I suffer from an irrational near-pathological hatred of all things
Sugababes-related.  Whenever their "ooh look... we're so much more urban than the average girl group" shite comes on the radio I feel the need to destroy said appliance. If they're on TV I have to change the channel. If it comes on in a shop I'll leave. It is serious and, if their inexplicable popularity continues to grow, it can only get worse. But it would be irresponsible to let that get in the way of a fair review. And, hopefully,  prolonged exposure to their new album may cure my violent revulsion.   But, alas, no. With each song the equivalent of "girls are better than
boys... so there" and laughable lyrics aplenty ("I've only got one
word for you. And every word is true. The colour that suits you is blue.") this is clearly a long way from being the ingenious mould-breaking offering it thinks. Musically, it's Whitney Houston's immensely irritating octave
straddling warblings mixed with the bleeps from ground-breaking 80s tennis-based game Pong.  An unholy combination, then, with its crapness compounded by the notion that they're outrageously sexy and original, a complete non-argument with the bits that want to be Massive Attack and Supernatural's blatant rip-off of Brandy's What About Us? So if it seems like I've made no attempt to be fair then I'm sorry but, overall, it's claustrophobic and succeeded only in making me feel vaguely nauseous. Please don't buy this; it'll only perpetuate their popularity and my suffering.
Thank you.
1/10

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