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Old fashioned good timey folky singer songwriter stuff. Josephine Foster's voice is pitched at a level which clashes with my ears. It’s a slightly strangulated sound, strangely at times not unlike the unusual warble of Wild Beasts’ Hayden Thorpe. The music is gently strummed and plucked alt-country.
I’m warming to the second track ‘No-one’s Calling Your Name’ which makes me imagine that I am drunk in a drinking saloon, staring into a glass of bourbon, bow-tie unravelling whilst Josephine sits in the corner backed by brushed drums and ol’ twinkler tinkling the ivories. Later, as she packs away her gear, I wander over to exchange pleasantries, slipping on a pool of icy water, crashing my head against the bar. No-one bats an eyelid, I stumble home. So far, so “lost year in Nashville”.
The title track exemplifies how Foster can transcend such images, yes its hokey, yes it sounds like Mark Nevers has produced it but occasionally she’ll slip into a chorus which suggests a background in a more po-based form of music. Otherwise it’s all late night jazz trio meanderings, lightly played with only the odd wheezy harmonica giving any indication it was written after 1930. ‘Amuse a Muse’ is possibly my favourite track, over Mrs Mills piano, Foster’s cut glass vocals wander this way and that, one part Sparks, one part Penelope Keith.
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