What fresh hell…

Now that everyone’s Coldplay-approving, Saturday-telly-watching dad knows who Ricky Wilson is, the Kaiser Fucking Chiefs have had to give themselves a 2016 makeover to shake off the teatime ratings crew. The indie frontman quit The Voice last year to return to his true passion: shouting execrable nudge-wink oi-oi laddisms over euphoric guitar choruses.

But here we have ‘Parachute’. After the first few seconds we immediately thought, “Oh god, the Kaiser Fucking Chiefs have gone tropical fucking house.” And they have, a bit – there’s that jaunty Kygo-esque emptiness to the mix and, we swear, a xylophone-y melody under the piano that is playing literally the wrong pitch. Just the wrong notes.

But after that trop-house opener it becomes evident that Wilson has been down the wine bar with Chris Martin to compare notes, as ‘Parachute’ curdles into a slab of glowstick-arena-pop pegged on a Sia-quality lyric imbuing an inanimate object with metaphorical #deepness. Also, aren’t the Kaiser Chiefs from Leeds? Where are your accents, lads? Singles Club awaits.

And don’t give us that “why would you waste time being mean about the Kaiser Chiefs” rubbish – because they’re there, that’s why.

In 2014, FACT’s John Calvert was bowled over by the Kaisers’ first comeback album, a collection of “devastatingly forgettable music” that he blamed for “making modern life that bit more mundane”.

Remember when we laughed at Justin Bieber for going deep house? And a year later he made 2015’s best track. So there’s always hope.

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