This week’s new tracks: Yungblud, Beabadoobee, Idles

Yungblud

Strawberry Lipstick

The personification of Gen Z screaming in your face during an all-nighter on lighter fluid, Yungblud is basically Keith Flint genetically spliced with Lady Gaga. Partial to a cheeky rave-up, he’s better on glammed-up future-punk like this, where snarled boasts of his “toxic attitude” sound just damaged and dangerous enough to get his flavoured lippy snogged off by some brave volunteer.

Beabadoobee

Care

If Yungblud monkeys marvellously between chart pop and punk, Beabadoobee does the same for grunge. Melodic angst, sugar’n’grit power chords, grainy DIY video featuring lots of flowers and a fully clothed chorus in the bath … while you’re emoting along to the next bedroom cult star, your dad’s off wistfully sniffing a cigarette butt Juliana Hatfield smoked in 1993.

Idles

A Hymn

Has news reached Bristol there’s a pandemic on? Woke-punk warriors Idles would surely be first up Downing Street’s rose garden with the tar and feathers, yet in these dark times their greatest concerns appear to be the prevalence of Zumba and the demise of Teletext. It still sounds like a meteorite having a panic attack, but listen close and you can hear Matt Hancock sigh with relief.

Matt Berninger

Distant Axis

Bloody pandemic scammers. First Bitcoin hackers target Twitter’s blue-tick billionaires, now fake lockdown video directors are duping indie godheads. The video for the National frontman’s latest solo piece of phantasmal merlot melancholy sees him tarting about on a green screen without the presumably “oceanic” background visuals added. Lesson learned: never pay a spam-box film-maker cash-in-hand.

DJ Khaled ft Drake

Popstar

We’ve all got a friend with our most incriminating evidence locked away, but the sheer monotony with which Drake delivers his umpteenth guest spot for renowned mate-of-the-stars DJ Khaled suggests a blackmail paid in full. “We the best music!” Khaled yells, as Drake drowsily flaps his platinum Visa at Ariana Grande’s “sexy ass”. Whatcha doin’ at the bottom of this column then, punk?