Calvin Harris, creator of disco, getter of all the girls, lover of 80s babies, and possesor of a very special power – utter gormlessness. Whether deadpanning his way around Dumfries on Youtube or playing the clueless cocktail waiter to Dizzee Rascal’s buck-toothed gyal-hunter, Scotland’s foremost electro berk (what happened, Mylo?) gets away with Macbeth-like crimes against pop thanks to his ever-bewildered pokerface.
Bewilderment seems to be the defining motive underlying Ready For The Weekend. Calvin’s pop-production-props can not be doubted, but his star quality has always been questionable – a lingering suspicion The Girls or Acceptable In The 80s might have been done better justice were he firmly behing the mixing desk. His relative move away from the mic on this sophomore release indicated tactical nous – who listens to Timbaland for anything more than the production values and guest slots? RFTW acts as a showcase for Calvin’s new tricks – a Trevor Horn trumpet lick on opener The Rain, Blue’s acoustic guitar transition into electro arpegs, the trance and wonky nods – and for his Ibiza-birds-on-tour girl vocals and guest slots from Dizzee and Izza Kizza.
The same shortcomings that reduced his debut album to mere headnoddery apply here: Harris’s butter is spread so thin as to be non-existent. In the search for a discernible identity, Calvin’s gormless visage blocks the way. Is it all a pisstake? The synthpop dilletantism is underlined by moody instrumental closer 5iliconeator, following on as it is from should’ve-been-standalone Dance Wiv Me – the befuddled and befuddling Calvin Harris gets away with another collection of singles-and-filler, but the tongue-in-cheek boasts are quickly slipping into obnoxiousness.
