If you’re a young British woman with a haunting vocal style, a penchant for stripped-back pop and no record deal, then you’re probably the only one. This icy, strangely monochrome-sounding take on pop is enjoying a purple patch, and Stevie Parker is the latest to throw her tasteful and understated hat in the ring. Her debut is an incredibly restrained album, nodding to the driving, infectious melodies and rousing choruses of the chart without ever getting that near to reproducing them. The end product isn’t exactly riveting, with the stream of pleasant moments – the shimmering rock on This Ain’t Right; the lovely vocal acrobatics on Stay, perhaps the world’s classiest and most composed account of murderous desire – never quite adding up to anything tangible. All the zeitgeisty signifiers are there, but The Cure doesn’t quite work.
