It’s a matter of seconds before the first mention of fixing one’s broken wings arrives on this Boston singer-songwriter’s debut. The album’s backstory – 10 years of open mics and artistic strife – was launched with the spectacular success of Fight Song, a self-empowerment anthem that would soon score a thousand teen dramas. Failed experiments with frivolity aside (the misjudged rhyming couplet “Sing Hallelujah when you touch me / Hallelujah Jeff Buckley” on Hey Hey Hallelujah being one of them), the record soars with a sense of plight and recovery so super-sized in conviction you’d think she was surviving the plague rather than facing the occasional rejection letter from a record label. Efficient in conjuring intense emotion, the album has the hallmarks of a temporary success, but Platten’s identity gets lost. This chameleon-like character is a mutant of pop artistry – a country twang occasionally slips into her intonation, and the ghosts of Carly Rae Jepsen, Shakira and Katy Perry haunt the lofty choruses.
