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I must have upset someone at musicOMH towers, because I'm sure I was sold this review on the basis that Charlie Dore is a one-time Cherry Red chanteuse who peddles alt.country or possibly alt.folk and is some kind of underappreciated Vashti Bunyan pastoral waif.
She's certainly alt.something but it's more alt.spinstercatwoman. Looking For My Own Lone Ranger comes across like the irony-free lost soundtrack to a Movie of the Week turned into an Andrew Lloyd Webber musical by a bored housewife who collects Cherished Teddies and decided to take a creative music course in between making sugar-paste flowers and sewing lace edges onto photographs of her grandchildren. It makes James Blunt sound like the Sex Pistols.
I guess I should have read the small print. When Dore isn't foisting her own drivel on us, she writes tunes for other people - including Tina Turner, Celine Dion and Sheena Easton - and the only gig announced so far on her autumn tour is in Maidstone.
Whatever I did, I'm sorry and I take it back. Just please, please don't make me listen to anything like this ever again.
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