Californian singer-songwriter Tori Kelly starts and ends her debut album with a peculiarly passive-aggressive philosophy of the self, sorry-not-sorrying for defiantly remaining true to “the only Tori that I know how to be”. Authenticity, to Kelly, is a moral high ground, a defence mechanism – she used early criticisms that she was “bland” and “cookie-cutter” as inspiration – and, by the end of Unbreakable Smile, a tiresome shtick. Kelly bangs on incessantly about being true to her self, but never bothers to dig deep into who that is. On the evidence of her music, it’s one part Ariana Grande to one part Natasha Bedingfield and two parts Anastacia. Big-voiced, ersatz funk with professional-sounding top lines does have its place, as illustrated by the breathless rush of Nobody Love, but not over the course of an album with so little to say for itself. Kelly cautions against losing her soul, but as real as hers may be, it’d be too unremarkable to miss.
