Singer-songwriters – as different from normal men and women – are terrifying things. When they’re not soliciting pity moaning about how life is mean to them, they’re peddling halfwit hippieisms (“The answer, my friend, is blowing in the wind”, fucking hell.) They almost never have a sense of humour, and give terrible navel-gazing interviews. Worst of all, they tend to shun proper backing bands in favour of a lone acoustic guitar or piano. This just makes a bad deal worse: few things in the world are more skull-crushingly dull than a single person playing a single instrument for the entire length of an album.