Not a Paul Simon cover…
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[4.88]
Cédric Le Merrer: One thing I’ve noticed on French singing shows is that the younger candidates are getting better and better at singing English lyrics. Marina Kaye may overdo it, but she’s a far cry from ze French accent of “Françoise Hardy Sings in English” or Elli And Jacno. It may lose some exotic charm for my English brethren, but I find the forced enunciation to fit the rest of the song, a low budget belter, with a too young singer trying to fit in cheap oversize counterfeit clothes. I may be condescending, but I’m charmed by these adolescent feelings that seem, from my adult point of view, much too big for their not really dramatic context.
[7]
Alfred Soto: “In this bed where I rest/I am homeless” — uh, what? The bed’s outside? The question wouldn’t matter if she inhabited the lyrics instead of blasting through them. This French veteran of variety shows belts this doggerel with the passion of a born first place finisher.
[3]
Micha Cavaseno: Saccharine nonsense delivered by someone mimicking the Rihanna goat-bray tone on the hook. Simple tricks that aren’t even being done right (the bellowing does not make this any more significant, girl), and still being paraded around like it’s a big deal.
[2]
Iain Mew: Like a Born to Die ballad being invaded by a Born This Way one, two types of big which don’t cancel each other out but don’t quite go together either. The best bit is when Marina abandons words in favour of bellowing “oh woooooah”, both because it’s the most over the top and because it isn’t the lyrics, which even Lana or Gaga would think twice about.
[4]
David Sheffieck: It’s almost too much: urgent piano, super-saturated vocal, synth strings, some kind of castanet effect (I can’t even place it, honestly.) Kaye’s gone for overwhelming sound in place of the hooks that could anchor an actual song, and it’s a testament to how expertly all this muchness is managed that her gambit almost works.
[6]
Thomas Inskeep: Lame acoustic guitar, generic Euro-beats, and a lazy metaphor. Walter Afanasieff would’ve slathered this in synths and strings for Mariah; Kaye’s producer isn’t as, shall we say, clever.
[2]
Scott Mildenhall: These are some cutting lyrics, and ones that create a clear place and time with it. Lines like “heavy steps on hardwood floors” make the gentlest of leaps from mundanity to poetry, mixing immediacy with portrait into an atypically elegant kitchen sink drama. By extension, the big emotions (and big emoting) are hardly a stretch. A teenage girl feeling that her house is not a home for unspecified reasons is slightly heartbreaking.
[7]
Brad Shoup: The tempo, tacked down by crotchet piano, is notably sluggish; Kaye deliberately walks you from room to moonlit room, like a domestic version of “Here”. It’s the melodramatic middle, with no clue how she got here or how bad it’ll get.
[8]