Please tell me you've already heard Shakira's 'She Wolf' . What do you mean, no? Where have you BEEN? I'll describe it for you shortly, in extensive detail and with gratuitous use of metaphor, but I'd much rather wait for you to listen to it first. Back yet? Good. At the time of writing, 'She Wolf' sits at number 4 in the UK charts below a crushingly tedious menagerie; the odious, slimier-than-a-frog's-back DJ David Guetta, autopilot Jay-Z dud 'Empire State of Mind' and the bland, forgettable ringtone R&B of Taio Cruz. Sexier than Nigella Lawson narrating her own orgy, 'She Wolf' is an exotic, modern disco-funk missile that shines like a lighthouse in these tombstone-grey seas toward how pop should actually sound in the 21st century: white-hot, clever, gazing up at the stars not down at the pavements. Her playful sense of fun also pervades throughout, a trait sorely missing amongst many of the current crop. The year's biggest success is undoubtedly Lady Gaga, but there's as little humanity or elation in her distant, robotic shtick as there is in Beyonce's joyless ass-shaking. Since when was pop music this cold?
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