(By the way, if the BPI is reading — I have permission, from the band themselves, to spread this song far and wide. So that's what I'm doing here.)

Somewhere, what sounds like an out-of-tune version of the lambada plays. Then the song begins: "Win your complaints / Slam the doors and break all the plates" It's an explosion of Phil Spector and Motown tricks; a group of indie kids break into the derelict remains of Detroit, discover the Funk Brothers' old equipment and immediately set to work breaking a million hearts in mono. This is an unmixed, low bit-rate, unfinished song, and it's still one of the best things I've heard all year; a transcendent piece of pop. And this week, of all weeks, I needed to know that music isn't just there to cause me grief.

Saturday Looks Good To Me — Empty Room