Published January 13, 2006
Endearing attempts at halfway-decent pop composition occasionally poke through on this soulless, soggy stool sample of an album, but they are almost completely buried under a mountain of utterly brainless guitar melodies and what are quite possibly the worst lyrics this reviewer has had the displeasure of hearing since he got over his Michael Bolton phase. The only thing saving this creative suicide from becoming melted plastic in the Grapevine fireplace is Svala’s slight hesitation when she is forced to sing lines like:
“You’ll find a lover on the internet,/ don’t need to meet, you just text the sex.”
Her mumbling suggests she cringes just as much at the lyrics as the rest of us.