In the blurb accompanying its release, Kristie Smith describes this album as coming about ‘out of necessity’. One can see her point – Bunny Boiler is so candid, so direct and unselfconscious, you feel it has just escaped out of her, entirely free of her volition.
The overriding emotion is one of disappointment – the sunny opener, 38, chronicles a let-down reunion with an old lover, and a similar sentiment pervades the gentle groove of Line And Sinking. It’s hardly the mewling of a victim, though. The agitated growl of Princess Is Toughening Up and the kiss off Arsehole Man Blues both stridently earn the ‘parental advisory’ sticker on the cover.
It’s all a bit stuck on the mid tempo setting – the exception being the lovely, string led ballad Angel Boy – and you get the feeling a little more musical fire might have complimented withering put-downs of the lyrics. You can’t help but feel that an album so relentlessly about the sad difference between what we want and what we get shouldn’t be such an easy listen.