Roisin Murphy – Overpowered (EMI)

What happens to the other half of a double act when one half goes solo? Musically, history has not been kind on the whole. Andrew Ridgeley, Sonny Bono, Richard Carpenter… wait a minute, he couldn’t help that. Never mind, point is I hope you’re happy, Roisin – what’s who’s his face gonna do now? Come to think of it, what are YOU doing now?

Just about everything, if the blurb is to be believed. She’s had a hand in writing, producing and, oh yes, performing on her new album and looks determined to join the ranks of such trans luminal notaries such as Bjork, Kate Bush and Tori Amos as an entertainer in her own right. But it takes more than a decent pair of lungs to run with the wild ladies of music; you need that dangerous, unpredictable and slightly ‘crayzee’ spark.

‘Overpowered’ starts promisingly. An army of riff marches forward to a Michael Jackson beat like a martial disco version of ‘Popcorn,’ which is joined shoulder to shoulder by the purloined cadaver of the riff from Yazoo’s ‘Don’t Go.’ Apollonian synths urge on this bizarre, macabre procession up to a musical Acropolis where Roisin resides, android-goddess-like over the vocal meat of the song. Only trouble is, it sounds like a de-sexed version of the Scissor Sisters’ ‘Skins.’ Um.

Fortunately, that souled-voice finds more room to expand in the chorus, but this is a more serious excursion than anything Moloko tossed about: “When I think that I’m over you, I’m overpowered,” she sings with impassioned resignation. Sexy, but hollow. In fact, the liveliest moment is in the bridge when she goes a bit Grace Jones. More scary than crayzee.

This song also sports an array of lousy, clunking lines. I mean, “Your data, my data” along the same lines as “Potato, Potata,” and all this “oxy toxins flowing ever into my brain.” If that was one of your lines, Roisin, deny it.

To be fair, it’s not a bad little pop song; it simply lacks the immediacy of Moloko or the individuality of ‘those ladies.’ A starting point, perhaps, but it will be a long, hard climb to genuine pop uniquity.