Eeeeeh!!!…
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[6.71]
Iain Mew: “That’s Not My Name” seems so, so, long ago for some reason. Maybe it’s the way that Florence and the Machine, Ellie Goulding, La Roux (and soon Hurts?) have thoroughly taken over the pop-designated-as-alternative realm with music much more self-conciously serious, but it’s difficult to see where The Ting Tings will fit in in 2010. Filtering a characteristically infectious refrain through richer production and cavernous beats, this doesn’t reach the same level of spontaneous joy as they’ve managed before, and the approach is unlikely to make Katie White’s voice any less divisive.
[5]
Martin Skidmore: They can almost sing, just slightly off and with little feel for rhythm, and a tune exists, just about, but it all seems to be aspiring to mediocrity and convincingly achieving it.
[4]
Jessica Popper: Considering how quickly I got fed up with The Ting Tings the first time around, I didn’t have high expectations for their new album. In fact I’d hardly thought about it at all. Until now! They’ve turned into a poppier version of Le Tigre! The chorus is a bit repetitive, but I love the full electro sound and the bouncy, synthy beat. Another very surprising aspect is that “Hands” is produced by Calvin Harris. Despite his popularity with quite a few pop fans, I have never liked even one of Calvin’s own songs and haven’t been particularly impressed with his work for other artists either. Is this the beginning of a new improved era for The Ting Tings and for Calvin, or is it just a fluke?
[7]
Doug Robertson: I bloody love the Ting Tings, and will happily argue the case for “That’s Not My Name” being the single greatest song ever written until I bore everyone around me – well, everyone that’s left given my tendency to put the song on a loop if I’m allowed anywhere near the music at a party – but even I was slightly nervous when I listened to this for the first time in case the near perfection of the first album was either a fluke or, worse, something they were unable to move on from. It’s with some satisfaction and relief, then, that I can say that I still bloody love the Ting Tings, as this song happily sits atop the mountain of pop perfection, letting its hook covered tendrils fall down, slip into your earhole and attach itself firmly to the dance centre of your brain. It’s like late period Rachel Stevens, only with a personality and without the sense of desperation. A multi-limbed spider of a song that will wiggle and wriggle and jiggle inside you, regardless of whether you let it or not. Hands down, this is amazing.
[10]
Anthony Easton: For a song that is mostly about working too hard, and working too hard in a transglobal sense, this song is so fucking easy — not sleazy easy, not lazy easy, but constructed in such a way that pleasure supercedes any other concern. Maybe it’s elegance, maybe it’s grace, but it’s a little too roughed up around the edges for both of those. Fun! (extra point for handclaps)
[9]
Mallory O’Donnell: I like a lot of the tings that go into this (the Bowie nod, the stupid chorus, the brashness of the production), but am unable to work up enough enthusiasm to bust out even one solitary hand. A big part of the problem is Ms. Ting, who has a voice any high school librarian would envy. The strangely lesser part is that every bit here sounds lifted from another, much worthier jam.
[4]
Katherine St Asaph: The Ting Tings generally have the same effect on me as scratching an emery board, so this is a welcome change. The first few seconds almost sound like they’ve gone downtempo — there’s a Nicola Hitchcock track just like this — but the rest is all needle-poised synthpop. Seems like this is damn near everyone’s Big New Direction, but I don’t care when it’s done this well. “Clap your hands if you’re working too hard” deserves to be a mantra.
[8]