It’s possible that Thanksgiving week was not the right week to get into this competition. Like the British version, every week on the American X Factor has a theme and this week they were singing ‘to give thanks to those who’ve made a difference to their lives’. From the first minute my retinas were to be bombarded with highly charged VTs detailing each contestant’s soppy back story. Mums, dads, brothers and sisters sobbed on camera for their loved ones’ benefit, extolling how brave and inspirational everyone is whilst ensuring that the phone votes definitely pour in. Boy, there were a lot of tears.

The first contestant, 12 year old Rachel, has the virtue of being adorable to benefit her. She sings competently and there is a certain charisma. It’s a shame that a competent performance had to be drowned out by a gospel choir, wailing audience and deafening backing music. I can’t remember what song she sang even though everything was clearly designed to make me remember it. When the spectacle was over my senses were somewhat numbed. Things were only about to get a lot worse.

I soon realised that the formula was to be 90% sob story, 10% music. X Factor USA defines the power of the sympathy vote. I’ve forgotten most of the other contestants’ names now but I will never forget all the ghastly emotionalism, the ultra serious stares into the camera, the unnecessary pyrotechnics, the extended periods of vocal acrobatics that made them all melt into one before my eyes. Oh, and did I mention the sob stories? One poor singer was born to a crack-addicted prostitute; another had been brought up by a single mom in Washington, which was made out to be an Arctic hellhole with winters that make child rearing an Olympian feat. One of the girls dedicated her performance to God, because every human she’s ever known has let her down. “What made you dedicate this performance to the Lord?” said the show’s musical director ominously in a clip of a pre-show rehearsal. Oh Lord, what made them do it? It would have been offensive to millions for the subsequent performance not to feature a gospel choir. Well, even I was shocked by the tricks that were pulled out of the bag for this one. She didn’t just have a gospel choir, she had a full on evangelical church wailing and clapping along with her. The tears afterwards were miraculous. For five minutes the poor love screamed something about her gratitude. Everyone was so choked up I felt sick on their behalf. At that point I feared that watching any more of this pseudo-religious orgy might dull my finer senses beyond repair, but by now I couldn’t tear myself away from it. Car crash viewing? It was.

Some more stomach wrenching turns passed me by, endured only because I was so dazed after what I’d just seen I was too weak to pick up the remote control and turn it off. Then came along Astro, the 8 year old version of Tinie Tempah, wearing glasses and shouting his way through an unexpected Jay-Z number. I’d be forced to resign my position as a serious follower of music if I said I liked it, but amidst a marathon of obscene sympathy-grabbing tearfests, here was a kid doing his own thing. Most impressive of all, his song wasn’t preceded by a horrible ten minute clip of gushing family and friends, it was all about some bad behaviour he’d exhibited during last week’s show and how ‘sorry’ he was. His subsequent rapping gave the distinct impression that he wasn’t sorry, but who cares? It was a breath of not so stale air in amongst a squallid barrel full of ploys and gimmicks that would scrape every barrel known to man for sympathy votes.

Once young Astro was done I’d had enough. I caught a glimpse of the next airhead in line and knew it was time to snap out of my zombie-like state and turn over. I’d love to pretend that I don’t understand what is appealing about shows like this, yet in a world that lacks spiritual stimulation I imagine there is a strong element of religious worship involved. The gospel choirs, the singing, the clapping, the wailing and the crying, it is all reminiscent of the evangelical TV masses that have reputedly healed millions. This show has nothing whatsoever to do with music, and anyone who pretends that it has anything to do with music needs to see the Smiths in concert, or listen to a Beatles album, or sit with a guitar and learn how to play. X Factor USA is entertaining for sure; even for those like me who find the concept of it diabolical, it can provide a great deal of satisfaction in how easy it is to rip it to shreds. Look, there are appropriate times to talk about the serious issues facing society, e.g. child poverty, addiction, blah blah blah. The X Factor is not the time. Why bring sympathy into it at all? Not one of the weeping judges had an iota of credibility left by the show’s halfway point – Nicole what’s-her-face and Paula ‘Dead Behind The Eyes’ Abdul both kept crying so much I was looking for the plastic tubes connected to their tear ducts.

As for Simon Cowell, I don’t know how he manages to put up with it. Oh, I know. There was a moment after one of his vacuous vocal acrobats had raised the roof with an even better sob story than the last one, where he stood clapping and looking ever so smug. That is the look of a man whose bank balance has just increased rapidly. Good for him: ever capable of spotting another business opportunity.

What’s My Name featuring up and coming rapper Drake is a nice reminder of the previous album’s Rude Boy, with sweet, languishing melodies and Rihanna’s Barbadian drawl adding up to something quite intoxicating.

Cheers (Drink To That) catches the attention immediately with dripping rock guitars and a world-weary sensibility. Rihanna advising us not to let the bastards get us down in her increasingly strong Carribbean cadence is effective at making one reflect on how far she has come, musically, in the last five years. The Avril Lavigne sample adds a nice touch.

Fading is the closest thing to balladry on the album. Like a low-key version of her seminal Take A Bow, it plods along nicely with American pianos and Riri’s half self-affirming, half bitchy lyrics. All good so far.

Lead single Only Girl (In The World) is brilliant, mostly because it’s the only song you’ll know instantly if you’re getting the album now. The Disturbia-esque, minimalist dance production from Stargate supports the slightly weak but aggressive vocals well. The electronically-enhanced middle 8, undoubtedly influenced by Lady Gaga’s early work, is perhaps the best half minute of Rihanna’s music career so far.

After the out and out dance pop of the lead single, California King Bed comes at possibly the wrong time with its slow, emotional country sensibilities. I wanted something more than a Taylor Swift song here, and I didn’t entirely get it.

Man Down has a lot going for it: the authentic reggae-laden beats and bass are surprisingly welcome after the bore-fest of the previous number. The story that Rihanna tells in the words, about the time she shot a man dead in Central Station, is dividing my opinion. I like the daring-ness, the fact that she is confident enough to do it – but I don’t know if I like where she is going. Surely the reggae/hip-hop world has enough of a reputation for glamourizing violence; did Rihanna really need to add to it?

I was really disappointed to discover that Raining Men featuring Nicky Minaj is not a cover of the 80′s camp classic. Reminiscent of the twisty-turny sexiness of Good Girl Gone Bad’s Lemme Get That, this one is just on the right side of the blunt impenetrability of some recent sex-obsessed hip hop offerings.

Complicated is almost drowned by Rihanna’s shouty tale of a difficult relationship. When the up-tempo electro beat kicks in it kinds of gets rescued, being far preferable to the outright hostility of the previous few songs.

Skin is sex-obsessed r’n'b by numbers. No surprises here: Rihanna is at ease with her sexuality and she really wants us to know about it. At this point I can sense the disappointment setting in. I really want to love Loud - some time has passed since the darkness of Rated R, the clouds have had a chance to clear and she’s doing dance music again, a relief for all concerned since she does it so well. I’m not sure if the angriness of the Rated R period has quite left her yet – at least half of the current album seems gratuitously dark to me, without the sincerity that Rated R at least had going for it.

Love The Way You Lie pt.2 seems to me to be the epitome of what has become of Rihanna:  angry, painful, bold and definitely loud. The remix of one of 2010′s biggest hits is practically faultless. The added verses simply add another layer to the sinister original. We learn more about the destructive but indestructible relationship that Eminem obviously wanted to capture in song. Rihanna owns up to being a potential masochist, and you can’t avoid thinking back to the whole Chris Brown affair, what might have been going on there. When Eminem begins screaming a newly-penned rap in the second half of the song it doesn’t put one off like it normally would.

So I’m struggling to decide what I think about Loud. I definitely like the return to dance: here is an obvious acknowledgement that songs like Don’t Stop The Music and Disturbia made her career. However I’m worried by the tone and imagery of some of the lyrics. It’s an age old question: is a woman singing about sex a real sign of liberation, or simply a cynical ploy to sell records, because we still live in a world where women have to be sexy to get attention? I don’t know, when people like Madonna and Lady Gaga take their clothes off you get the sense that they are doing it for a reason. It’s like the nude scene in a film: sometimes it adds to the story, sometimes it doesn’t.

On Loud Rihanna has really stated her intentions – that she wants to be seen as a powerful woman in control of her body – in places I think she ends up being little more than a singing porn star, like so many other female artists of the past twenty years who didn’t have the talent and the integrity to be anything more. It disappoints me because Rihanna has had a career with many high points, so many songs that weren’t just meaningless porn soundtracks. Loud, however, begins to tip the other way, and for that reason I can’t give it a score. I don’t know if Rihanna has really recovered from last year yet. I don’t know if she has really figured out who she is yet. I have hope for the next album!

Then we come to SOS, a stomping rock number which reminds one of The Automatic’s ‘Monster’, though hardly as annoying and which is, again, rather intelligent in tone. Mark Owen’s voice, rather than sounding strained and warbly has found its niche in shouty electro pop. Who’d've thunk it!

Wait is nice electro R’nB that is clearly waiting to be a single, with good melodies and some vocals that showcase Robbie’s talent like nothing he’s made in years.

Kidz is the most exciting thing about the album so far. A jaunty glamrock ditty at heart, with more anthemic shoutiness from Mark  and really quite good backing vox from Robbie, who currently could not sound happier to be back with his old band.

Pretty Things, a heartfelt ode to some stunningly beautiful woman, is as lovely as it sounds. More cutting edge production, synthisizers with  harpsichords and pseudo-classical harmonies add up to something that should be the band’s biggest hit in years.

Happy Now kicks in with weird, growling lyrics that could mean absolutely anything, on top of a thumping dance beat which quite honestly takes the album in a very exciting direction. Autotune and stadium-sized instrumentation make it sound like the song Katy Perry always wanted to release. Discoballs in stylish nightclubs come to mind.

Underground Machine: thrashing drums and truly glamrock instrumentation, alongside Robbie doing his best Bowie impression, all very jaunty and impressive. ‘You can’t sleep with yourself tonight’: I don’t know why this is one of the lines, but it is. Love it.

What Do You Want From Me: echoing, swirling falsettos melt into Mark Owen sweetly warbling about love or something. Quite an ordinary beginning for a neo-Take That number, however the mature Coldplay-esque synth sound quickly kicks in on top of a very now dance beat and one breathes a sigh of relief. You can just tell it’s produced by Stuart Price (it’s totally the song that Scissor Sister’s recent ‘Fire With Fire’ should have been). Mark Owen yells ‘I still wanna have sex with you!’ in the chorus. How lovely!

Affirmation: the emotive piano intro sounds worryingly like a Keane tune circa 2004. Once again the song is rescued about ten seconds in by a catchy, adrenalin-filled backing track that marks the whole album out from others of its ilk. Howard Jones singing smartly at the top of his lungs about being ‘off the edge of your face’ leaves one feeling a bit funny. In a good way, of course.

Eight Letters begins brilliantly with a haunting synth melody and Gary Barlow emoting about what sounds like a painful relationship breakup. It fairly quickly develops into the orchestral, overly earnest movie soundtrack song that has become a Take That trademark in recent years. But then the Ultravox-borrowing chorus melody really lifts it into a different stratosphere. Yearning, powerful; very, very good.

And then there’s Jason Orange’s sublime, ethereal hidden track Flower Bed, and the album couldn’t have ended on a sweeter note. The Coldplay influences are very evident at this point, but it is done in a heartfelt way, and the treatment is progressive enough to give it that edge. ‘I was enjoying myself sleeping in your flower bed’ – well, you can’t say fairer than that, really.

For the first time in my life, I might give an album 10 out of 10 on first listen. It’s really quite nice to hear Robbie sounding happy again, and his influence is very clear here. Until this year the boys were sort of drifting into dad rock oblivion; if they had done so entirely it wouldn’t have mattered, given the runaway success of the first two reunion albums. However, on Progress the five of them are not just on top form: they have become a different band. The last time such a radical shift in musical tone took place may have been over forty years ago, when the Beatles evolved from pop stars into globally influential musical gurus. With Progress, Take That have achieved something remarkable. Given that they formed twenty years ago, and have gone through so much as an entity, it could quite easily have failed. But it hasn’t. I don’t normally predict albums that I will still be listening to in five years’ time – but I hope that this is one of them.

He says that homosexuals have a tendency towards evil, that women have no place in the priesthood because they don’t have the same spiritual capabilities as men, that condoms exacerbate the HIV epidemic, that priests who sexually abuse children should be protected rather than punished. Any state political leader who had said these things would not be welcomed to our country with open arms. They’d probably be arrested as soon as they landed at Heathrow Airport for inciting hatred and perverting the course of justice. When it’s the Pope, it’s different. The official cost to the taxpayer for this trip has been stated as £10 million. Not only are we expected to be grateful for his presence, we are expected to keep our mouths shut if we disagree with him, otherwise we risk being blamed for the world’s problems. I think the pontiff reached his lowest point yet the other day, when he blamed atheism for the holocaust, as if the death of millions of Jews in the second world war was simply down to a lack of faith amongst the Nazis. I wonder what the Pope would have to say about the incontrovertible fact that Adolf Hitler was a Roman Catholic.

I was so alarmed and infuriated by all these things yesterday that I knew I had to do something to express it. I went to Hyde Park, where I knew an anti-papal protest was due to be taking place in the afternoon. I didn’t know what to expect when I got there; I thought maybe there’d be a few hundred people like myself gathered in front of a small stage, with a few angry speakers shouting into microphones about all the injustices we know have been caused by the Catholic church. When I did get there, I was stunned and somewhat thrilled to find approximately 20,000 people getting ready to march into central London. It was a beautiful autumn day, and together with 20,000 others I marched through the main thoroughfares of our great city, taking advantage of my democratic right to protest at what I see as the brazen dogmatism of a church that is supposed to be caring and spiritual. I didn’t have a placard or a t-shirt to show the particular message that I wanted to get across, but I didn’t really need one; there were plenty of placards there, some funny, some angry, some downright insulting. One particularly memorable banner simply said: ‘Fuck off back to the 14^th century’. I don’t think I could have put it better myself.

When we got to Whitehall everyone stopped, as a stage with speakers had been set up in the middle of the road. On stage I saw the great Peter Tatchell and Richard Dawkins getting ready to make speeches. My heart leapt into my throat, and I’m sure I wasn’t the only one who experienced that. I’ve read books by Richard Dawkins and I’ve seen Peter Tatchell speak at political rallies before; I’ve admired both of them for a long time. When Dawkins started speaking the entire crowd of 20,000 fell silent. It was quite incredible. In the space of ten minutes he eloquently and vociferously demolished the Catholic church’s remaining, tiny bit of credibility. It was quite a pleasure to listen to. He talked of the abuse scandal, the unjust and arrogant way in which the church tries to assert its moral authority by blaming everyone else for the world’s problems; he ended up on the subject of atheism and the holocaust, which the Pope has brought into the spotlight in his own narrow-minded way. I could hear the anger in Dawkins’ voice – ‘how dare he compare atheists to Nazis, free-thinking liberalists to psychotic dictators who openly practiced Catholicism?’ – everyone in the crowd felt the same anger, even I did, though I don’t consider myself an atheist. Most of the people in the crowd, but not all, were gay, and we’ve all spent our lives being compared to monsters by a religion that is supposed to be there for all. We’re all tired of being insulted by some rich, bigoted old man in Rome. We’re all exhausted with being told what to think, how to live our lives, by a detached papacy that sucks masses of money up every year while millions in the third world starve to death.

After Dawkins had stepped down to rapturous applause we were treated to ten minutes of Peter Tatchell, who was similarly scathing of what he saw as the Pope’s self-righteous vitriol. Whoever you are, whatever religion you practise, even if you have no religion, you cannot possibly ignore the blemishes on the current Pope’s record, if you have any intelligence and awareness of the world. Being at that rally yesterday wasn’t just exciting. It was exhilarating, and I felt truly alive when I was there listening to these courageous, intelligent men with 20,000 other people who, like me, aren’t prepared to shut up and let the Pope enjoy his publically-funded holiday in peace. Ten years ago I thought no one in the world could possibly feel the way I felt, but yesterday I had it proved to me that the world is full of people who also feel attacked and let down by the church. At the heart of the matter is this hand-wringing disdain for difference that the Catholic church promotes. People like me, people who through no choice of their own were unlucky enough to be born different, have been wholeheartedly abused by the Catholic church, maybe not with fists and feet but always with words and ideas, for words and ideas, as I found out in my childhood, can be just as powerful as physical force. Even though I grew up in one of the western world’s most liberalized cities, I still got taught that my difference from everyone else made me bad, and wrong, and sick. It is the Vatican that has to take ultimately responsibility for these teachings, because I don’t believe for one second that God whispers them in the Pope’s ear direct from heaven. The doctrines of the Vatican are created and promoted by men who are as human as you and I. Fear of anything different is an intrinsic part of human nature – it’s really unfortunate that for 2,000 years the Christian church has been able to justify its fear with the doctrine of original sin.

After the rally was over I came home feeling that, for the first time in ages, I’d done something that could really make a difference. Just by showing up I added to the numbers showing their disgust at the Pope’s sick teachings. We couldn’t stop the Pope’s visit, and we probably won’t be able to make the Vatican change its policies on contraception, abortion, homosexuality etc. But we have shown the world that we are not going to accept everything the Pope says, just because he claims to be God’s representative on Earth. I, for one, am proud to live in a city like London where you can protest in that way with thousands of like-minded individuals, without fear of retribution or social exclusion.

They’ve ditched the honky tonk pianos and the swishy ditties of Ta-Dah and returned to the hard and fast hi-nrg disco of their self titled debut, which is a relief to hear. Night Work begins with its title track, a Flashdance-esque stomper that may be about prostitution. The tone only sinks from there on in, with Whole New Way, the afore-mentioned ode to anal sex that makes good use of George Michael’s ‘I Want Your Sex’.

Then there’s Fire With Fire, the lead single that showcases a new synth-based direction for the Sisters. I really want to like it – they’ve clearly tried to be different here, with painfully earnest lyrics and emotional vocal delivery, but it’s just too similar to the Killers’ ‘Human’ to be likeable. It’s not a terrible song, but, along with the equally earnest Skin Tight on the second half of the album, it doesn’t really fit on Night Work.

Any Which Way has quickly become one of my favourite tracks on the album. It’s another blatantly tongue in cheek ode to sex, complete with Lipps Inc inspired bassline and Ana Matronic purring sexily about her favourite positions. Harder You Get continues much in the same vein, and here it becomes slightly irritating, with Jake abandoning his usual high pitched shriek for an overly butch growl that doesn’t really suit him. Running Out is equally uninteresting, sounding like a camp commentary on the recession that again doesn’t fit on the album.

Something Like This is more of a grower. Featuring a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it Kylie sample, the Sisters have followed the well trodden, synth based path of their favourite Aussie singer here, but it works. Next we come to Skin This Cat, a deeply 80′s inspired slow burner (yes, it’s about sex) that finally makes Ana Matronic an equal to Jake Shears in the lead singer stakes. Skin Tight, as previously mentioned, is another attempt to be different which, though not to be faulted on its production and vocal delivery, still leaves something to be desired.

Luckily there’s Sex And Violence next, which more than makes up for the blandness of the previous track. Like a mixture of Bronski Beat’s ‘Smalltown Boy’ and Madonna’s ‘Sorry’, this is the most serious point on the album, with powerful lyrics that describe the fine line between sexual daring and abuse. The weird high pitched synthesized ‘screech’ that appears over every chorus doesn’t quite manage to spoil it.

With the album coming to a close the Sisters continue in the glammy 80′s inspired vein with the ultra hi-nrg Night Life, with Bucks Fizz drums and Kenny Loggins-esque vocals that leave you almost breathless by the time the final track kicks in.

Invisible Light is, quite possibly, one of the best album closers since Dido’s ‘Take My Hand’. Here the Stuart Price production comes into its own, as a carnivalesque dance beat supports sharply delivered words that, on their own, don’t make too much sense but together form something beautiful. After the obligatory two verse/two chorus structure there is a very welcome three minute interlude, as the drums slowly build to a crescendo and Ian McKellen delivers his Thriller-esque monologue about the whores of Babylon. Then the final chorus explodes, and you can just imagine how amazing it would be to see them perform it on stage.

After some serious consideration, I will give Night Work 8 out of 10. It’s definitely a brave album, featuring as heavily as it does overt sexual references and sailing-close-to-the-edge samples of 80s disco that may irritate some after a decade full of unoriginal pop music. But, as said before, it works. All pop music is about sex, and the Scissor Sisters have embraced that, whilst trying to say something meaningful about our favourite subject at the same time. An album without any filler like the first would have been nice, but it still consigns the flop second album to history. If you like clever pop then Night Work is well worth a listen or five.

Anyway, so much has happened in pop during the past few years that I guess it would be worth doing a kind of retrospective here, before thinking about what’s new in the world of music.

Biggest name of the past three years has to be Lady Gaga. I am obsessed with Lady    Gaga. Anyone who knows me is probably sick of hearing me bang on about her all the time, but I can’t help it. I think she is brilliant. The fact that the second album was half the length of the first yet still managed to be a better album just amazes me. All eight songs on The Fame Monster could be hits, though I really do hope that Dance In The Dark is released as the next single after the sublime Alejandro. I don’t know about you but I think good pop music should be catchy, and all the songs on that album pretty much define ‘catchy’. N’est-ce pas?

Other names and faces I’ve loved in recent times include Susan Boyle. She’s the easiest target for jokes going, which annoys me a bit because I think the woman is so darned lovely. Insanely talented as well. I Dreamed A Dream is not a bad album, as albums go. The trademark vibrato gets a bit strained on the possibly misjudged Madonna cover, You’ll See, but as soon as you hear the title song, followed by Julie London’s soulful classic Cry Me A River, then later on the anthemic Up To The Mountain, you’ll know why she should have won Britain’s Got Talent. I’m guessing she isn’t going to have a long and illustrious chart career, but hopefully that won’t stop her from releasing more albums. Let’s face it, many of the biggest artists out there simply don’t have top ten hits. Part of me would love to see her go on stage, in some sort of glitzy West End production, though whether she would have the stamina is open to question.

What the hell happened to Leona Lewis? It was all looking so good three years ago. Spirit was number one in America and Europe, the singles were selling by the bucketload everywhere, and her face was unavoidable. Her star wasn’t meant to stop rising, but apparently it did when the disappointing Echo came out. A bad choice of name if ever there was one – because it was truly only an echo of the first album. Trying to repeat your initial success with the same formula never works, no matter who you are. Happy, an undoubtedly brilliant song, was undoubtedly a flop in the record company’s eyes, selling just a few thousand copies in America when it came out. America, the dream of all pop singers, had clearly become such an obsession for Leona’s management that the second album was almost doomed to fail there. Its success in Europe, on the other hand, could hardly be considered a failure, though as a project it ended up being forgotten all too quickly and there wasn’t even a third single from the LP. It’s upsetting, really. Like Gordon Brown I am sure Team Leona will attempt to soldier on, in spite of al the signs telling them to give up now. They got complacent, that was the problem. Every song on Echo was trying to be like Halo; the attempt was so shallow it was impossible not to see through.

Next time, I will analyze the latest offering from Scouting For Girls, who pulled off possibly the biggest chart upset of the year last weekend by knocking Lady Gaga off the top spot. I will find it very hard to forgive them for that, even if the lead singer Roy is cute.

 Anyway, my first impressions of his second CD, ‘Breathless’, are as follows. First single ‘No U Hang Up’ is pretty classy, I have to say. We like grown up, sexy Shayne Ward – even if it is a blatant ploy to cement that image of the ‘British Justin Timberlake’ which Louis Walsh keeps going on about. Second single and title song ‘Breathless’ continues in pretty much the same vein, though he’s sounding a bit more Daniel Bedingfield here. I’m not sure whether that’s a good thing or not. Next up is ‘If That’s OK with You’, which you should skip right through if you want to keep your sanity. Seriously, it’s awful. Boy was I glad when ‘No U Hang Up’ replaced it as the lead single!

 ’Damaged’ comes on with the now-familiar high pitched squeal, followed by a reggae-inflected, sunny beat that’s not too hard to like. So far, so good. ‘Stand By Your Side’ is, rather surprisingly, a mature sounding belter with an orchestra and gospel choir added for good measure, featuring the melody from George Michael’s Father Figure. I like it!

 ’Melt The Snow’ is probably meant to be Shayne Ward’s attempt at a Christmas hit, complete with lyrics about being cold and all alone in the winter. By now the falsetto vocals are too annoying to ignore. ‘Tangled Up’ is a cheesy disco ditty that really reminds me of something that that Scouse boyband 911 released in the late 90′s: perhaps it was originally a failed demo by them! ‘Just Be Good To Me’ is, unbelievably, an actual cover of the 80′s SOS Band/Beats International classic. Dare he tread where such talent has gone before? Sounding more like the Beats International version, it isn’t actually that bad, and well worth a listen, but it’s hard to see what the point of it is, really. If a cover version is the best song on an album full of originals, then something is clearly amiss here.

 When ‘Tell Him’, the final song on the album arrives, I feel a little exhausted of trying to love something about ‘Breathless’. That said, the Tchaikovsky arrangement in use on this song’s backing track is fairly interesting, as are the hip hop-esque lyrics – finally, a song that could make the Justin Timberlake comparison deserved.

 I don’t know, maybe I’ve been hard on poor old Shayne. Maybe I’m tired. After one listen, I won’t completely dismiss ‘Breathless’ as filler. There were some highlights, certainly more than can be said for Leona Lewis’ recent offering ‘Spirit’ which had no chance of living up to all its abominable hype. I may not listen to ‘Breathless’ a second time, but I am prepared to give it 6 out of 10. He is sexy, after all.

Kylie Minogue – X

Unbelievably, it’s been four years since Kylie’s last studio album, and in a career spanning twenty years, this is only her tenth (hence the name). Though we all know why she’s been away for four years (which I don’t think would be appropriate for discussion here), four years feels like a heck of a long time, and for this reason alone any new Kylie album was bound to be a major event in the world of pop. As soon as the press release about X went out, I’m sure many of us couldn’t stop ourselves from counting the minutes until November 26th. I know I couldn’t!

First single ’2 hearts’ is, let’s face it, a cracking opener. It’s quite comforting to hear a performer who’s been around for a long time be daring and confident at the same time. The comparisons to Goldfrapp are obvious and, I daresay, a little lazy. Yes, it’s heavily influenced by glamrock, but I think it’s poppy enough to become a true Kylie classic. There are, pleasingly, quite a few Kylie classics waiting in the wings on this album. Fade To Grey-influenced ‘Like A Drug’ sets an electronic disco tone; ‘Sensitized’ takes Kylie right back to her Confide In Me era, which is extremely thrilling to hear; upcoming single ‘Wow’ is like Love At First Sight times 10. With X Kylie has definitely gone back to the uplifting, camp disco sound of Light Years and Fever that only she does really well.

 The move away from the more instrumental, R’n'B sound of Body Language is surprisingly welcome, although track no.12, ‘Nu-di-ty’, is Kylie at her minimal, breathy best. It’s not instantly easy on the ear, and it is rather a reminder that when Kylie is stripped of the camp showtunes, there isn’t much to her singing voice. The heavy use of vocoders on ‘Speakerphone’ doesn’t help matters here.

 Above all, though, X could easily be claimed as Kylie’s return to form. The formula hasn’t been messed with too much, but it has been pushed forward just enough to keep it up to date. It’s also good to hear the pace slowed down a bit on ‘No More Rain’, ‘All I See’ and final track ‘Cosmic’; we like serious Kylie (as long as she’s not too serious!)

 I hereby declare this album an 8 out of 10. Enjoy!

Sugababes – Change

They’re an easy target for jokes these days, given the high profile line-up changes that they’ve seen over the years, but with the release of ‘Change’ they’ve now clocked up as many studio albums as they’ve had members, and in my book that’s pretty impressive for a group of women all under the age of 25. What’s also good about this album is that it is the first to entirely feature the vocals of newest member Amelle, who seems to better fill the shoes of Mutya every day.

It gets off to such a promising start. Their biggest hit to date, ‘About You Now’ is about as rocky as bubblegum pop gets; the mesh of drum ‘n’ bassy beats with heavy bass guitars is already a 2007 classic. ‘Never Gonna Dance Again’ is not, thankfully, an updated version of Careless Whisper, it’s just a dancey Sugababes-by-numbers tune that would probably go down very well on a dancefloor in Macclesfield on Friday night. Other album highlights include ‘Back Down’, possibly the sexiest ‘babes track to date, which is actually pretty darn good; and ’3 Spoons of Suga’, another funky floorfiller that mixes psychedelic beats with dirty trombones and a killer bassline.

 Otherwise, it’s all a bit downhill from there. Next single, ‘Change’, is all right; it hardly catches the ear though, mainly because it has no melody. ‘Back When’ is too sickly sweet to be interesting; ‘Mended By You’ is a bit too Bleeding Love for my liking, and ‘Open The Door’ sounds scarily like Lutricia McNeal’s Ain’t That Just The Way, not in a good way either.

 I would love to have been more enthralled by this album, but I wasn’t. So for that reason I’m giving it 5 out of 10. I’m sorry, Sugababes, but you will really have to try harder next time.

In TV this week I’ve been avidly following the progress of ‘I’m A Celebrity…’, mainly because I was so desperate to see Christopher Biggins win. When he finally did, it was surprisingly touching. Not just because he entertained solidly throughout the show, but because any mainstream reality show being won by an openly gay man is pretty special. I’ve loved his face when Ant ‘n’ Dec read the result out; I also loved it when his boyfriend came running towards him on the bridge at the end. How sweet!

 I missed X Factor yesterday, but I wasn’t surprised to hear that Hope have been shipped out, so to speak. In the end, it looks like Phoebe couldn’t continue to carry the ‘group’ after all. I had a soft spot for them in the beginning, but I do think that the competition was too good this year. And it doesn’t help that the market for girl groups in pop is not what it once was - sadly.

 So, Leona Lewis is number one once again with Bleeding Love. I don’t hate the song but I wish it wasn’t so bleeding Americanized. If Mr Cowell took a look at the British acts who’ve actually been successful across the pond in recent years, he might notice that they all had a bit of personality and uniqueness, rather than just being blatant copies of what the Americans had been churning out for years.

 Rant over, for this week!!

Next week, I give Shayne Ward’s latest ‘Breathless’ a listen. Wish me luck…

Girls Aloud – Tangled Up

Back at the beginning of the year when Girls Aloud teamed up with the Sugababes for the Comic Relief 2007 single, people were really excited because it was a collaboration between two of  the country’s biggest girl groups. No one had thought a pairing of the two could work; it would either sound impossibly forced or completely lazy, and they would never get on with each other anyway. But it worked perfectly, in the end, becoming possibly one of the better Comic Relief singles in the charity’s twenty year history. I would venture that the most exciting thing about it is that it was a collaboration between the ONLY two big British girl groups. I would also venture that if the two were in competition, Girls Aloud would come out on top as the best girly group out there at the moment.

 Anyone who doesn’t believe me should listen to their sublime new album, Tangled Up. There are no token ballads to be heard on this CD, thank God. They’ve been going for so long now that they must have been allowed to do what they like with this LP, and you can tell. Ditching all blandness in favour of experimental retro beats, the Girls Aloud machine has produced the closest thing to pop perfection any act under the management of Louis Walsh will ever get. Kicking off with new single Call The Shots, GA waste no time in establishing the fact that they mean business when it comes to relationships and love. No man will call the shots over these girls, if the self assured, intelligent lyrics of the song are to be believed.

 Next we have Close To Love, one of my favourite songs on the album. Here is the first hint that the Girls are aiming for a 90′s feel at the moment; traces of acid house permeate the track which is at heart an icy cool disco stomper about getting down in the club. It would be a crime for them not to release this as a single. It’s a surefire hit if ever there was one.

 Up next is September’s lead single, Sexy No No No. Probably the weirdest song of the year, it overuses vocoders and bass guitars but the girls’ angelic voices and mature delivery help the song to get away with its sheer freakiness.

 Track no.4, Girl Overboard, starts off with some misleadingly emotional guitars, giving the impression that we’re about to hear a traditional girly ballad, but the beat soon kicks in and we have another hi-NRG disco number on our hands. Next up is Can’t Speak French, which is as engaging as its name suggests. It’s hard to determine what the song is actually supposed to be about, but that doesn’t matter as the edgy, vaguely experimental backing track kind of puts you in mind of something that would have been played at some uber-cool underground club in the mid 80′s.

 Track no.6, Black Jacks, is the one you should skip straight to if you have no intention of trawling through the whole album. Like something that would have been released by a retro American girl band in the mid 90′s, this song seeps into your soul. I have not been able to stop thinking about it! The sunny lyrics, crashing electric drums and anthemic strings are a killer combination and if this becomes one of the eventual releases, it wouldn’t be out of place at the top of the charts.

 Control of the Knife is another one of those tunes that makes you think the Girls have decided to indulge their 90′s-loving inner children on this album. Starting off with the Englishman In New York melody, it might give you a bit of a worry to begin with, but it quickly becomes another infectious little ditty with a dirty ska melody and pumping beat that would have gone down very well at any early 90′s rave. Nicola’s sexy rap-singing in the middle lifts it above many proper dance records.

 Fling is a reminder of all the songs that gave Girls Aloud their initial success. Hints of No Good Advice, Something Kinda Oooh and Wake Me Up reside here, and that really isn’t a bad thing. It would make a very reliable floorfiller at G-A-Y.

 What You Crying For comes as a shock to the system; as soon as the drum and bass breakbeat kicks in you’d be forgiven for wondering if it was a mistake. But it really is Girls Aloud, and it really is good – without the classic self assured GA harmonies it would be a fairly average garage track reserved for Pirate FM, but the five voices laid on top singing about relationship woes in the noughties make it something very special and different. Let’s face it, what other girl group could get away with doing drum and bass?

 I’m Falling continues the dirty drum and bass theme, and I have to admit I laughed on first listen, thinking that the first line was saying: ‘When I was young I wanted to be a trucker.’ Did you really, Cheryl? I wouldn’t be surprised. Ultimately this is another one of my favourites on the album – completely infectious, not too heavy for repeat listens and not too light either.

 Damn is another more typical Girls Aloud offering, handing us a slice of 80′s prog-rock mixed with Hey Mickey!-esque lyrics on a neon-coloured plate. For that reason I didn’t really like this one when I first heard it, but now I would say it was a definite grower. Finally, we have Crocodile Tears which is as close to pop ballad territory as the album gets. I suppose it’s in their contract to do one, though you can tell they’ve tried really hard with this one not to offer us the usual slushy ballad about broken hearts and boyfriends. And that’s what I love about Girls Aloud – they refuse to be categorised. At least, anyone who buys their albums would know that. Over all, this album gets a 9 out of 10 from me. It’s brash, intelligent and thoroughly addictive. I’ve listened to it about three times today alone. If you want proof that British girl groups can be grown up and original, go out there and buy Tangled Up!

 Next week: Kylie Minogue’s X! Yay!