
Gates at least tries to do something a bit different on his take, but in reducing the once clockwork solemnity to a generic, cabaret-lite clapathon then the effect, if not quite akin to setting Chopin's 'Funeral March' to a funky drummer rhythm, is no less misguided and misunderstanding as to what the song is all about. Again, Gates can carry a tune, albeit with a voice heavy on the quiver, but then you'd expect no less after all the hullabaloo he'd been through on the show. The problem is that you get no more either, certainly nothing worth 'idolising' and I'd be happy to stake the farm on the proposition that, without the show and the public's affection for the close but no cigar pretty boy with a stammer, then this particular workhorse would have been sent to the knacker's yard and boiled down into glue long before it got anywhere near the top ten, let alone number one.
No comments:
Post a Comment