I’m a terrible fan of lo-fi, that horrible ‘almost genre’ of music that sounds like a demo and celebrates the incompetent. I can’t get enough of it, I just love a good shambles. This album – the second from Dent May – definitely sounds like a demo, but not like a Sentridoh collection of sound collages and acoustic shuffles, not like early Ariel Pink where Hall and Oates struggled to escape an Animal Collective b-sides album, but instead like a collection of tunes seemingly based around garageband pre-sets.

It’s the album of a trier that wants to be Prince and hopes to find beauty in reaching for the impossible, but instead produces a digital squelch that wants to be pop but doesn’t seem to deal in hooks. I don’t want to be one of those guys who has a pop because of a change in direction, but please bring back the ‘magnificent ukulele’, it suited you.

By Olly Parker

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