
One of Britain's most successful girl groups ever, Girls Aloud epitomize the very meaning of the word 'product'. Randomly handpicked by a fame hungry clown and two integral imbeciles (Gerry Halliwell, Pete Waterman and Louis Walsh, respectively) in the awful reality show Popstars :The Rivals, the group was destined to be yet another one among the masses of barely tolerable one-hit-wonders that the music industry uses to momentarily increase its revenues, and then discards mercilessly and without a second thought. What is it, then, that makes this group even remotely interesting? What has saved them from oblivion?
The answer would be, I think,style in banality. Girls Aloud are not the prettiest girls, have barely mediocre voices and lack the ability to construct a coherent phrase after making considerable collective efforts. This doesn't make them any different from hundreds of other retarded tarts that try to hit the charts nowadays, I know, but the truth is that success behind this group's talent for crass mediocrity seems to be its presentation. Yes, the girls are good at two things: they do what they're told, and mime coyly to bizarre pop songs the impact of which is great enough as to eclipse the greasy, grimy Council Estate aura that emanates from these five petty chavette prototypes.

Thus, after 5 years of touring, grating interviews and ever changing hairdos, Girls Aloud present us with what possibly is the high point of their career: an album containing their impressive (in chart terms) collection of hits, which manages to both make an objective presentation of their talents while gracefully describing what’s so wrong with the group. And it’s precisely there where things lead us to the question: how have they managed to keep going?! The drunken-chant-on-a-Saturday-night-out approach that is given to most of the choruses, combined with the chaotic verse-swapping of which the group’s producers are so fond, expose Girls Aloud for what it is; an impersonal, over-tried formula that’s been (for once) well-directed by record company executives, and little else.
What is it, then, that should make us buy this album? The answer is in the music. While often slipping into self-parody with downright idiotic lyrics that wouldn’t look out of place in a ten-year-old’s personal diary, the way in which the strange, hook-ridden melodies are presented is simply irresistible, and attests to both the originality and acute commercial instinct of songwriters Xenomania. From the opening guitar riffs of their irresistible first hits Sound Of The Underground and No Good Advice to the last skipping beats and distorted guitar effects of their absolutely dismal version of Tiffany’s rebellious puppy love ‘classic’ I Think We’re Alone Now, the richly textured backgrounds to which the girls whine are the very stuff of innovation, and that’s exactly what sets them apart from every other clone-band.
No Good Advice
Another thing that can be observed while listening to this collection is the stylistic linearity that the group has followed, from the techno-tinged faux rock with Bananarama-esque vocals of their beginnings to the gradually more aggressive electric guitar-licked dance sound of their later offerings, Girls Aloud has evolved into a smoothly running machine that easily produces instant-perfect disposable pop with impressive comfort. This transition can easily be appreciated in the bombastic Wake Me Up, blossoming in its apparent continuation, the inescapable Something Kinda Ooh, both of which explode into the listener’s ears with an overabundance of instrumental layers that both bury and highlight the melodies’ alternation of shocking counterpoints and endless hooks.
Wake Me Up
Something Kinda Ooh
The problems start when the girls step away from the fast running beat train that carries their few memorable moments. While experiments like Long Hot Summer, Biology and the doo-wop styled ballad Whole Lotta History manage to be cute thanks to their careful crafted melodies, running along them there are disastrous accidents like the simply insufferable concoctions The Show and the unclassifiable Love Machine: genuinely odd moments that bare the girls’ soul-less squawking and lack of interpretive skills, while offending the listener’s ears with simply irritating, aimless tunes. The ballads don’t fare much better, being most attempts disastrous dog’s breakfasts covered in pretty garnish. From the beautiful guitar introduction of Life Got Cold (which goes from spoken dullness to whispered narcotic in no time) to their monotonous, lazily-walking-by-the-notes covers of I’ll Stand By You and DC Lee’s gorgeous ode to unrequited love See The Day, the dramatic impact of which is sadly wasted by an amateurish delivery and paper thin vocals, and is only tolerable because of the original melody’s sheer beauty.
Whole Lotta History
Long Hot Summer
See The Day
Thus, here finishes this month’s review! I hope you like it and I didn’t bore you too much with my unclear writing. :-) If you like the songs I've posted, please go to buy the album at Amazon or HMV.







