No Angel

Pharrell Williams, the most ubiquitous man in music, has chanced upon yet another money spinner, this time dragging Solange Knowles from sister Beyoncé’s not insignificant shadow, and in doing so has guaranteed himself a few hit records and a couple of million quid in the process.

Well, that’s about the reality of it, isn’t it? Hate to be a kill joy, but does he really believe this kid to be anything other than another in a long line of American solo artists? And if her name wasn’t Knowles, would he even have looked twice at her through his ridiculously oversized sunglasses (or his ridiculously undersized eyes)? The answer to both questions, I’m afraid, is no.

Now Beyoncé is a genuine star, there’s no denying it. Thanks in part to her hooking up with the brilliant Jay Z at the right point in her career, she exploited her talents and turned them into a hit machine, mixing her great voice and star presence with a spot of hip hop genius and creating a succession of excellent pop songs.

Sadly, just because David Beckham is brilliant at football, doesn’t mean his little brother can even kick a ball, and the same concept applies here. The simple fact of the matter is that Solange is hanging precariously from her sister’s coat tails in releasing her debut album. This is a very, very poor album.

It will sell shed loads of copies in the predictable and tepid US market, and next to none on our more discerning and selective shores. Debut single I Decided is sub soul nonsense, doing all it can to latch on to a 1970s Motown vibe, and succeeding only in sounding like an unashamed parody even of itself. Sandcastle Disco is about as good a song as it’s title suggests.

There is no redeeming feature to this album, no matter how hard one tries to search for it. Never has an artist tried so hard to be soulful, and yet sounded so utterly soulless.