It is not shocking at all to discover that this album is pretty crap.
How the other half live, eh? The daughter of top-flight producer/arranger Don, Nikka Costa had released her debut album, supported The Police
and sung with Frank Sinatra –
on the White House lawn, for Nancy Reagan – by the age of
ten. In her teens, she was a star across Europe, before forging a mainstream rock career for herself in Australia.
Given that pedigree, it is not shocking at all to discover that this album is pretty crap. Written with producer Justin Stanley and New York celebrity DJ Mark Ronson, it is the cred-free product of a semi-detached showbiz world where respectful craft, polished production and mawkish sentiment go unpunished. Omnipresent first single ‘Like A Feather’ is Prince-lite R&B that sounds like the work of a maiden aunt next to Missy Elliott. It sets the tone perfectly.
Basically, we’re talking Lenny Kravitz’ scary, flare-y MTV rock – which Costa’s Joplin-esque voice suits perfectly – sieved through a gauze of urban ‘flavas’. All concerned probably think they’re quite mad and revolutionary. They’re not.
Lyrically inane, not averse to tasteful nips’n’knickers shots and, yet, you know, a strong female too ([I]”I am a woman with a mission and a past to outdo/I don’t need a gun I’ve got a microphone and a melody or two”[/I]), Costa will sell by the bucketload to Mondeo Man and his missus. For different, if equally depressing, reasons.