I usually wouldn’t waste my time complaining about the quality of an album, but I opened my wallet up for this one so the truth shall prevail.
I went into this completely, totally and wholly bias. I didn’t know what I was going to hear, but I knew I was going to love it. I had no stringent expectations that would narrow my field of listening enough that I wouldn’t like what I heard if it was unlike what I thought it would be. In theory, she’s my cup of tea: a seemingly peculiar gal with the mind to venture outside of social, cultural and gender norms to quench some ineffable thirst for life. And Timobe Lockhart may in fact be one of these women but her music is forgettable and mediocre. This album is a slow-paced occasion with drab ballads, lazy melodies and middle-school-diary lyrics being used for college-aged emotions.
The first listen of her 8-track effort took less than two minutes. When my mind isn’t engaged, I go into radio review mode from when I used to screen music to be put on the jukebox. I’m generous with the first few moments and I’ll even let a person start singing but if their melody is weak and remains weak even after I skip 90 seconds in, chances are it was a terrible song. I let it sit for a week and then came back to it, remembering times in the past where I hated something only to later realize I just didn’t know how to appreciate it at first listen [see: Dismemberment Plan]. The second listen yielded worse results.
So, in short: save your money and just listen on myspace or let someone burn it for you if you are curious.