Dido's No Angel--Warning: This Album Contains MSG!!
Written: Nov 20 '00 (Updated Jun 19 '07)
Product Rating:
Pros: Soothing confection of sugar sweet
Cons: No substance whatsoever
The Bottom Line: No Angel is perfect music for our age: a shallow self-absorbed soundtrack for the children of the Reagan years. This album will connect with under-30 crowd.
At first listen, Dido’s No Angel is a slightly subversive thrill ride into the dangers of subliminal seduction. The music is soothing, and vaguely intoxicating. Time flies and you are unaware of the clock. You feel somewhat drawn into another world, as if under the spell of an anaesthetic.
My Medical Advice: Listen to this record with someone else (you can trust) nearby to pull you out of your mental fugue. Wake Up!
A Half-Hour Later…You’re Still Hungry
Dido’s No Angel exists in a vacuum of self-absorption. The music is flighty flirty Euro pop; a syrupy, confectionery sugar overload for the mind. The words are a stream of emotions delivered in Dido’s breathy, if somewhat sultry voice. The use of electronic-based arrangements is an intoxicating element. The music beats, merges with a brush of guitar or other instrument, then adds more beats. It subdues you in a subdued fashion.
Songs: Here With Me/Hunter/Don't Think of Me/My Lover's Gone/All You Want/Thank You/Honestly OK/Slide/Isobel/I'm No Angel/My Life/Take My Hand (bonus)
Sounds Good…But No Substance
People like pop stars can exist in a vacuum of self-absorption, a world of their own imagination where their needs are fulfilled without worry. This album is evidence of that (witness Dido’s catalog of childhood pictures). Though Dido’s lyrics discuss themes of loss, love, betrayal, abuse and suicide, they are, in fact, papered over emotions. This is all style over substance. It’s a shallow exercise to find any tension here or real depth.
This Record’s Hollow
An album that credits seven musicians(?) with programming is a large indication of the problem with No Angel. There’s no tension here at all. The guitars are muted beyond recognition. There’s little, if any live drumming by a live human being. The album’s musical environment suffers for this sin of hubris.
Her Voice…Or Memorex?
Dido’s lyrics exist in a sterile environment. There’s seemingly no musical tension evidenced in the arrangements. Her voice, though pleasing to the ear, is never challenged with an instrument to give it lift or light or bite. With lyrics like hers (bordering on triteness in many areas) a vocalist needs to be able to change inflection and use their voice as an emotional counterpoint to the music. Dido’s unable or unwillingly to take that chance here. It’s all sheen.
Chinese Food…Hungry for More? No Angel exists as a nice interlude for the listener, but one that is surprisingly devoid of a memory response. The music is instantly forgettable once the album ends. I suspect this album is an engineered experiment into music to soothe and encourage the consumer within. This is music for shopping. Buy, Buy, Buy, and not realize what you’ve done to your credit rating until the bills come in.
When a Hit Means Zip
The one hit Here With Me is notable as a song on a WB program (Roswell). It strikes me that it is not necessarily a great thing to have your song featured on the least watched network in the U.S. I’m No Angel is another hit: a big hit with strippers if HBO’s recent documentary on the art of dropping trou' (panties) is any indication. I'm No Angel was featured in a big way, seemingly by every other dancer. Seek it out at a nudie bar near you. Bring dollars.
Music for the Masses
Unfortunately, No Angel is perfect music for our age: a shallow self-absorbed soundtrack for the children of the Reagan/Bush/Clinton/Bush years.
This album will connect with Paris Hilton and teenagers, of course. More experienced listeners will see through this easily (Sade did this kind of music so much better years ago).
I found this to be disappointing in many respects; a manipulative, mindless, manifestation of a record (two stars). Pick it up in the cut-out bins of your local store if you must have it. It's an occasional spin only, a possible soundtrack for a warm bath before bedtime.
The Cat Scale Freddie was totally enthralled by this record. He slept through it in his cat napper with a gooey, love me love me glaze. I thought he had overdosed on catnip at first. Chester, as is his wont, was the opposite; absolutely unmoved or affected by Dido.
Dido was five when she stole her first recorder. This didn t lead to prison but rather to her entrance one year later into the Guildhall School of Mus...More at Buy.com Marketplaces
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