I didn’t know who Amy Studt was until last week. Misleadingly labeled as a singer songwriter in the press release, she’s actually more of a former pop princess turned semi-serious Tori Amos imitator. It’s pretty telling that from listening to the album once, I could accurately guess the kind of Avril Lavigne wannabe content she was coming out with before she went all Syliva Plath on an unsuspecting world’s collective arse.
The one bright thing to come out of the hours of my life lost on listening to it is that, if Wikipedia is to be believed, the album is download only. This means the promo I so callously laid into may quite valuable one day. I have no idea who to, though, as you’ll tell from my review.