Friday, August 13, 2004

"I'm not intelligent enough to do certain things to get certain places, but I'm glad, 'cos I got here, which is pretty sweet."
Nellie McKay's British invasion begins with a mostly positive piece in The Guardian (the writer does identify her debut album as "Get Away With Me" - though that might have been a better title all the same). The first two paragraphs especially go some length to capturing Miss McKay circa 2004:

Nellie McKay isn't a morning person. It's lunchtime, but she was up early to tape a TV appearance. In the lobby of a San Francisco hotel, she uncurls herself from the sofa onto which she's flopped and, brushing hair from her eyes, offers a sleepy, drawled "Hi", as if she were a 14-year-old at a slumber party.

In fact, she's the 19-year-old author of a wilfully eccentric, impossible to categorise debut album. Hailed as a prodigy in the US, critics have frothed over her ability to switch from elegant jazz to rap to complex satirical songs worthy of Sondheim. She disappears upstairs to change for the photographer; when she returns - in a shimmering cocktail dress and heels - it's as if she's thrown on the sophistication of someone 10 years older. Her skin glows under the lamplight.

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