This came out in 1999 – or at least that’s when I got it. Here’s what I said about it back then (with some minor editing):
In the ’70s, singer-songwriter John Southworth’s dad Peter Southworth was a U.K. glam-rocker — the original Alvin Stardust, in fact — and a songwriter for popsters like Lulu.
Somehow, the British-born John, who now lives in Toronto, has managed to be a chip off all those blocks — along with a who’s who of quirky artists from Eno and Brian Wilson to Beck and Ben Folds. With an ever-changing, adenoidal voice that sometimes sounds uncannily like Marc Bolan, other times like Ray Davies (and sometimes, like a man on the edge of losing it), musical chameleon Southworth embroiders the charmingly surrealistic indie-pop pillows of his second album with whimsical tales of cute girls and gay guys, talking cows, and love that’s like Hollandaise sauce. I bet dad is proud.
