Jude Cowan – Doodlebug Alley (self released)
Review by Stephen Taylor
People will say ‘It’s like Marmite. You either love it or hate it.’ Which is fine, except for the fact that the Marmite love/hate split is roughly 50/50. Jude Cowan will not hang the jury in quite the same way. You’d be better off saying ‘It’s like gently lowering yourself onto the point of a kaiser’s helmet.’ or ‘It’s like marrying your nan.’ Yes. You’ll either love it or you hate it, but you’re astronomically unlikely to fall into the former camp.
Coincidentally, this morning I drove through the West Pennine Moors where Jude Cowan grew up. I can imagine, glorious though they are, as a teenager you’d be keen to escape the endless isolation using any vehicle available. As her raft she chose shrieking, mawkish onomatopoeic noises and baffling goth-lite ha’penny-really-fucking-dreadful lyrics. The end result is a hybrid of bottom-of-the-class sixth-form revue and your drunkest, singlest aunt trying to lighten the mood at a funeral.
The title track, a weirdly cringey tale of a war-time bunk up is responsible for serious damage to my office chair as my buttocks munched through the seat, whether out of embarrasment or a concerted effort to escape I don’t know. They’re not talking to me any more. Jolly Roger debates whether a mother should tell her estranged sailor lover about an unexpected pregnancy. Kissy noises, horsey clop-clops, Bobby Shafto innuendo and musings as to whether the babies should be hidden in the potted meat suggest that he’s well off out of it. Naughty Daddy - well, you can guess. Beyond that you’re going to have to find out for yourself. I couldn’t listen further.
The funny thing is that the sort of mock macabre, cabaret of the shit could only ever work in a live setting, but this is surely room clearing tackle. Self indulgent beyond bearing, bafflingly ill-conceived and irritating in whole new ways. I’ll take my chances with the Marmite thank you.
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