A powerhouse pop number one produced by Trevor Horn, scandalous gay sex, tabloid tantrums, clumsy BBC censorship and sinister svengalis in the background. Anyone old enough to remember Frankie Goes To Hollywood may be feeling a distinct sense of deja vu right now. For the rest of the lucky population, tATu's emergence must seem like being hit by a bolt of lightning: shockingly, brilliantly, excitingly new.
And as with Frankie, the media have typically missed the point. To describe tATu as paedophilia fodder is to misunderstand their appeal. The school uniforms may superficially appeal to men, but the rest of tATu, from their belligerent attitude to their adrenaline pop, is designed to keep them at arm's length. tATu are really interested in the hearts and minds of teenage girls, and from Moldova to the Mississippi they're winning them. These are two girls in uniforms who won't be hit one more time, weren't born to make you happy, and will never be a slave 4 u.
In fact, the most disturbing thing about tATu is just how refreshing - how damned good - they are. Pop has so long been in the thrall of the airbrushed, minimalist sonic stylings of r'n'b that songs as unpredictable and plain oddball as the ones on '200 km/hr In The Wrong Lane' are almost a revelation.
Flitting from piano riffs to Oakenfold techno, synth-heavy europop to pumping guitars, the album is almost as frantic as its title suggests. But quality control is paramount, whether on the lovely, sobbing melancholia of 'Stars' or the insistent, angular melodies of 'Clowns'.
There are three outstanding highlights. 'All The Things She Said' is perfect pop, as tender as it is infectious, a lovelorn lesbian love song that makes tATu's actual sexuality irrelevant. And 'Not Gonna Get To Us' is stupendous, an amphetamine pop monster with a bolshy attitude to make Kelly Osbourne grind her teeth with envy. Like a Russian 'Spice Up Your Life', it's a certain number one. Both songs are also included in Russian versions, and sound even more startling sung in that beautiful, dramatic language.
Then there's their audacious cover of The Smiths' 'How Soon Is Now', which kicks the original half to death then gives it the kiss of life. Retaining the atmosphere and shuddering guitars, it adds taut piano melodrama and a steely punk chorus. "You shut your mouth", they yell, and only a foolhardy critic would refuse. In fact, there's only one interesting question left for tATu: how the hell do they top this?
by Jamie Gill