So, here's a funny thing. I've been away for 2 weeks, but the hit rate on the site has been high to average, even though there's been no new copy. Perhaps it was just my 2 regular readers checking in to see whether I was OK; perhaps if I investigated how long each visit was I'd discover they were 1.4 seconds each, just people eyeballing the fact there are no new posts.
In actual fact, I'll never check the duration of visits, in case they're all 1.4 seconds, and nobody's ever read a single article. What would be even sadder than this discovery is the realisation I'd probably carry on posting, even in the knowledge nobody ever read it. What sort of hideous 21st century sickness do I labour beneath? What twisted cyber solipsism urges me to publush thoughts on tiny bands from Oxford that you've never heard of? I feel queasy.
Oh, and if you know who Laima and Chantelle are from their first names, award yourself a Bridge Of Sighs shaped flapjack.
DENISE MARIE/ MARIA ILLETT, The X, 2/06
"I thought if you had an acoustic guitar it meant that you were a protest singer," claimed Morrissey twenty years ago. How times have changed, Steve. Nowadays there's only one subject that gets most acoustic slinging singer-songwriters grabbing the compostitional pen, and that's doleful self-pity. Refreshing, then, to discover a pair of talented singers with a larger agenda and some real songwriting ability.
Maria Illett is a surprise initially, as my previous experience of her is a lovely louche recording brushed with faintly Bristolian electronics, but tonight she's left all that stuff at home. Her great strength is her winning, naturally accented vocal, and by dispensing with the self-conscious warbles that similar acts employ it allows her to acheive a far greater range of sophisticated phrasing. She's not quite a Laima or a Chantelle yet, and a little more diversity wouldn't go amiss, but it's still an impressive performance...but bring the synths along next time, Maria. We like those.
New Orleans visitor Denise Marie has a wider repertoire, drawing on country, blues, jazz and the odd latin rhythm. Denise's voice is sweet and almost reedy with a husky edge and it's equally suited to cajoling, romancing or haranguing - hell, she even does a protest song if you're reading, Morrissey. Her guitar technique is intricate without sacrificing any fluidity, making most local strummers look woefully clumsy. She even sings two songs accompanied by nothing but a tambourine, and if you've only ever seen tambourines waggled lamely by simian frontmen or some guitarist's girlfriend you'd be amazed at the rattling, almost mechanical rhythmic lattice that Denise produces, reminding me oddly of Truck favourite Thomas Truax. Perhaps things get a tiny bit twee at times - visions of Denise serenading Kermit the Frog in a synthetic mangrove - but this is a minor quibble. Watch out for this spirited and individual musician on her next visit.
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