Harry - 'The Trouble With...' (Telstar)
3/5
By: Toby L
The most ravaging, ravishing of female solo-stars currently trotting across toilet-circuit stages and glaring back at us behind the screen amidst glossy video-shoots, whilst rolling about the place in little more than underwear, resisting Harry as a presence itself is a difficult prospect. But, musically, how does it shape up?
Confusingly, is the initial answer. A debut-album that's been more re-recorded, re-directed and over-produced than perhaps laughable, 'The Trouble With...' is the fruition of a grandiose two-year patch of construction. Add during that a gruelling re-branding exercise of the central figure following copyright issues (really, can't two 'Dirty Harry's exist in the same stratosphere..?), and our vixen's claims that this record 'nearly killed' her during its development-period somehow proves a tad more instantly understandable.
And the real trouble with 'The Trouble With...' is simply that a lot of people are going to not get it, wondering why 80s Cabaret Voltaire synths are striking valiantly across blazing glammy guitars and rollicking verses (the 'White Lines'-hinting 'Nothing Really Matters') in quite so open a manner, whilst acting unsure as to if it's cool to potentially like a character so willingly pop (look at that advert-soundtracked cover, 'Imagination', or the fleeting obviousness of 'I Do What I Do').
Whatever your prejudices/preferences, however, you can't avoid the sheer song-based format of this LP's nutrients - each idea richly developed and enveloped in full, glorious Technicolor instrumentation, electronic and live, topped off sleekly with our sumptuous female's pleasing, Cracknall-esque resonance. Melodic, world-dreary tracks such as 'Follow Me' and 'Valley' may well confuse the guitar-led fraternity, as the opening 'Goddess On The Floor' seems a gratuitous attempt at 'controversial' (key moody lyric: 'Dead babies in a jar on the shelf'...), but with a certain Ms Lavigne proving no boundaries, mercilessly massacring the charts and depicting 'alternative' in a most repressed, almost unholy path, at least Harry's got a certain whiff of edge.
Though, after thirteen blasts of such sound, it does end up as the real cruncher of the product: just who is Harry trying to appeal to, fundamentally? Seemingly, it's everyone, but as the old one goes - not all can be pleased; but let's just pray that, after all this work, Harry is at long last.
Artists in this article: Harry
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