Oh wow, I didn't know there was a band called Barbara Cartland! How cool is that? I love to see all those hateful old cultural relics being reappropriated. Time to forget about that malignant shackle on the notion of femininity and embrace the new.
Oh no. Oh no no no.
In 1978 Dama Barbara Cartland, romance novelist and part time taxidermy exhibit, released Barbara Cartland's Album of Love Songs
, a record precisely as bad as you might imagine. You know how when you're making Christmas cake you start with a blend of fruits and nuts to make the complex and delicious fruitcake that lies at its centre? You cover that with marzipan, and then you slap icing all over. To the innocent observer all that can be seen is the icing. Sure, someone with a bit of bakery nous might realise that there's something rich and delicious going on under the surface, but if you just wanted to knock a facsimile up on the quick you'd just make the white bits. Now imagine eating just the icing and trying to infer from that what the cake tasted of. There's no ghost cake exerting its tasty influence on your tongue. It's just the fucking sugar. It's a travesty of cake.
So yeah, How Deep Is The Ocean?
is pretty much a travesty of cake. It's made by serious, professional sugarsmiths who are unsurpassed at their ability to make sweeping string sounds and flute trills and backing vocals that go ooh-ooh-oooh in all the right places. And then it's got Barbara Cartland straining at the limitations of her own voice like an incontinent lapdog. Did you know that it's possible to whimper out of key? Me neither. The bits where she decides to recite rather than try to sing are even worse, because she's clearly so painfully, deludedly sincere. Entirely tasteless, entirely shameless and 100% awful, this needs to be heard once and then thoroughly forgotten. Good luck with that.Barbara Cartland - How Deep Is The Ocean?(alt)