sam-duckworth-manequin

It’s difficult to pinpoint the specific faults with this record because all of its culpabilities just blur into one congealed blob of mediocrity. There are moments of intrigue that arise primarily from the guitar melodies, but the accompanying voice is predictable and lacking in any real individuality. Everything that we are exposed to feels like it has been done before, and better. For somebody working within the confines of being a solo artist, it doesn’t do anything to break the norm and rarely does the album feel like anything that exceeds what you would expect to find down your local pub’s open-mic night. It’s not all bad. In fact, it’s perfectly ‘nice’ and will no doubt fill Costa Coffees nationwide on a Sunday afternoon, but it lacks anything to elevate it above the tireless amount of other young male singer-songwriters doing the same old shtick.

By Daniel Dylan Wray

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