Sensitive female singer-songwriters are ten a penny thes days. You virtually need to go to the nearest tree, give it a good shake and they'll come tumbling down upon you. All quavering emotions and shivery melodies.
Indigo Sparke will probably need to get in line. What she's doing on Echo, her debut, is not so very different from what many around her are doing or have done already. No matter. It's a lovely record.
The two things it reminds me most of strangely are not immediate contemporaries by but two classic mid Nineties albums, Jeff Buckley's Grace and Radiohead's The Beds, particularly their most vulnerable moments. Their moments of naked honesty.
Echo isn't going to make the splashes those two records do. It doesn't deserve to. It reinvents no wheels. It's a record with simply ambitions which fulfils them and more. A small, perfectly formed thing of beauty that you might like to discover for yourself..
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