Miss Welch by Ian Macdonald, a person who attended the FLo & The Machine Nov.24 'Dam show...
"We'll conveniently omit the discussion of why I'm here in the first place and
move straight to the gig, shall we?
There's precious little I can take comfort in this evening. I dislike the
venue, I dislike the people around me and their ill-conceived exuberance, but
most of all, I dislike the band and the woman who fronts them.
I could have been at Rachel Sermanni this evening, but instead I'm here. Big
mistake.
Florence Welch has somehow managed to repackage the soporific mainstream tat
of Bonnie Tyler in a contrived, red-rinse Lady of Shalott cum Ophelia cum
80s Cadbury's flake girl wrapper and pass it off as something other than the
trite, squelchy, disposable daytime radio balladry that it is.
Perhaps that feat of marketing alone should impress me, but I've long since
lost the capacity to be astonished by the willingness of the masses to eat the
shit they are fed and even smile while they chew.
The crowd hang on Florence's every word, gasping and laughing when she so much
as draws breath. These people need to get out more.
"Some of the band did magic mushrooms yesterday. I didn't. Not this time.
I've done them before, but no-one thought that I was on them, because mushroom
me and regular me apparently aren't that different." Oh, that Florence! She's
so wacky!
Come on. I respect everyone's right to be irritating, if that's what it takes
for them to be themselves, but Ms. Welch simply abuses the privilege.
It's not just the bawling, blaring voice that grates and fatigues. It's not
just the onerous stage act of the woman who doesn't know when to tone it down
a notch. And it's certainly not just the cheesy trio of backing singers. Most
of all, it's the overwrought songs, those neatly packaged parcels of arduous,
hyperbolic self-indulgence. That's what truly offends: the lurid vacuity,
passed off as substance.
Despising something this thoroughly is tiring. What time is it? I want to go
home. Let it end. Let it end!
The evening isn't entirely lost. Spector opened tonight's proceedings. They,
too, have an annoying front man in Frederick Macpherson, but he's no
narcissist. He's deliberately annoying and funny with it, so you can forgive
him and smile, even as you cringe. Oh, and they have some good songs, too. I'm
grateful that someone saw fit not to turn up empty-handed this evening.
"It's been such a pleasure getting to know all of you", remarks Florence
mawkishly before her penultimate song. The platitudes have been fast and
furious this evening, but they're coming to an end now and I can sense sweet
liberty just around the corner.
"Amsterdam, you're all winners in my eyes!" OK, that must be the last one,
surely? And yes, thankfully, this time it is. At least she didn't cover 'Total
Eclipse Of The Heart'; but she might... one day... it would fit her like a
glove.
Are you still here? Take heart if you're a fan of this woman.
I put the same effort into all of my recordings, so what we have here is a
fine testimony of the evening. I didn't enjoy it, but a few thousand others
did; and way too much, in my opinion. If you're a fan, there's no reason you
shouldn't, too. What do you care that the bloke who taped it thought it was
much ado about nothing? "
[
www.dimeadozen.org]
Bodes well for tonight... >
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Edited 4 time(s). Last edit at 2012-11-29 19:23 by dcba.