So boring, in fact, that I couldn't be bothered to give the post a title or straighten the image when I realised I'd scanned the cover badly.
Why read it then? Actually, I nearly didn't - if you want to put me off reading your book, then put Alan Bennett and Caitlin Moran on your cover - but it was only a quid and my wife snatched it out my hand and bought it alongside some charity-shop pot-boilers she'd snagged. LOL In truth, I read it for the same reason as I watch documentaries about bands I'm not really bothered about: because (a) I'm curious, and (b) I love music.
The early part about forming the Marine Girls was interesting and immediately made me want to re-listen to their stuff. I had Tracey's A Distant Shore LP many, many years ago (though think I sold it on in a Stalinist Purge of my record collection); quite liked it and a couple of Watt's early things. Never really warmed to Everything But The Girl (the band), I'm afraid. The book takes a similar downward arc as my real-time interest in her / their career did: post-Distant Shore, it's double-basses, Carmel / Sade style Le Beat Route / Jay Strongman bollocks, then Weller and Smiths infatuations *bleurrch* and then on to WEA junkets and albums made with top-flight US sesh-bores. I was gagging for her to talk more about her early-80's visits to Rough Trade, Marine Girls gigs; the DIY days - but she just wouldn't go there anecdote-wise. In fact, it's here we start homing in on the real problem: I get no sense of her being particularly engaged with her 'art': there's an odd sense of detachment about everything, as if she's writing about someone else's life. It's like reading air. There's one funny line about being mistaken for Matt Bianco, but that's it.
After Watt's near-fatal illness, the pair were artistically "re-invigorated", she tells us. Okay, you could have fooled me. There's no real sense of excitement about anything.
Trace is a lovely lady, I'm sure, but it's hard to reconcile her constantly protesting her 'ordinariness' with talk of nannies, wearing Christian Louboutin and bumping into George Michael on a school-run (like you do).
And padding the book out with your own lyrics - really?
Meh. Straight down the book-bank with ya!