Kate Nash…Kate, Kate, Kate. What can I say?
First off, I have to say I’ve only heard two of your songs, so there’s a chance (a fucking remote one, but a chance nonetheless) that the rest of your musical arsenal will contradict everything I’m about to say. But I doubt it.
I’ve heard these two songs because I listen to XFM, an ‘alternative’ radio station. Not as alternative as it used to be, judging by Kate’s recent arrival onto the airwaves. Kate is another member of the recent herd of female singer-songwriters who have, frankly, made me hate women. No, that’s too strong. They’ve just made me hate THEM.
The first one I heard was ‘Foundations’. A dreadful song about a spoilt little bitch who enjoys being fucking horrible to her boyfriend and somehow (in a way, let’s be honest, that most men will recognise) make out it’s all his fault in the first place. She screeches in the least convincing regional accent I’ve ever heard apart from that fucking chim-er-ney sweep in Mary bastard Poppins.
The accent she tries, if you haven’t heard it, is cockney. Only it’s not cockney at all, it’s what middle class children who are embarrassed about having a received English accent think is cockney. People often refer to it as ‘mockney’, I prefer to think of it as ‘cuntspeak’.
In this dreadful, dreadful self-pitying song she admits that the story she’s telling in the pub is boring, but then rounds on her poor boyfriend for putting up for it for ages before trying to change the subject. He was saving you love. No-one around the table liked your story and he was trying to move on as he could see the sideways glances your mutual friends were giving each other, and he was embarrassed for you. He claims at one point that she must eat an awful lot of lemons as she’s rather bitter, to which her witty (and entirely irrelevant, juvenile and brattish) retort is, “I’d rather be with your frendz mayte, cuz they are mach fittah!”. Dreadful bitch. I’m assured that this song is a ‘floor filler’ for the young ladies at the discothèque, which doesn’t surprise me. It just adds to the already steaming pile of lady-favourites such as ‘I Will Survive’ and anything by Lily Allen which show that a lot of women empathise with self-pitying crap bleated by spoilt little madams.
The song that she has on the radio at the moment is called ‘Mouthwash’. I’ve heard it a couple of times because, if it comes on when I’m in the bath, I don’t bother turning it off, unlike at any other time when it doesn’t get past the first two bars.
I don’t understand this song at all. Not one bit of it. I don’t know all the lyrics, but a fair few have made their way into my brain like an illegal immigrant with plans of racial unrest and terrorism and detonated a shit bomb within, leaving lasting damage. This is what I can glean from the song:
She has a face, it is covered in freckles, the occasional spot, and some veins.
Furthermore, she has a bo-o-o-deeeeee. It’s covered in skin. Skin I tell you! Not all of it you can seeee.
She drinks tea.
She uses mouthwash.
Sometimes she flosses.
I shit you not. That’s what the song is about. Yet she sings it in the character of a tragic Eliza Doolittle (prior to getting porked by Professor ‘Iggins). You can just imagine her looking pained while banging away at a piano like the bastard sister of Tori Amos.
Why are these silly, silly girls getting record contracts? There are young women out there with something to sing about, in their own fucking voices, whether they be cockney, scouse, brum, Geordie, taff, jock or just some middle class type from North London. There’s really nothing wrong with being Middle Class, Kate. Middle Class people are allowed to have opinions too, and singing a load of old cock with a fake accent doesn’t make it any less of a load of old cock.
Kate Nash: She’s well shit.