The lights that Francis dances around flash resplendent from a raincoat in the seediest districts of electro-pop’s latest besieged township and this time it’s MJ’s legacy that gets an update – Francis himself posturing white-gloved and crotch-happy as the half-time entertainment in Hugh Hefner’s bonered reimagination of the SuperBowl amid a flurry of twinkling electronics, red synth baths and an outro of incredulous stadium guitar nymph-noodling usually reserved for men in glittery all in one spandex numbers. Whilst this could quite easily be hot water to dip yourself in, there’s just something so heartfelt about Francis’ delivery that makes it impossible to deny. The guy just wants to love ya, baby. And really, what’s wrong with a little bump and grind?

Francis and the Lights – Strawberries