It’s hard to know who is going to buy the new Bananarama album (their tenth, don’t you know).
Given that they’re on the same label as Girls Aloud you would think they’d be up for showing the plastic quintet how it’s done. Sadly, any advice they might have for ginger, blondie, toothface, hairy and lips would likely be restricted to ‘what not to do when everyone’s forgotten who the fuck you are.’
At its best this sounds like a warmed-up Cher album. At worst, it’s joyless Ibiza drivel. Whilst listening to it the abiding image I had was of overweight, moustachioed men jiggle-dancing with each other in a cellar in Amsterdam, wearing leather caps and naught else. For that alone this album is to be reviled. I doubt very much if Robert De Niro’s waiting for this but if he is, he’ll be outside the studio, with a shotgun and a couple of body bags.