Maybe I'm not enough of a poet. Maybe I need to go to Goldsmith's. Maybe if someone wrote a song like "A Case Of You" for the image they'd constructed around me I might understand the magic. I suspect I would grow queasy and irascible.
I get the feeling that the more James presents himself as raw and naked, the more concocted and drenched I'll find him. A student of popular music, he was. Is this the sound of academic Pop? It sounds damp and stiff and irritating. Squeaky-voiced washcloth.
I write from a real position of ignorance, snippets again on Radio One and I think I'd confused him with Jamie Woon for a while. And I haven't listened to his full debut album yet. Yet I've managed to form impressions armed with only my ears and a few synapses that I usually keep thoughts about shopping in.
"Fall Creek Boys Choir" is utter bullhorn. Bon Iver gives me the creeps as well to begin with. Two mumbling numbnuts stumbling about the woods. I wasn't expecting all this spite.
But Holy Hell in Hades, Rebecca Hall is a beautiful, beautiful woman. So it's far from all bad.
Rating: Keep Rich Boys out of Pop
PS I have listened to a bit of "James Blake" now and it's better, but the problems remain. Bedroom problems, bedroom ambitions. My patience is runn-