Journey through space to the Planet Fabulous, where the Ruler of the Universe will see you shortly.

Thursday, November 13, 2003

Atomic Slatterns

It was my dear housemate Ian who pointed out to me that every single Atomic Kitten release has the same beat to it, enabling the Macbeth Witches of Song to dance in that identical three-step in each video. We imagine them in the recording studio, one ear cocked at the new remix: “This doesn’t sound right...” they puzzle as they are glued to their seats, only realising that when the engineer lowers the tempo that they can actually move to it.

All for the good. When you’re dancing around your New Look handbag, you don’t want to be going so fast you trip over the straps. I’d imagine.

I used to like Atomic Kitten before they were adopted by the North. Previously, they were slightly podgy good-time girls who just wanted to dance, producing tracks such as รข€˜I Want Your Love’ - a particularly pleasing pop song that I’d definitely rate in my music top twenty. Then they replaced Brian from Westlife’s cock-wash with new girl Jenny, slapped on the fake tan and Elizabeth Arden and got to number one, and are now churning out a dearth of songs you only hear at a fat girl’s birthday party.

During this meteoric rise to fame, we’ve been watching this Jenny with interest. Are you aware she can’t keep her hands off her hair? It’s something that’s slowly been spreading to the other girlies over the last couple of promos. The latest oeuvre, ‘If You Come To Me’, is positively a hair-fetishists wet dream as Jenny can’t keep her council mits of her coiffeur. I ask you this: the next time you see the video, just shout ‘Hair!’ every time she raises her hands to her head. You’ll witness one hand running through, two hands, even a cunning two-hander, then a cut to another two-hander on a different set! It’s like the poor girl has nits.

Exhibit A.

All this touching, during the hour after hour of video shoot, must cause a serious state of static cling. I hear that several times, the crew have had to pry her off someone’s woollen jumper. And there was one incident when she floated to the ceiling like a Christmas balloon and had to be beaten down by gleeful stagehands with long-handled brooms.

Next time, boys, hit her harder.

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