TRACK OF THE WEEK

Todd Terje
Jungelknugen (Four Tet remix)

Appreciating the drop on a dance track feels almost criminally passé, the kind of thing your dad might say to ingratiate himself before confessing that he’s run off with his pilates instructor. But there’s no way other way to put it: this remix contains possibly the greatest drop of all time, as two minutes of increasingly ecstatic, rippling bliss suddenly gives way to a ridiculous bouncy-castle bassline that if deployed at the right time by an in-store DJ could increase sales of Bermuda shorts thirtyfold.

Alt-J
3WW

Could we learn to love Alt-J? They still look more like a team of professional video gamers than a band and whenever they sing about sex it’s like being hit on by the NatWest chatbot, but at least they keep trying something different. 3WW starts off like a medieval Massive Attack before unexpectedly coming over all Rufus Wainwright and culminating in a song-stealing cameo from Wolf Alice’s Ellie Rowsell. At the very least, there’ll be a 30-second clip of it you’ll really like.

Nicki Minaj ft Drake and Lil Wayne
No Frauds

Billed as a momentous reunion of the Young Money squad, No Frauds is actually a moody, low-key affair that’s basically a vehicle for Minaj to throw some typically sharp-tongued shade over her current beef with Remy Ma (“I got before and after pictures of your surgery” – ooh, feel the burn!). Lil Wayne raises a chuckle by comparing the tightness of his blunts to biker shorts, although Drake might as well have stayed at home lint-rolling his sweaters.

Matt Maltese
As The World Caves In

Missing Leonard Cohen already? The good news is that he appears to have been reincarnated as a scrawny south London crooner called Matt Maltese, whose deliciously arch and overblown latest single – central premise: warmongering tyrants have triggered nuclear armageddon so let’s get it on before our insides melt – also resembles Suede with a sense of humour. Maltese: the lighter way to enjoy apocalypse.

Fleet Foxes
Third of May/Odaigahara

It must be a fallow year on the homestead because Fleet Foxes are back, only to find they’ve been thoroughly upstaged by their former drummer Father John Misty, who’s added showboating irony to the beardy folk-rock equation. As a result, this earnest harmony-fest feels a bit old hat, despite containing some undeniably lovely moments across its nine-minute duration. Oh well, those dry stone walls needed repairing anyway.