If you've spent any time near a television over the past few years, chances are you may have heard the Ting Tings. Their song "Shut Up and Let Me Go" appeared on an iPod commercial in 2008 and last year in the UK "That's Not My Name" trailed numerous sponsored ads for "The X-Factor". Their music is highly effective in these short bursts, competing with all sorts of other sensory noise in a game of who can be the loudest.
The Ting Tings' sophomore record is titled Sounds From Nowheresville, and the Nowheresville invoked might as well be ad-land itself. The restless genre-hopping vibe makes this feel less like an album and more like a series of tracks written to briefs. They flit from noir-electro ("Silence"), cod reggae ("Soul Killing"), and bratty guitar riffs ("Hang It Up"). The only common thread is how uniformly bad everything is. I suppose on that level it works: Sounds From Nowheresville makes me want to buy chocolate, try on clothes, take a holiday-- anything but listen to this record.
"Give It Back" has a nice beat to it, and it should-- it's pretty much a wholesale rip from LCD Soundsystem's "North American Scum". Likewise, the heavy guitar pop of "Hang It Up" feels like it could exist on the same playground as Sleigh Bells; but where that band makes triumphant school-bell jams, the Ting Tings come over like the class bully: the song feels heartless, cynical in conception, and concerned only with its own sport. Later on, a rap verse from Jules de Martino, the usually silent half of the duo, makes a strong case for a bad record's worst moment.
As ridiculous as Martino's rapping might be, lead singer Katie White one-ups him at every turn. Her spoken-word verses on "Guggenheim" are a perfect example. Delivering a particularly phony tale of heartbreak, her story is-- like most things on this record-- something you've heard a million times: girl falls for boy; boy caught in bed with a beautiful, popular girl; and the relationship is lost. The narrative calls for at least a veneer of vulnerability, but her delivery comes across like she's reading a script. White displays no emotion here or elsewhere: There are two modes, shouting or shouting a little louder. When she finally reaches the payoff chorus, all she has is one ridiculous unrelated line: "This time I'm gonna get it right/ I'm gonna play my bass at the Guggenheim," delivered with all the pent-up fury of Eric Cartman.
It almost feels like folly to try and engage with discussing this thing musically-- it's so cold and random. Most of the time, Sounds From Nowheresville evokes the same sensation as being Rickrolled for the 40th time, or watching the entirety of Nyan Cat's 10-hour flight. Essentially, things you don't choose to experience. But then, that's the crux of the Ting Tings. As long as they keep writing this sync music bait, it won't matter whether or not you choose to hear Sounds From Nowheresville, it'll end up finding you anyway.
