Here we go again. These days it feels like I can't turn on the radio without hearing an unsung pop princess beating The Prodigy at their own game with a hypnotic stab at electronica, held together with bizarre lyrics about wedding vows, delivered with an unmistakable Scandinavian drawl.
No, wait. This is startlingly enjoyable stuff, the type of pop X-Factor contestants can only dream of making (between paying £200 for horrendously trendy haircuts, that is). Annie, clearly not content with the apparent apathy shown to her previous forays from the streets of Oslo, is not letting us get away that easily - the psychotic side of her personality is allowed to creep through in The Wedding: "I know I turn you on," she moans between robotic exclamations of "Will you marry me?" and echoes of "I do, I do, I do"'s filthy enough to warrant a restraining order.
Quite aptly, it's as plain as day that this Norwegian siren is tired of being the bridesmaid rather than the proverbial bride - and I have neither the want nor the testicular fortitude to stand in her way. Do I take her to be my electronically married pop temptress? I do.
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