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This guy used to sing in a band called The Golden Virgins, who by all accounts were the best thing to come of Sunderland since Niall Quinn. But unlike the genial Irishman who is the chairman of Sunderland FC Mr Renney comes on like a more miserable Elliot Smith. This album has its foot firmly pressed on the pedal of sadness and is intent on driving his souped-up car of misery into the garage of your heart... Or something. It's an unrelentingly bleak offering, with gently strummed, hushed acoustic guitars and lyrics that would bring a tear to the eye of even the most hardened Mackem. The 11 tracks on this album are well produced tearjerkers that wear the mantle of misery well.... Don't forget your Kleenex when listening to this.... Water will come out of your eyeballs and sadness will seep from every pore... Bi-planes may even bomb with fluffy pillows.
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