Sophie Ellis-Bextor – Murder on the Dancefloor Review

Contemporary access to Murder on the Dancefloor would never have been this big had it not been a hit in a movie which divided opinion. Look past Saltburn. It may have brought the song to a wider margin but Sophie Ellis-Bextor’s hit track from debut album Read My Lips is still a burning, sensational slice of pop relevance with the sinister motives of lyrical quality running throughout. Now TikTok fodder and overplayed beyond meaning, like Mr. Brightside or Come on Eileen, a shift in momentum for Murder on the Dancefloor is all positives for getting it to new ears, but it appears the biting chemistry and dramatic turn at its core has been forgotten. Not to suggest Barry Keoghan’s penis has taken from the dancefloor classic, but this dance classic has it to thank for a return to Dance UK charts. 

A feel-good, catchy song which can be piped into the likes of sticky-floored independent venues. Much of Murder on the Dancefloor has all the fundamentals of memorable, motivating song. Movability, danceability and a set of hooks and rhythm which is easily remembered. It just so happens Ellis-Bextor’s vocal range is – and always has been – remarkable. Paired with an equally enjoyable music video, the ease of access and spoof-like fundamentals of the Sophie Muller-directed companion is neatly implemented. It does well to expand the excess of rage and using beauty as a weapon found in the move thefts of the club atmosphere. Little flickers of quality mixing, the shimmering style and the fast, fluid guitar solo tucked neatly toward the end of the track marks a rewarding listen.  

Constant for the early 2000s disco-styled genre was a “sex is power” concept, though it was Ellis-Bextor whose work here transcends that. There is much more to it than using the gift of looks to get what you want, it is implementing it in the right way and this sense of cunning is adapted well through the chorus. A demand to get your way or to suffer some rare consequence. A power dynamic not first expected but certainly drifting through the synths, electronic flickers and technological stuttering found on Read My Lips. There is more of it on the album – but Murder on the Dancefloor lives on for its easy-to-remember rage, its adept understanding of power orientation and, quite simply, because it is catchy.  

Murder on the Dancefloor still stands tall as a venomous outlet for a fury found within the self. It is not enough to threaten a DJ as The Smiths did with Panic but to burn the house, disco or building down with it. There is a sense of courage through the thick of all of it, it being the hell we hope to escape from when we do end up, inevitably, on the floor of a sticky, not-yet-burned club playing out this decades-old classic. Saltburn may have elevated the commercial viability of the track – but it remains unchanged and still relevant regardless of its popularity. At its core, there is still an earworm effect to it – a comfortable one but it may lose its charm over the next few years as it joins the social media playlist which tickles the synapses of memory retrieval for the sake of keeping attention on interior decorating Instagram reels.