Surely having the Observer describe your music as ‘pleasantly reassuring’ is the kiss of beige Death.
But that is exactly what we have here. It’s pleasant. It’s reassuring, if you profess that you ‘love music’ at dinner parties but in reality baulk at anything not on the Radio Two playlist. It’s a bit weird in an ‘I’ve-got-a-pretend-vegetarian-girlfriend’ kind of way, not full-on Newsom, Bush or Gudmundsdottir. It’s not even full-on Mitchell, if those other names scare you. V-Festival kookiness, if you will, which would sound great drifting from a tent as you wander by, wearing your ironic sunglasses. Her Cyndi Lauper cover has been used to advertise satellite telly, for art’s sake. It’s spare, student-y Scandinavian folk. Everyone loves it. She studied Law. Her mother’s a jazz singer. It’s on your Ikea coffee table already.