As I may have previously mentioned, I loathe James Blunt (and Coldplay for that matter. Namedropping one of my favourite bands does not excuse you, Chris Martin and as for you Mac Mcculloch, you've been demoted from your previous godlike status for your participation in the praise of this onerous bunch of morons). I think it's safe to assume that some toady A&R man somewhere has decided that Bloody James Blunt would be a big hit with a certain demographic (female, still fertile, middle class). And feel free to assume that I fit that demographic (for middle class, read, lumbered with a mortgage) although I won't confirm or deny your assumption. It's not fully clear to me why, having reached a certain stage in life, it should be assumed I would want to listen to this drivel. Of course, scientists have proved that different individuals hear things differently. Which explains why when I play my Jesus and Mary Chain albums, I hear subtle melodies and the world weary, plaintive harmonies of the Reid brothers and all my hubby hears is noisy feedback and whining drones. But this still doesn't explain to me the attraction of Bloody James Blunt. A friend of mine tells me that it's good music for "dinner parties", but why, whilst chowing down on your nigella inspired morrocan roast lamb, would you want to listen to the musical equivalent of an enaema. The melodies are turgid in the extreme and the lyrics, well, "you're beautiful, it's true". Not exactly inspiring, is it?
No, my friends, if it's great lyricists that you're after, this fair isles' greatest include (the much underrated) Billy Bragg, Morrisey and of course, Elvis Costello. Whilst on the subject of the great Declan McManus, if you should ever entertain anyone who believes that Herr Thatcher was the best thing that ever happened to this country. Try kickstarting your gathering with the great mans "Tramp the dirt down". That should really get things swinging!