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 White Stripes / Dirtbombs
(Shepherd’s Bush Empire)The gig was an attempt at reflected glory for promoters Q
Magazine with Virgin and XfM – respectively the Mr Byrite of journalism, retail and
radio. But even dressed in a tuxedo and
doused with CKOne, a turd remains a turd and Q Magazine couldn’t disguise how lame
and out of q-une they really are. The gig was
filmed too, giving the ferrety gimp of a Q editor the opportunity to made redundant
introductions. Further, their choice of The
Empire is one of the worst venues in London – crap sound and sightlines. Moan number one. Moan number two was the way
they treated the Dirtbombs. The
band looked great, played up a sweat and had the honey-voiced Deanne Iovan from the Come
Ons on percussion and backing vocals. But thanks to the sloppy sound in the Empire, even
though we stood in front of the stage, it sounded like they were playing next door. The more bass-heavy R’n’B numbers
suffered most, while the rockier numbers seemed to benefit from a sound presumably
equalised for the White Stripes. Conspiracy
or incompetence? Oh, it’s incompetence
ever time at this venue. It was a shame as
the band played a corking set of songs, mostly from the ‘Ultraglide in Black’
album, much of which was lost in the murk. The
new single, with the lyric “sweet lovin’ in the Motor City” was very simple
and very catchy. It was, however,
disappointing to hear them play “I’m Through With White Girls” from the
‘Sympathetic Sounds…’ compilation.
It wastes a rollicking melody and a rolling beat on a lyric that is
puerile and unfunny and I hope they drop it soon. Verdict
overall: a wasted opportunity. In the right
venue, say the Garage at the end of May, the Dirtbombs will be awesome. The White Stripes
are awesome, from the opening “Dead Leaves and the Dirty Ground” to the
closing rockabilly number. They make their
own numbers sound classic and classic numbers sound all theirs, be they country or blues. “Jolene”, though it seems incongruous
sung by Jack, is impassioned and “Lord, Send Me An Angel” is cocky and skittish. It’s not just the Detroit women who
won’t let Mr Jack White go as the romping skiffle of “Hotel Yorba” and
songs from ‘White Blood Cells’ delight the crowd.
Mr Jack is frantic on stage, looking to fill every gap with lyric, guitar or
keyboard while Meg plays a clever, minimal beat. While
the songs with the squalliest guitar parts find the crowd’s favour, this appeal to
the sort of Led Zeppelin electric blues sound fascism strikes a duller chord with me. It’s his sparer, prettier songs that have the
most resonance, like the Beatlesque “Apple Blossom” and the tender
“We’re Going To Be Friends” -
a love song pared down to the heartstrings. On
“Rated X”, we get Meg singing far more of the vocal and more confidently than
she did last time we saw her. Confidence is
not what Jack’s lacking and at the end of “Fell In Love With A Girl”, he
sings “Shine On Harvest Moon” in a part Southern, part Cockney accent, leading
my companion to dub him ‘the Singing Defective’!
Right now, Jack White can’t do anything wrong.
He’s at the head of a movement of bands that draw from the past while creating
a new musical future and his own band is probably the best on the planet right now,
producing great records and playing memorable gigs. But
you don’t need Q-who? Magazine to tell you that. Reviewed by Ged The concert is part of Ether 2002 at the Royal Festival Hall -"Advancing electronic music culture way beyond the dance floor". The support comes from The Siren Suite (hooked on classics without the beat). Looper (ex Belle and Sebastian stableman playing a variation on one electronic tune) and The Gentle People (Steps meets Mike Flowers Pop - bizarre!). So after an exhausting two and a half hours of support acts it's on to the main feature. As I take my seat in Row U, Level 5 (it's a long way back), I realise that this is going to be more than a musical experience. The huge video screen at the back of the stage waits for the four other members of the band to arrive. The screen is the fifth member, playing a mixture of hi- tech multimedia visuals and kitsch video montages. A white, silk sheet hangs in front of stage, partially hiding the band as they pick up their instruments. The words "CORNELIUS from Nakameguro to Everywhere" appears on the screen, the sheet falls to the ground and the band begin to play. "Point of view point" is the opening track of the set. The quiet intro of the acoustic guitar accompanies the sound effects and multimedia footage in perfect sync. The rest of the band join in with the diverse time signatures and complicated vocal arrangements. For the next twenty minutes or so, the tracks come from the excellent new album 'Point'. We then get to hear songs from the 1998's "Fantasma" - the rockin' "Count Five or Six", the amusing "Magoo Opening" and "Star Fruits Surf Rider". There's also an upbeat tune with Football visuals, has Cornelius written a song for Japan's forthcoming World Cup tournament? The band is never fully illuminated, probably due to the video screen supplying more than enough visuals to concentrate on. The only time a spot light shines is when Cornelius fetches a member of the audience onto the stage to help him play the theremin. The set returns to more songs from "Point". The musicianship is superb throughout. "I Hate Hate" being a fine example, with it's frantic guitar riffs that Zappa would have been proud of. The band finally leave the stage to a strobe effect that must have lasted for over a minute. (epileptics beware!) A calmness is restored and Cornelius announces the encore "this is our final song, thank you for coming" - as the gorgeous vocoder and electronic rhythms of "Brazil" plays out the set. One hour and five minutes after it started, Cornelius' only appearance in the UK is over. Blink and you would have missed it, if only there was rewind button to enjoy it all over again. Reviewed by Ken Tuckie
Mr. Bassman, set your phasers to stun! DLYSI have only been on the circuit for a couple of months, and sometimes this shows. As a 3 piece, they make a reasonable noise, which is mainly down to the excessive use of phasers on the guitars. After 3 songs though this becomes a tad tiresome. The singer has a interesting breathy voice, and this probably contributes to them being compared to Belly and The Breeders at their rockiest, but they need to work on their material if they have any plans to worry either Deal or Donnelley. 80’s Matchbox B-Line Disaster come on like King Kurt and The Cramps illegitimate love child. Chock full of guitar riffs and pounding drums, they do get everybody in the room watching them intently. The singer has the appearance of Richard Ashcroft with an Ian Curtis stage persona thrown in, but tends to veer towards shoutyness when it isn’t really necessary. The group has a garage band mentality once they get into their stride, giving it loads and getting a bit pogo-tastic. Totally drum driven like The Ramones, it’s hard not to bop along with them subconsciously. The set started off at a breakneck speed, and they kept it going all the way though to the end, but the quality of the songs dropped off as the evening wore on. Worth checking out if they’re supporting somebody else in the near future, but until they work on some better material I won’t be rushing out to see them headlining a gig just yet. One to watch for the future methinks. What is there to be said about The Bellrays which hasn’t been already? The East Coast funk/rock band should be massive in the current Strokes/Hives climate, having as much riffage as both the aforementioned put together. The singers Aretha on steroids vocals and stage presence cannot be ignored once they take the stage. Add MC5/Stooges rocking, with Led Zep licks and you have a potent live force to be reckoned with. They started off a bit ropey, but by 3 songs in they are firing on all cylinders, and the crowd is lapping it up and getting a good sweat on. They obviously weren’t impressed by recent NME/Independent reviews, and tonight they were out to prove the critics wrong with an adrenaline fueled set of tunes, which went from punk to funk to garage, and touched base with virtually everything in-between. Next time you are in HMV pick up their current album and make you mind up for yourself. It’s doubtful that they can create the sort of energy on record that they do live, but one thing I guarantee is that you will be regretting not making the effort to catch them on this tour. They may not be here to save Rock ‘n’ Roll, but they are keeping the current bands honest. Mr. Casablancas take note. If you don’t save the kids, The Bellrays just might snatch them away from you during the night! Reviewed by Micky Bananas The Crescent / Godboy (London Barfly) This gig took place before a disappointingly small turnout on the night that Arsenal ensured that the only tin pot in Greater Manchester this season would be delivered to the team in sky blue. So there is a God. Which leads me in a somewhat contrived manner to… Godboy. Something makes me think Godboy may well make it in this crazy mixed up biz. Not that I particularly wish them luck as they trot out their Coldplay/Travis style angst pop rock. However my views are probably irrelevant as in the leading Godboy they have someone who physically resembles a young Bernard Butler whilst delivering vocals in a kind of a slightly folkier version of Axl Rose. The lyrics are completely indecipherable as he drawls every syllable out to an implausibly tortured elasticated length but the fact that he’s eye candy for young girls (and some boys) and the music is inoffensive indie rock stadium fodder means they’ll probably go somewhere. I just don’t want to be there when they reach that place. Oh and the bassist looks like Cool Guy Mike from the Young Ones, 5 foot 2 in his heels and dressed in a Mr Byrite suit, he looked about as rock n roll as your nan, admittedly assuming your nan has her nose pierced. The Crescent are a moody looking four piece from Liverpool and they clearly have done little more than look out of their back window for their most significant influences. And by this I assume they live backing onto some mansion owned by Mr John Powers, formerly of the La’s but more famously of Cast. Whether their sullenness is an act, pilfered from early Oasis or just stage fright is unclear but their bassist looks like a surly tubby Noel Gallagher and one of my companions queried how he managed to play the instrument without actually ever moving his fingers on the fretboard. It’s obviously a talent us non-musos would not understand. However even I can recognise the ability of the guitarist and drummer whose performances lifted the band out of the ordinary and completely upstaged the Robbie Fowler-alike on vocals. Musically it was all quite acceptable without being out of this world, at its best with the single sounding like the Who or with One Way Ticket, the La’s, but mainly residing in that comfort area of ok but no cigar - Cast territory. However they’re young and at least two are very talented so with stronger songs and a little more originality they could be contenders. Reviewed by mawders Bearsuit
/ Derrero (Upstairs at the Garage) Derrero were billed
as Gorky’s meet Stereolab. Well, the Gorky’s reference was easy –
they’re Welsh, share a label with the excellent Melys and play crushingly sweet
melodies style sung, in a Jonathan Mercury Rev style, by a disconcertingly macho bloke,
and backed by an enervating sonic squall. The Stereolab reference becomes clearer
when we hear the stylophone! The singer’s the drummer, who then becomes second
guitarist when they stick on the drum machine, but it’s when he’s behind his kit
that the music is warmest and best – the downside of drum machine democracy I
suppose. We admire the captivating melodies as much as we question the Badly Drawn
Boy beanie and the Mani floppy headwear. It’s the third time
we’ve seen Bearsuit in as many months. While the novelty wears off, we
appreciate more the features we’ve come to love about Bearsuit: the band’s sense
of fun, the traditional Bearsuit equipment failure, the shouty (Iain) and hiccuppy (Lisa)
vocals, and the splendid poppy, punky, tunes. The sound is terrible tonight
for three-quarters of the set, unnecessarily adding to the trademark Bearsuit fuzziness
and losing much of the vocal punch, and that takes the edge off. But we still swoon
at the tunes, and the singles in particular. The forthcoming single, “Stop what
you’re doing, what you’re doing is wrong” is a pretty nifty shuffle-beat
salsa while “Hey Charlie, Hey Chuck” becomes ever more classic with every
hearing. Bearsuit are still endearingly shambling, low-fi and lovable. Reviewed by Ged Herman Dune / Stars of Aviation (Arts Café, Aldgate) Stars of Aviation apologise for not having played before “this many people” and to be honest, they haven’t quite mastered the dynamics of the live set. They start well, sounding like a cross between Scott Walker and Belle and Sebastian, jaunty and melodic with an affable lead singer, but go down a road that is a bit progressive, slightly indulgent and (not wishing to be xenophobic but when did they make any decent music?) French. Before the end of the set they fall back into the arms of melody with their best song “…Is it Going to be Sunny, Carol?” which is light and whispery and quite Belle-ish, with fat keyboard tones. Good name too. Herman Dune still look like woodsmen who’ve been trapped in their cabin all winter. They conclude their set, a cover of a song by The Mountain Goats, with the chant Hail Satan! Tonight, something’s definitely got into them because they play a rousing, rocky and roustabout set of songs. If rock ’n’ roll is the new rock ’n’ roll, on tonight’s evidence, stencil Herman Dune’s name on the next flight case to fame. Their albums and recent live shows demonstrate a laid back, low-fi approach, all mood, colour and tone, but tonight they go for it full-tilt, perhaps trying to emulate Slayer who they claim, facetiously I hope, are the best band in the world. David-Ivar and Andre spark off each other like terminals on an overcharged battery but, at volume, the sound of their Silvertone guitars is still warm and inviting. “Going to Everglades” and “Shakespeare and North Hoyne” are highlights, as is the unexpected cover of “Can’t Get You Out of My Head”. This is taut, choppy and slightly psychotic, played in the style of ‘The End’, and a palate cleanser for those who are sick of the ever-present original. They’re in the UK for a live at Maida Vale Peel Session on 15 May which, on this evidence, is a stay-in, phone-off-hook unmissable event. Reviewed by Ged |
Idlewild / Ikara Colt (Astoria, London)Up and comers Ikara Colt are: Paul Resende
(vocals), Jon Ball (bass), Claire Ingram (guitar) and Dominic Young (drums). References to
the Stooges, Sonic Youth, Joy Division, At the Drive-In and most of all the Fall, abound
when people talk of this band. Add a dash of Wire, the odd spiky guitar of early Banshees,
maybe even a bit of early Idlewild and a singer who looks like a refugee from the Strokes.
Voila, Ikara Colt, East London art school thrash
punksters. They don’t give a sod about style, Resende’s shoes fell apart
mid-gig. They played a fast and furious, rough and ready set and it’s just a pity
they saved their best songs ‘til first. The Colt think bands should be shot after 5
years, so catch ‘em while you can. Before the headliners appear there’s a filmshow of the highlands accompanied by mellow piano. It’s like an ad for the Scottish tourist board, and Idlewild are obviously proud of their origins. But there’s little mellow about what follows as the band (augmented for the tour by a second guitarist) run onstage and launch into the raw punk of ‘Captain’ from their debut mini-album of the same name. The rest of the set is drawn from their two full length albums and upcoming ‘The Remote Part’ including ‘American English’ and superb new single ‘You Held the World in Your Arms’. Idlewild have taken big strides forward with each release and the new material holds up well live. Sure, there are similarities to the Smiths and REM but Idlewild are still very much Idlewild, more mature, more thoughtful and with more pop sensibility, but hardly what NME called ‘a rough hewn tribute to REM’. There’s still enough speed punk (‘Listen to What You’ve Got’, ‘Rusty’) to keep the punters happy. I mentioned mellow. Rod Jones (guitar) and Roddy Woomble (vocals) are left by the rest of the band for a sublime ‘I’m Happy to be Here Tonight’. During the encore Roddy briefly jumps into the crowd for a bit of Woomble-ing free. Some more songs wouldn’t have gone amiss; ‘Paint Nothing’, ‘I Don’t Have The Map’, but all-in-all a good gig. Here’s to the new album. Set list: Captain / Little Discourage / You Held The World In Your Arms / I’m A Message / Idea Track / (I Am) What I Am Not / These Wodden Ideas / American English / When I Argue I See Shapes / Century After Century / I’m Happy To Be Here Tonight / Stay The Same / Rusty / Roseability / In Remote Part - Encore: Listen To What You’ve Got / I Found That Essence Rare / A Film For The Future Reviewed by Sleezy
Sammo Hung are loud and lively, purposeful and
perky. They have no frills – they play
their set and then they hit the bar. They’re
animated with plenty of riffs, and a bit like the Ramones in their delivery of songs
(hardly a pause for breath). Although
they’re from Cardiff, comparisons with other Welsh bands would be odious –
except they could be a Stereophonics with balls.
The songs might need more work before they penetrate the consciousness like great
music does but at the end I’d picked up this subliminal message that I must see Sammo
Hung again. As Solomon took the stage, Dave Mac said “look! Jesus is back and he’s playing guitar!” While neither guitarist nor band lived up to this messiah billing, the band had a refreshingly classic notion of what rock’n’roll is about. They play punk rock torch songs, melodic and darkly powerful. The singer comes across as part-Polly Harvey, part-Nina Persson when she’s at her most coolly detached. But there’s a touch of Grace Slick about her too and the music has a real 60s influence; the first few bars of every song sound vaguely reminiscent of something classic, maybe Dylan, maybe The Doors, before they bound off in a rocky, bluesy direction all of their own. The single “Being the Devil” is the standout song but the set shows that there’s a lot more where that comes from. The room fills as they’re playing, and not just with people waiting for the main act. Solomon are loud, rocking and worth catching. At the risk of sounding like some naïve NME spunker, we’ve never had it this good. I could name you a dozen bands off the top of my head, seeing any of which would reassure you that the best music is life-affirming, horn-inducing and lifestyle-changing, rather than barely-registering candy music for fast food restaurants. At the top of the heap would be the mutated blues howl of the White Stripes, the grunge melodies of The Vines and, now, the spiky psychopop of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs. The YYYs demonstrated tonight why they are such an incredible band right now. When we saw them at the Metro it was a case of territorial pissings. Now they’ve established who’s the top, the tip and the championship, they’re stretching out and showing their range of moves and depth of sound. For those of us who can’t play music but nurtured ideas of being a bass player, the YYYs put another nail in that particular work-experience coffin by demonstrating the redundancy of the post but the absence doesn’t affect their sound. That sound is a precise, thunderous rhythm from Brian Chase, ripped apart by the jagged lightning stylings of Nick Zimmer. Primitive blues, heavy electric blues a la Led Zeppelin, even melodic pop, they can turn their hand to anything. The triad is completed and made greater than the whole by Karen O, part chanteuse, part apoplectic pop pixie, all Siouxsie Sue make-up, Sally Bowles stage domination and a vocal style that triumphantly veers from Tina Turner to Marc Bolan via Kirsten Hirsch. Like at the Metro, Karen O again seems to be having as much fun as the audience, spraying us with beer, cross-dressing with the front row and wearing a grin bigger than the expense account of the assorted NME hacks who are thronging tonight’s gig. The set is slightly longer than the Metro, with new songs going down as well as the ‘old’ (EP-vintage) ones. “Bang” is longer, with more of the guitar strangling that on the EP follows the quirky rhythms that mark this song out as one of the tracks of the year and “Our Time” belies it’s line “our time to be hated” by becoming an anthem celebrating their new found supremacy. We even get the glam rock genius of “Mystery Girl” as a brilliant finish to a superb night. Some gigs fill an hour. Some, like tinnitus, ring in your ears into the next day but eventually fade. The Yeah Yeah Yeahs climb into your ear, spray their name on your eardrums and make a sound in your frontal lobe you don’t ever want to go away. Reviewed by Ged The Cooper Temple Clause / Biffy Clyro (Astoria, London) Biffy Clyro are a 3 piece of Pearl Jam/Nirvana wannabes with little style or finesse. Not impressed. The Cooper Temple Clause are an unholy blend of space rock, Deep Purple circa 1972, the odd bit of Zeppelin (playing guitar with violin bow a la Jimmy Page), techno, punk attitude and a singer like Liam Gallagher on speed beating the hell out of his tambourine (no, that’s not a rude euphemism). After a great debut album ‘See Through This And Leave’ I was keen to suss this band out. Unfortunately the sound was shite, but enough to give me a flavour of Reading’s finest. The set starts as per the album with ‘Did You Miss Me?’ After a deceptively quiet start with a Radiohead-like intro and mellow vocals this picks up into a full on rocker. The band plays everything from the album bar the instrumental track and including the extra songs on the limited edition. They’re very big on their light show; searchlights, strobes, the lot, and for most of the gig they appear as silhouettes on a darkened stage. Would have been nice to actually see a bit more of them. ‘Who Needs Enemies’ (new single) is early Oasis. The band go full pelt through ‘Film-maker’ and ‘Panzer Attack’, the latter with a techno meets ska keyboard intro, the bass kicks in and then it’s Deep Purple fronted by Liam. ‘The Lake’ is Oasis again but ends with screaming guitars and keyboards. Things calm down for ‘I’ll Still Write’ and ‘Digital Observations’ with its sinister music box keyboard jingle. Then it’s back into heavy rock mode for ‘Been Training Dogs’ and ‘Let’s Kill Music’ (another great intro). The set closes like the album with slow-builder ‘Murder Song’. No encore, but hey, they still play the songs they want us to hear. Crap sound, top band. Better luck next time. Set list: Did You Miss Me? / Devil Walks in the Sand / Who Needs Enemies? / Film-maker / Panzer Attack / The Lake / Amber / I'll Still Write / Digital Observations / Way Out West / Been Training Dogs / Let's Kill Music / Murder Song Reviewed by Sleezy Hoggboy / Angel Collective (Camden Underworld) For the umpteenth time in my gig going life I arrived at the venue in time to catch the fag end of what appeared to be a good support act. Tonight the curse struck with Angel Collective, a soothing five piece from Sheffield. Their music is gentle, lush and melodic as befits a band with a cello and the two and a half tracks I caught were excellent. They don’t need novelties so may I suggest the Jeff Lynne lookalike drops the angel wings he sports. Yes, I’m talking about you, you silly arse. By complete contrast to the delicate moodmusic offerered by the support, fellow Tyke’s Hoggboy enter like a bunch of 70s gutterpunks, all wearing shrunken black LJs and skinny fit Levis and blast their way through an impressive set of fast and furious punk. Influences are obviously the Stooges, early Stones, the Hives and probably most of all the Strokes, whom they have supported. Indeed lead singer Hogg has clearly studied Julian Casablanca’s delivery and intonation very closely. Highlights were the singles So Young and Shouldn’t Let the Side Down and B-side, Urgh!! They even did a cover of Say Mama which was the Cramps with an extra dollop of goo goo muck. An excellent gig and proof at last that Blighty can also produce genuine premiership standard garage punk rock contenders to match the Oz, American and Swedish imports. Reviewed by mawders Wilt / Fat Dragon (Camden Monarch) Try to sum up Fat Dragon in one word and uninspiring springs to mind. There’s just too many similar sounding songs, and little really to distinguish them from the current crop of noisy guitar bands. The singer has watched one too many Billy Idol videos, and has almost perfected the sneer, but it is a tad worrying when you realise that this is probably the best bit about his stage act. The guitarists bounce along at a fair chug, but then again hammering out power chords in 4/4 is hardly anything new or ground breaking. They really need to have a bit of a re-think if they have any aspirations to do anything in the music business. Wilt in contrast, an all-together different kettle of riffs. They seem to have finally cast off the Kerbdog albatross they’ve been carrying for a couple of years, and now having been bolstered with a fourth member their live sound is all together grander than the last time I had the pleasure of seeing them play. As a live act they always seem to eventually give an audience exactly what they want, even if it does take a while to warm to them. Comparisons to Husker Du and Sugar are easy to make, mainly due to singer Cormac Battles’ vocals, but that’s hardly a bad thing. There’s no doubting their ability to write great indie-rock songs, even if at times they do fall into the trap of being a tad formulaic. But hey, who am I to complain? If it gets the crowd bopping along, and smiling, then they must be doing something right, and truthfully it’s very hard to find anything bad to say about them. The new material doesn’t seem to have moved on much from their debut album, though their new single "Take Me Home" is more than capable of standing alongside anything they’ve done in the past. The high points of the set though were always going to be the early singles "Open Arms", "No Worries" and "Radio Disco", and they hammered them out with much aplomb leaving the audience wanting more. However, it’s not all as rosy as this review makes out. Standing in The Monarch post gig, supping the evenings’ final beers with my associates, we all seemed to have the same opinion about Wilt. They’re a great live band, with some fine tunes, but there’s just something about them that absolutely screams at you "not gonna be successful". Maybe it’s the image or just that there’s too many similar bands around at the moment, it’s not anything you can put your finger on. In this day and age when there are so many ordinary bands around, it really is a shame to see such a fine band destined to obscurity. Reviewed by Micky Bananas Antonia / Sunset Sound / Caliber (Windmill, Brixton) The theme of this gig was that relatively rare commodity, the rock chick, with five girls spread across the three bands. First up were Caliber, three girls from Oxford of no more than sixteen years playing Hole-like punk. The vocalist’s parents applauded wildly at the end of their sound check track, kind of a giveaway that they hadn’t been to a gig for possibly a lifetime. The lyrics were a tad predictable in that sixth former angst kindaway but they were competent enough and in the last two tracks, called ahem Unnamed One and Unnamed Two they had a top Cure guitar riff and Banshees bassline respectively. A few more like that and they could be something in a couple of years time. Sunset Sound are a likeable five piece from Reading fronted by a lad with a bizarre multicoloured eagle’s nest for a hairstyle and the world’s baggiest butt trousers. They’ve already had a good review in Kerrang so you get the picture, fairly standard if unimaginative rock. Better were a few 60s tinged numbers that had Beach Boys harmonies including a rather good version of the Electric Prunes’ I Had Too Much To Dream Last Night. Top of the bill were Antonia, a three piece fronted by the diminutive and bubbly Tilly on vocals and guitar; based in London but Mexican apparently though sporting a strong American accent. All attention was on her, the two lads were little more than stagefillers, albeit musically competent ones. Her voice reminded me of both Gwen Stefani in the slow vulnerable ballads and Alanis Morissette in the mid tempo don’t mess with me numbers. She’s got an excellent delivery, has the looks and a few decent songs but rock’s a funny business and with the music unlikely to appeal enough to a young gig going audience it’s difficult to see her breaking beyond the small pub venue circuit. I’d like to be proven wrong. Reviewed by mawders |
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The 