Sugar’s sister? No, Gemma Ray is just some bird from London, as Americans refer to the British when they want to sound British.
The songs are enjoyable enough. They’re harmless to listen to in that you could be in the minivan on the way to the farmer’s market, where the combined pollution created by your driving there and the farmer driving there in his big-ol’ trailer for 120 miles more than offsets that those pomegranates are “organic.”
“Fist of a Flower” is the best song ever. I am a sucker for repeated lyrics mixed right after each other. You know those commercials where they show cake batter being poured into a pan and how it goes back and forth over each other, making a little cake batter mountain? That is what this song does. I want to lick the beater! This isn’t as ethereal as the Cocteau Twins, but if they ever took guitar seriously, they would make a song like this. And then when they toured, Gemma Ray could open for them. Well, I’m glad that that’s settled.
“1952” is a duet with some dude, and he is also pretty good. This track is a little darker than the others, but again, the vocals make it work, and how. It’s quite remarkable.
If you want more of a Kate Bush-meets-Alannah Myles feel go for “Dig Me a River.” I prefer the tracks that emphasize her singing, so I will take the strangely named “If You Want to Rock and Roll.” This song doesn’t rock because it’s too good for that.
I’m sold. I’d like another serving of Gemma Ray, posthaste.
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