Major kudos must go to Ian Gittens for tearing into Jessie J's awfulness in his review of her performance at the Apollo. It's slightly undermined by giving her three stars, but it's still rather sad that the triumph of mediocrity in popular music has become so complete that it's surprising when someone in the mainstream press doesn't sugar the pill:
Her success is surprising, as Who You Are is a wretched record, a farrago of gratingly banal dance-pop and overwrought sub-X Factor balladry. Yet Jessie J comes into her own live. Strapped into a skimpy purple bondage costume like a Primark Cleopatra, she turns in an exuberant, personality-plus performance that succeeds in temporarily distracting you from the awfulness of her material.
The new material previewed is deeply unprepossessing: My Shadow is a vocal gymnastic exercise that Celine Dion would reject as overly mawkish, while Technology poses the deathless question "Was it real, or just a re-tweet?" She's on safer ground with the encore of her two stuttering electro-pop hits, Do It Like a Dude and Price Tag, which encapsulate Jessie J perfectly: a hyper-modern triumph of chutzpah, and of spirited mediocrity.
Labels: Jessie J, music, non-politics, reviews