Separating the sweet, juicy flesh from the stone and skin of this week’s major label releases.

You’ll have noticed there’s a worldwide financial crisis going on. Well don’t worry, because we’ve generously picked out three of this week’s new music releases to uplift your spirits. Or else confirm your belief that the world is going to hell, and fast. Whichever.

All releases are represented by a thought which might be thinked by the thinkers who buy them.

Firstly: Fire, Kasabian, single.

The initial release from their upcoming album, The West Ryder Pauper Lunatic Asylum. What would you get if you were to blend San Francisco, 1967, with Manchester, 1987, in a musical food processor? The answer is this single from the pals of celebritosser, Noel Fielding. Fairly harmless psychedila-lite, which does get a little tedious by the nineteenth time that big, catchy hook comes skipping round. This single is represented by the thought:

“Ooh, a new Kasabian single. I’d better check if it’s still cool to like them before I buy it, though.”

Secondly: Soul Of My Soul, Michelle Shocked, album.

Shocked is what happened when the innocence of 1960s female singer/songwriters (Joni Mitchell, et al.) found itself butting heads with the selfishness and warmongering of the 1980s. Here’s a little hint of what you’re getting into with Michelle Shocked: track 4 is called “Ballad Of The Battle Of The Ballot And The Bullet Part 1: Ugly Americans”. Couldn’t be less subtle unless it was “George Bush Is A Great Big Horse’s Winky And You’re All A Bunch Of Uselss Fat Spermwastes”. The album should please existing followers, being a familiarly cosy brand of country (albeit with a political message that may not sit too well with some fans of the genre). It is represented by the thought:

“Must remember to sign that anti-nuclear proliferation petition when I get into work on Monday. At the vegan healthfood and sandals store. Where I work.”

Thirdly: Passione, Paul Potts, album.

Long before Susan Boyle, Britain’s Got Talent had unearthed Potts, the original talented ugly. Whereas Susan’s thing is musicals, Paul’s is opera. Well, we say opera: Potts is to Pavarotti as Budweiser is to Stella Artois. Which reminds us of a wonderful joke: why is American beer like sex in a canoe?

They’re both fucking close to water.

Apologies, but we’re just trying to take away the suicidal wishes which naturally accompany thinking about Paul Potts singing. On an album produced by Simon Cowell. This album is represented by the thought:

“Okay: got my Jodi Picault novels spread casually across the coffee table; the Jamie Oliver recipe chicken’s baking away; and there’s Paul Potts’s ‘Chanto Pretensiori” loaded and ready. This dinner party is set to go.”

You! Follow hecklerspray on Twitter!