Johnny Dangerously looked like a griddle chef, but had the voice of an angel. When he walked on stage, he carried only a guitar and a plastic crate. He put one foot on the crate, perched the guitar on his knee and sang soaring, glorious songs about supermarket love affairs, muscle magazines and bedsit self-loathing. People only really knew him around Manchester, but it was 1990, and he was drowned in a tide of baggy trousers. Johnny was more donkey jacket than denim, so this mini-album slipped out and promptly vanished. Shame. Because it’s still to-cry-for wonderful. Aching with picture-poems set to simple soul-squeezing acoustic melodies. No one bought it, and Johnny slipped quietly away. But there’s a sting in the tail. This year, he’s back having one last pop with his band I Am Kloot. Connoisseurs purred when they saw the bonus track on a recent CD single: a lost gem from You, Me and the Alarm Clock, rerecorded and as gorgeous as ever. But sadly, no one’s listening now either.
The Guardian 2006
Edited by Another_CHINA on 31 May 2013, 09:45
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