“Spike heels and skin-tight jeans/ I’ve got a fistful of love that’s coming your way/ Baby.”

Oh, the cultural wastelands of the reality pop world. A landscape strewn with shattered dreams, glossy highlights and dignity – the discarded Topshop outfit; the faltering Christina cover. And yet, still they come. Wooed by the siren’s song of the precious, chart-topping few; wide-eyed they wander to sacrifice themselves on the rocks of pop idolatry.

Of what worth, the rare glorious result – A thousand broken souls? Ten times that? A million? The moral philosopher is wasted on questions of medical ethics: send them to Mr Cowell and see what permissions and constraints are fit for then!

The cynic might say that Girls Aloud succeed not in spite of this dubious system, but because of it. After all, without their chart-topping, transcendent pop career, what incentive is offered the auditioning hopeful? ‘I want to be just like Reuben Stoddard’. ‘My ideal career path is that of Hear’say’. Exactly. I think not. And without their TV-constructed fanbase, would we now see a pop act so secure in their unique sound that tracks like this are unleashed on the Blunt-buying public?

Because, like ’Biology’, this song is ridiculous.

A false-start of repeated refrain and bubbling chords lulls you into expectations of melody but then that swooping synth hits, and suddenly this isn’t so jaunty anymore. Ominous screech, demanding stuttered vocals; a delicious darkness underpins this whole affair. By the time that same intro refrain returns, there are no cheery illusions left, just dirty energy and an addictive, bitter aftertaste.

The means so justify the ends.

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Bonus: ’Sound of the Underground’. Where it all began - with surf guitars!
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