Sweet Baboo, Nelly, Nadine Shah: this week's new tracks



Sweet Baboo
If I Died (Moshi Moshi)

Reading this on mobile? Click here to view

This year really has been something to write home about, as long as you're writing, "Hi Mum, the weather is shit and I'm depressed." But here comes the sun, from Wales, unexpectedly. This Cardiff calypso – a sweet-zesty suspension of yearning and blame – is in hock to a certain outsider icon, but repays the debt in full. "Daniel Johnston has written hundreds of great tunes/ And I've got six, so I guess there's some catching up to do." Great start, Baboo!

Hey Porsche (Republic)

Reading this on mobile? Click here to view

Plaster-less dipstick attempts to reboot driving = shagging trope and gets it embarrassingly wrong. Unless the Freudian implication of pneumatic suspension and buffed rims is that rappers actually want to have full sex with their cars, which is sort of plausible. "Hey lil' Porsche, I need a private show/ Here on my lawn, in my garage … See how fast you go", Nelly sings awkwardly to a superfluous woman. Little Red Corvette does this better; the sodding Bluetones did this better. Sorry Nelly, your ride's got a bucket seat and has been around the block a few times.

Nadine Shah
Dreary Town (Apollo)

Reading this on mobile? Click here to view

Shah understands that life is a stream of disappointment and agony; her un-chipper oeuvre an elixir of haunted music-hall piano and drowning siren calls. The operatics of the Dreary Town EP swirl around your head like a storm brewing but never quite breaking. The bruised, woozy title track and accompanying short film, which speaks fluent Vincent Gallo-ese, are the perfect soundtrack for young professionals to cut themselves to, although I understand that's not how it's being marketed.

Bat For Lashes
Lilies (Parlophone)

Reading this on mobile? Click here to view

Oh yeah, hi. I ordered a life-affirming encomium to the simple fact of existence? Its fragile bones of prayer preferably wrapped in a creationist claymation sequence of a woman breathing out continents? And getting freaky with Big Bird in space. Yeah, kinda like Carl Sagan reading Rimbaud on Sesame Street. Haunting synth. Cathartic vocal. A cosmic redemption song, yes! But you sent me something by Nelly about having sex with a… yeah, not what I wanted. Huh? Bat For Lashes? That sounds perfect! When will it arrive? The stardust dawn of space-time? Oh right. That's pretty weird.

Yes Sir Boss Feat Joss Stone
Mrs #1 (Stone'd)

Reading this on mobile? Click here to view

An acceptably gutsy rhythm and stomp from the first signings to Joss Stone's own label, and… WHY WOULD ANYONE WANT TO BEHEAD JOSS STONE? She's lovely! And not that famous any more. No one wants to hang the Coral or put Duncan from Blue in a gibbet. Anyway, it's time to move on from recent dramas, and get back to what's important: asking why every trace of her disastrous attempt to pass off an American accent at the 2007 Brits has been removed from the internet. Is this China?!

Powered by Guardian.co.ukThis article was written by Rhik Samadder, for The Guardian on Monday 15th April 2013 06.00 Europe/London

guardian.co.uk © Guardian News and Media Limited 2010