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There are 666 Words in this Article and I Doubt That’s a Coincidence – Dido’s Back

I like to wake up gently in the morning. I’m not one for sleeping right up to the buzzer; indeed, I’m not even one for the buzzer. I like to come round gradually as the mellifluous strains of Britain’s favourite straight Irishman, Sir Terry Wogan. (Though occasionally I have to get up earlier and have to listen to the supercilious shrill slurring of Sarah Kennedy. Which is not pleasant, frankly.) And, as he chortles through an amusing story about some old doddery fool from Kent having trouble finding a shop which stocks his brand of long-johns, I begin to get myself together

The music, for what it is worth, is standard, easy listening Radio 2, which suits my mood perfectly. I seldom want to listen to Napalm Death much before 9am. But today I’ve been in a bad mood and I blame Terry; I woke up slap bang in the middle of the new single from Dido. Oh yes, she’s back.

By God, she’s a hateable bint. Her voice simple defies the laws of physics – an eternally flat, rasping husk of a thing, it is truly hard to categorize. It’s the voice of a daytime TV presenter whose life has taken a wrong turn. there’s a continuing sense of befuddlement, as if she opens up her mouth and this thing emerges but she’s not sure how or why. She always sounds in pain, not the pain of a woman done wrong á la Aretha, but more like she’s contracted an illness. She sounds like Gaby Roslin with Hepatitis.

She came to prominence, of course, after Eminem sampled her song ‘Thank You’ on his massively successful single ‘Stan’. Gee, thanks for that Marshall. I could handle the violence, the misogyny and the plethora of Chav imitators, but this is just beyond the scope of decency. It’s actually a spectacular illustration of her in microcosm here – Eminem’s hit is a brutal tale of a murderous fanatical fan; Dido’s original track is about her boyfriend taking her out for a picnic to cheer her up.

Her success actually baffles me, it truly does. I hate lots of music – no, really – but I understand why it makes it; it’s not my taste, people are easily pleased, that sort of thing. But Dido? The music is so bland that if you poured hot water over it, it would become a new flavour of Cup-A-Soup. It’s the aural equivalent of listening to a roll of wallpaper.

I accept that soulless music sells. I accept cynical, mass-produced awfulness designed by dicks for drones shifts units. But it usually has a tune. One of them melody things. Dido doesn’t bother with all that rubbish; nope, it’s empty nothingness all the way. if music truly is the food of love, then Dido is gristle.

I once, laughably, saw her compared to Carole King. The reviewer said that ‘Life For Rent’ had become an essential album for a certain type of woman, in much the same way ‘Tapestry’ had years before. Honestly. Now, ‘Tapestry’ contains ‘I Feel The Earth Move’ and ‘You Make Me Feel (Like A Natural Woman). These alone give it a pretty strong claim to be one of the best things ever recorded. ‘Life For Rent’ contains ‘White Flag’ and ‘Stoned’. This is like comparing a strong, local French cheese with a Netto own-brand Cheddar which is on sale price as it’s use by date was in 1986.

The reason I became a subscriber to Word Magazine was when they explained their lowest selling album cover of all time had been when they’d put her on the cover. I thought ‘now that’s a discerning readership!’ An yet, here she comes again, feted by idiots and populating the airwaves with dismal, one-trick-pony-and-the-pony’s-gone-lame nonsense. It’s sad, it’s sick and it’s wrong and we should do something about it. I’m fed up living in a world where Dido can sell records.

And her brother is in Faithless. Her parents should be shot.

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5 Responses

  1. The reviewer said that ‘Life For Rent’ had become an essential album for a certain type of woman

    Yes, it has. Thiose women are called “cunts”.

    (Feminism is not dead).

  2. Dido’s audience are brain dead. And so is she.

  3. I’ve got a pal who’s wife uses only the surname when talking about musicians she hates. I.E “John”, “Stewart”, “Blunt” etc etc. These are often prefixed by “That bastard……” And a large dose of verbal venom.
    Unfortunately that doesn’t work with the one-name popstrel. Lets just call her That Bastard. I like that, it’s snappy.

  4. At least the original Dido, Queen of Carthage, had the common decency to kill herself.

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