They have fans. Quite why is unclear.
The Danielson Famile come at you with references to die for. They’ve been variously pitched as The Carter Family (yes, they are actually a family, though Smith is their given name), with Captain Beefheart twists and a Cajun Black Francis threading it all together. They have been deified in UK style mags and the venerable old [I]Country Music Journal[/I]. They have fans. Quite why is unclear.
Just because singer Daniel attempts to scream like the Pixies frontman at his petulant best does not mean he is a 21st century Black Francis. Frank had righteous soul; Smith, on the other hand, is close to [I]South Park[/I]’s Cartman. And just because the band spring from a history of gospel and folk and, at times, lamely allude to capitulations in the garden of Eden – ‘Body English’ – they will not, by right, inherit the Carter Family crown.
This is the worst sort of music, lacking in depth and balls and frequently resorting to oh-so-cute fairground wheezes and dollops of kitsch to paper over searing cracks in what you sense is intended as a gothic and unnerving march. In fact, ‘Tri-Danielson III’ leaves you with a horrible feeling that it is all a big scam. Not quite an unforgiveable bag of balls, but not a hair’s-breadth away.