I was extremely close to giving this album a harsh review without even playing it. It would have been an act of revenge, and by a certain logic, justified. Without any provocation, it attacked me. On going to slit the cellophane, the edge of the card sleeve dived right down beneath my nail, slicing my finger open. With gouts of blood on the cover of my album and smeared over the keys of my keyboard, I began to wonder if going further was worth the risk. I mean, Christ, the CD might try to strangle or decapitate me! But I’m made of sterner stuff than to be deterred by a flesh wound.
Despite the stains and smears, it’s a good-looking cover, by which I mean it has a real vintage look about the design. And the disc is one of those quaint vinyl-style getups, with a label and mock ‘grooves’ on the non-playing surface.
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Serving up a blend of blues, country, pub rock and good old-fashioned rock ‘n’ roll, James casts himself as a voice of experience. The songs are filled with characters, and little stories about making music, life on the road. They’re nicely done, and packed with personality, sincerity and above all, energy.
Ceri James Online
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