How much you like 2015’s least gainly titled album will depend on what amount of importance you put on either music or lyrics, and given how bizarrely celebrated the album generally is it’s clear which side of the fence most rock critics fall upon. Musically this album is… well, I’m far too polite to say ‘dog shite’ but you can put your own synonymous phrase in here- mongrel muck?- as it achieves the artistic level more associated with the worst Britpop b-sides of Northern Uproar, only lacking Stockport’s finest way with a subtle nuance. Barnett more than saves her debut though by being such an engaging presence and a lyricist of the absolute highest order; funny without being silly or obvious, smart without being arch or overtly intellectual. At the moment Barnett gets a tentative recommendation in the belief she could get extremely good indeed if she just finds some musical backing that can live up to her words in any way at all.
‘Fun’ Fact: Barnett hails from Melbourne, which has the largest tram system anywhere in the world outside Europe.
I don’t really listen to lyrics unless they’re the song’s name screamed repeatedly in the chorus: Maybe don’t bother with ‘Dead Fox‘ then
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