I am vaguely contemplating Parklife because of Labrinth. This is a very big deal. I hate Parklife, along with anyone under the age of 25, as both make me feel like a Zimmered-up geriatric Gargamel. But I may have to steel myself, dunk my face in a vat of glitter paint and get with the kids, because the kids love Labrinth and so do I. Like Earthquakes, Treatment is a deeply satisfying example of the epic post-modern pop pastiche – the new pop landscape dominated by Kanye, Nicky Minaj and Lady Gaga, where music is fluro and mountain-scale. Labrinth doesn’t have the ego of Kanye, the weirdness of Gaga or the menacing edge of Nicky Minaj – in fact he’s pretty earnest by rap pop standards – but his singles boom like skyscrapers, with thunderous, Coldplay-style kick drum beats and simple, life-affirming hooks – even here, where he’s talking some very odd business about heartbreak and mental health. Psychotherapy never sounded so good.
Labrinth : Treatment
