is going to go down. “Biting the hand that feeds”, oh if only they would and suddenly release an album full of soaring nine minute instrumentals and angel kissed poetic lyrics; they’d still manage to balls it up no doubt. Who cares though; because when your trilbies are that firmly fixed upon your head whose going to loathe you? Not the average sixteen year old in today’s Indie Britain that’s for sure.

Sticking to all things jangly and NME favoured for a moment, The Last Shadow Puppets (Standing Next To Me, Domino) are clearly everyone’s favourite pocket rockets of the moment and this release ahead of their debut shows is a great deal more impressive than either of cheeky young scamp Turner or cheeky young scamp Kane’s band outputs; how about packing in the day jobs fellas? No? Never mind, solace can be found in Metronomy’s continuously queasy yet catchy 80s sound (Holiday, Because). Happiness never lasts long though when Portishead (The Rip, Island) are in the room; look, there they are, all smouldering and dark. Youtube user XxTheeHeadXx claims that The Rip “is the shit”, and who am I, a humble jungle feline, to disagree with such a knowledgeable totem of all things minimal?

No one that is whom, and it’s left for me to quietly purchase a 2 litre bottle of White Lightning, snort some poppers up my nose and flail wildly to the comeback SUMMER SMASH from former number 1 artist Basshunter (All I Ever Wanted, Hard 2 Beat); for your danceable goodness this week instead turn to the often underrated Junkie XL (Cities In Dust, Artwerk) who throws a sleazy house curveball the size of Andre The Giant’s fist at our collective ears. Hercules & Love Affair (You Belong, EMI) sounds positively tame in comparison, the much hyped act taking us all on a trip back to the 90’s so it would seem. If this was the 90s however we wouldn’t even be giving these chaps a second thought; and why would we? Not when the likes of Dr. Albarn, JX and Corona were still cheesing up dance floors nationwide! All together now: “it’s my life, my problems,” they sure are Dr A, they sure are..

N.E.R.D (Everybody Nose, Polydor) really are a bling encrusted world away from the delightful She Wants To Move; their latest offering dripping with about as much charisma as an Andy Murray pre-match interview (check out the up to the minute contextual metaphors there..) Dizzee Rascal (Dance Wiv Me, Dirteestank) fares little better; a rapper with prodigious talent slipping comfortably into the generic world that most successful UK hip hop artists inherit, sometimes I really do think that Scroobius Pip fellow’s right you know. So sadly it looks like the first weekly Singles Monkey is to come to a disappointing end…but wait, what’s that ramshackle ball of noise reaching these finely attuned lobes? Why it’s those loveable scamps Let’s Wrestle (I’m In Fighting Mode/Let’s Wrestle, Stolen) here to save us from the mundane with a glorious double A-side; the fact that one of the songs name checks both Hulk Hogan and Giant Haystacks is surely worth the purchase alone, and the chirpy singalong leaves your faithful Singles Monkey feeling as warm as he did when he took a bath with a hippo…until next week folks!