Hello, my name is Caroline, and I’m a MIKA-holic. Hear. Me. Out.
Below that tousled mop-top lies the brain of a musical genius. Aside from iconic four-piece Scooch representing the UK at the Eurovision Song Contest, MIKA’s debut album was the best thing to happen to 2007.
A musical rainbow in a world filled with storm clouds, MIKA is a living, breathing God amongst men. When I’m sad, I don’t want ‘Everybody Hurts’ or ‘Tears in Heaven’ – I want ‘Rio’, his catchy bop about giving up and casually starting a new life in Brazil. Breakup? MIKA. Work stress? MIKA. The crushing psychological weight of being alive? MIKA, and maybe a face mask or something.
I have endless respect for the sheer showmanship of this guy’s output. If Frankie Valli’s famous falsetto was worthy of its own Broadway musical, MIKA surely deserves the same treatment.
I am no longer prepared to tolerate abuse from friends and family for being an unapologetic fan of my generation’s answer to Elton John (yes, I mean it). I’m happy to concede that his music is dripping with cheese – a rare aged parmesan of pop, to be enjoyed slowly with a large glass of wine. MIKA is a high-pitched hero you never knew you needed – Why don’t you like him? Why don’t you like him? Why don’t you walk out the door?