Yahoo! Music Review

Released on 18/06/07
Label: Modular

Let's rescue New Young Pony Club from whatever reductive label the Old Boys' Club scenesters have given them this week. As the spiritual god-daughters and god-sons of legendary '80s/'90s New York art-funkers ESG, Beastie Boys and especially Luscious Jackson, they deserve more. A support slot with Prince in London this summer would be a start. Because "Fantastic Playroom" is a supremely assured debut of jerkily brilliant funk-punk to which any sceptic initially put off by the hype should immediately hasten with open heart.

It's worth pointing out that similarities with the debut earlier this year of CSS are legion - yet NYPC have the edge over their Brazilian counterparts, not only in the audible, polished, Northern hemisphere conscientiousness (they've slogged over this), but also in terms of dancefloor domination. At no point does the funk go off for a toilet break, as you may suspect from the stand-out "Ice Cream" (yes, the one off the Intel commercial) which blends perky, vintage electro disco beats with a yearning string-synth wash, creating a song as kinky yet oddly melancholic as Blondie's "Rapture".

"The Bomb", meanwhile, is a breakneck-paced, whip-smart ode to cleverness ("Don't speak cos your mind is amazing") with hints of Joy Division and Donna Summer and a finale that involves the word "Dancing!" being repeated mantra-like to close. Elsewhere, "Hiding On The Staircase" might be a very young Hole after a synth tutorial with Les Rythmes Digitales.

Clearly, the London five-piece have a canny sense of self awareness - "Dumb me down for stage invasion / Life's a seesaw, you've forgotten how the top becomes the bottom" ("Fan") - that may explain the profile-building nous of the TV commercial and NME tour. The libretto is also littered with positive feminist sentiment - "Let your girlfriend do what your boyfriend can't" ("Get Lucky") and "Tight Fit"'s references to slimming and the need to slot into a clique.

Frontwoman Tahita Bulmer herself, who has spoken of her interest in the perceptions of women by men, is far from a ranting harpy, however, boasting a delivery as crisply nonchalant as Deborah Strickland of 1979 hit "Money (That's What I Want)" fame. Tempting though it is, we make her an icon at our peril. William Hill should start taking bets on how soon Madonna's talent-sucking gamma rays seek this lot out for a production gig. One thing's a safe bet: New Young Pony Club will still be shining long after the "new rave" glow-sticks have gone to landfill.

    by Anna Britten