Acoustic Pop-Folk
A couple of songs in to Chris Bradley's 'Voices', you may find yourself asking whether the world really needs another acoustic based singer-songwriter; the genre already has its zeniths, (Damien Rice, Conor Oberst) and nadirs, (Turin Brakes, James Blunt), and if you are just going to fall in to the ether of mediocrity set between these two opposing sets of performers, then why bother? Other than the freedom from a day job, touring the world on a record label's tab and the folkie groupies on tap, it's a mystery as to why these derivative purveyors of all things average bother...
The thing is, there's absolutely nothing wrong with 'Voices' as an album; it's a collection of very listenable tunes, with all the right chords, all the right notes and lyrics that do not make you want to gouge the eyes out of passer-byes, unlike some of his peers. However, when you begin for something that's right with the album is where you begin to stumble...
Opening track, 'The Man I Love' has a hypnotically simple riff guiding Bradley's quasi-falsetto meandering along for three and a half minutes of perfectly pleasant pish; anyone hoping for a gender-bending lyrical subversion a la The Killer's 'Somebody Told Me' will be disappointed, as, incredibly, there are little to no homeoerotic undertones to this man strumming and singing in a high-pitched voice about another man that he loves...shame, as this could have spiced things up a little.
Second number 'Beggar To Fall' is essentially the same song song as it's predecessor, albeit with a key change, slightly different tune and a more upbeat lick driving the song, yet as you listen further into the album, you realise that Bradley has one blueprint for his songwriting and that is: rip-off a bluesy riff, play over the same four chords, get a few men that he loves round to flesh out the sound with some plodding drums and remedial bass, then croon some re-arranged words from the back of a cereal packet over the top of this bland, air freshener-style 'music'.
Anyone who was into the hippie scene in the 60's and 70's, (n.b. by 'hippie scene' we're not talking about the cool bits, you know, the group sex and acid trips, we are referring to the joss sticks and Cat Stevens binges) should get this album as a pleasant trip down memory lane...after all, you can bet your bottom dollar that Bradley does a mean, 'Moonshadow'. Everyone else should save their money for the legal fees incurred from their recent spate of eye-gouging...