You have to admire his nerve, at least. Neil McCormick, a musical hobbyist whose day job is pop columnist for The Daily Telegraph, goes from poacher to gamekeeper with this self-released, derivative debut album. Mostly composed of MOR saloon-bar rock, Mortal Coil is competent enough, but too obviously indebted to the canon of greats?Dylan and Van Morrison, especially?to break any new ground. McCormick has a passable voice that would not shame the average middle-rank indie band, but lyrical banalities are his Achilles Heel. From an accomplished and witty writer like McCormick, it's seriously lacking in bite or insight.
You have to admire his nerve, at least. Neil McCormick, a musical hobbyist whose day job is pop columnist for The Daily Telegraph, goes from poacher to gamekeeper with this self-released, derivative debut album.
Mostly composed of MOR saloon-bar rock, Mortal Coil is competent enough, but too obviously indebted to the canon of greats?Dylan and Van Morrison, especially?to break any new ground.
McCormick has a passable voice that would not shame the average middle-rank indie band, but lyrical banalities are his Achilles Heel. From an accomplished and witty writer like McCormick, it’s seriously lacking in bite or insight.
