If it were possible to make a record that actually embarrassed your stereo, surely this could do it.
If it were possible to make a record that actually embarrassed your stereo, surely this could do it. It simpers obsequiously out of the speakers, pretty little hands over its face, muttering, “Sorry I haven’t got [a]Brandy[/a] with me this time, please like me anyway…” There’s no dignity here whatsoever. Just a wash of scrupulously deodorised, drooling synth, over which poor [a]Monica[/a] is required to intone such sickly platitudes as, [I]”Nothing means more to me than what we share”[/I]. Yeeeuch.
To make matters worse, ‘Angel Of Mine’ isn’t even [a]Monica[/a]’s song. It’s been nicked from Eternal. [a]Monica[/a] has a voice capable of mingling the velvety sophistication of Whitney Houston with the streetwise gumption of Tracy Chapman, and this is what she ends up
it for. Shame. Shame.