I had trouble finding anyone to come with me to see Lucie Silvas. I imagined calling my so-called mates post gig and telling them, down a phone line crackling with vitriol, that they had just missed the musical equivalent of the second coming. But no such luck.
Looking at Lucie Silvas as she shimmered on stage and greeted her audience you would think she came off the same production line that has produced so many pop princesses before her. But while this singer/songwriter wins plus points for being a Brit and not a manufactured yankie moppet, she still needs to find the material that is going to earn her an indelible place in songwriting history.
The fact is, Silvas is beautiful and has a belting voice, it’s just that she gets it out at the beginning of the set and beats you over the head with it in a style that appeals to men-o-porsche males, issue ridden women and others who think the world needs another Celine Dion.
It’s not that Lucie’s ballads don’t have depth and emotion it’s just that they all sound the same: a warbled Aguilera-esque intro- the operatic equivalent of throat clearing – followed by heartfelt outpouring, hair tossing, and more warbling.
There is passion certainly, just no distinction between her songs, so that the one hour gig felt like being presented with a selection of beige fabric samples.
Her best known hits, Breathe In and What You’re Made Of, came far too early on in the gig so that only the die hard fans could really get whipped up by the finale.
What amazes me about Silvas is that she could sing anything she wanted to and probably go on to fill stadiums, but what she needs to do is get out of her lyrical comfort zone and start experimenting.