“If people don’t like my music,” coos Kissy, “it’s like they don’t like me.” We’d counsel two options: a) not taking it personally (if it’s all so intimate why release it?), or b) not making such horrifically self-indulgent neon-splattered electro-pop that sounds like the offcuts even Esser (Esser!) would discard. While it’s clear ‘Essex Boy’, ‘This Kiss’ and ‘Garden Friends’ hold sentimental value, these abject tales of youthful hi-jinx contain zero appeal. Don’t let his enthusiasm fool you: this is worse than falling face-first in a pile of poo.
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