Music review

Published on Wednesday 17 September 2008 20:01

ANGIE PALMER *** THE VILLAGE, EDINBURGH

ANGIE Palmer's publicity makes much of her blue-chip troubadour credentials: leaving England as a teenager to busk around Europe, living in a Latin Quarter commune, marrying a depressed, drug-addicted artist not long before he committed suicide. At times, though, the tale verges on clich – meeting her soulmate at a Parisian philosophy cafe; writing their first song together the same night at Les Deux Magots – regardless of how true it is.

Although such influential fans as Radio 2's Bob Harris would presumably disagree, there's a similar problem at work in Palmer's songs, still co-authored with said soulmate, Paul Mason. Their prevailing genre is country, ranging within that spectrum from bluesy rawness to folk-based balladry, the former being delivered in a twangy, drawling, Dixieland accent far removed from Palmer's own middle-England tones. Leaving aside the wider thorny issues regarding singers and accents, in this instance it simply didn't ring true, exacerbated by a pervading sense that the songs themselves, though skilfully crafted and delivered, were largely derived from standard-issue templates.

At times, as with the steam train homage Locomotive, the effect was of pastiche, and elsewhere – given Palmer and Mason's propensity to cram their lyrics with learned cultural allusions – merely pretentious. At her best with her rich, versatile alto voice and punchy guitar style (and with the accent toned down), Palmer called to mind Mary Chapin Carpenter, or Dar Williams, with a dash of Suzanne Vega's quirky incisiveness. At worst, though, her material's underlying rootlessness came across like an ersatz Ani Di Franco or Michelle Shocked.