Up until last week I’d managed to swerve this latest ‘treat’ from the moneyed, manicured socialite, a scion of privilege continuing his culture grab and genre recuperation and re-appropriation, continually pastiching and pilfering, he is the Presidio of ‘Passe d’modernism’ the Titan of Trustfund Turntablism.
As a Mojo sub-editor nailed it, he’s the ‘modern day Mantovani’, simply adding retro-sheen to music’s continually disinterred history, the top soil’s well gone, the well’s dry, the mine’s barren.
These ersatz echoes have seen him cover the hip hop corner with ‘Ooh Wee’, Southern soul with Winehouse, his ‘Pin Ups’ covers album saw him butchering others songs (The Smiths ‘’Stop me if you think you’ve this one before’ *shudder*), got involved with retro ‘new pop’ (Duran Duran, Fox-hunt Ferry) and Bruno Mars’s album featuring The Police rip-off ‘Locked out of heaven’. Even a Beatle (‘Macca’ McCartney) has been unable to resist his ‘hit-making’ prowess. ‘Strange days indeed …’
Every listen of this throws up a new fingerprint, none of them belonging a digit of Sean Lennon’s sandpit chum. Be it Prince’s ‘DMSR’ (or all Prince circa 1980 -83), Sly and the Family Stone, Shalamar’s, ‘Ladies’ Night’, The Gap Band’s ‘Oops upside your head’, Kool and the Gang’s ‘Get down on it’ and ‘Jungle Boogie’ The pit of influence is as seemingly bottomless as Ronno’s fiancé.
Whatever next for this uber-connected, access all areas doyen of dross? ‘Ronson goes Blues’, how his family estate has run short of grouse, only chitlin and duck sauce to chow down on? ‘Ronson is a punk rocker’, leathered, bequiffed and slummin’ it with Swiss finishing school alumni The Strokes for another round of retro-rock-wretch?
You can imagine royal half-wit Wills or his ginger quarter-wit half-brother ‘getting down’ to it for the slavering edification of Jennie Bond and ‘Nick’ Witchell and laugh-free lard-arse Corden waggling his man-fat to the amusement of none. The end days really are looming.
Cynical, craven, crass and crap.