Until a few Portuguese speaking sourpusses complained, the newest ad for Bonds featured the new single from Bonde Do Role as its soundtrack. A few mentions of amphetamines and the threat/instruction to “Bite you like a whore, come and play with my pussy” and suddenly a song is deemed in appropriate to sell undies. What gives?

While it may have been embarrassing or just deliberate naughtiness on the part of Bonds, Bonde were just killing themselves laughing and rolling in cash – probably while wearing their bright new undies. They must do that a fair bit these days, as there’s been no skimping on accolades for the crew and the stupid good times of their With Lasers album – championed and part produced by Diplo. Some of that praise is due to the album having the best cover of the year: – who’s gong to top the Rio Jesus statue with killer laser eyes? But mostly because Bonde play like CSS living out a Spinal Tap fantasy.

Apparently Bonde get much more hype outside of their homeland, where they’re supposedly seen as the safe, clean version of the balie funk sound. There’s probably a smear of jealousy involved there as not every shouty, sweaty sex-obsessed group in Brazil can hook up with M.I.A’s producer and his Mad Decent label. Plus the fact that Bonde are middle class kids in genre originating from the favelas probably doesn’t help their reputation. But in a genre that’s all about wild partying to stolen beats and chanted slogans, arguing about how ‘authentic’ Bonde are is wildly ridiculous.

The Bonds ad now lacks the smutty lyrics but you have five chances to hear them again with the single release of Marina Gasolina. Listed in order of length this single contains an edit version, album version and remixes from Peaches, Crookers and Fake Blood.

With baile funk’s ‘lets-sample-everything-in-sight’ approach to production, there’s plenty of fun to be had for any remixer as all the versions here prove. In what must have been a huge challenge for Peaches she resists the temptation to add a verse of her own smut and simply tweaks the songs pitch and flicks the vocals to double time orgasm. Crookers also amplify the filth, with an all-guns-blazing, all-clothes-off remix that features a bass squelch that must have trouble passing customs on the way in. Fake Blood’s mix cuts away at the vocals stripping the censored words without reducing the grime and sleaze.