Fiona Apple Paper Bag(Sony)
You read ‘singer-songwriter’ in a press release and your left eye twitches. You emit short, sharp, excited yelps and you start to drool. Singer-songwriters! A modern plague! Stool-sitting, acoustic strumming, ‘nice turn of phrase’-quipping dog’s arseholes, every fucking one of them. From Weller downwards, all the away to Dick ‘Peggy’ Ashcroft. And what’s the obvious contraction of singer-songwriter? Yeah, that’s right –
[I]SS[/I]! Coincidence? Yeah, probably, ‘cos the fuckers are too DULL
to be Nazis. Boring, boring,
Right? No, WRONG! You see all that is only true of male singer-songwriters. Especially ones called ‘Stuart’, ‘Elliott’ or ‘Jeff’. [I]Female [/I]singer-songwriters, on the other hand, are cool – especially if they’re Canadian, as mad as a biscuit-tin full of epileptic grasshoppers, rumoured to be lesbian and unable to properly define the word ‘irony’. Why is this so? Dunno, it defies logic. It just [I]is[/I], in the same way that salt’n’vinegar [I]is[/I] the best crisp flavour and red and green should never be seen and hedgehogs always know when it’s going to rain. Rum buggers, facts.