 |
| James Blake. |
Have any of you ever heard the phrase: "All my favorite singers couldn't sing."? Chance is, you probably have. One of the most devout musos I know mentioned it to me the other day (after which he put on Neutral Milk Hotel, go figure...), and I realize that this has a lot to do with my skepticism concerning this record. Ever thought of just why Bob Dylan has sold a freakzillion records? Or just why 'With A Little Help From My Friends' is one of the most universally liked and recognized songs? Why The Streets retrospectively was unquestionably more of a benchmark in '00s British recording history than Coldplay? Or why Paul Potts or Susan Boyle, or everything else emerging from Britain's Got Talent with bona fide vocal talent but less charisma than your local furniture store, won't ever matter in musical history?
James Blake is an amazing singer, but he has my toes curled in slightly the same way as the yearly slaughter of 'The Star-Spangled Banner' at the Super Bowl. Ok, his phrasings aren't as tediously infinite as [insert random American Idol winner or has-been MTV-star], but I don't think it's coincidental, that the tracks on James Blake that hit me the most are 'Lindesfarne I' and 'II' his two-part homage to/rip-off of an artist most decidedly not in his own alley, Bon Iver.
Blake himself has mentioned The xx as inspirational, and also as pavers of the way he will enter the mainstream. They've sort of kept the seat warm. Blake's problem is, that for all his genuine talent and interesting genre fuse, he's a million times less interesting and charismatic than The xx. Where xx is ultimately an emotional and sincere album, or at least it appears so, James Blake comes along as a much too calculated effort. It hasn't got the raw grit of dubstep, and neither has it got the soul of the singer-songwriters it emulates. It's a slight bit too faceless and bland to really develop the bite you need to pull off a minimalist masterpiece.
