Name: Emmy the Great
Where and when: Festival Republic stage, Sunday, 4.35pm, Reading
Dress code: The violinist is wearing a knitted tank top, which genial of tells you all you motive to recognize about this show.
Who's observance: There's a day of skull-crunching metal on the main stage, and mind-mangling beats on the dance stage � for those of a
sensitive disposal, Emmy's show is the only retreat.
In a nutshell: As the other stages reverberate with the message Bass, How Low Can You Go?, Emmy is offering up the philosophical question Acoustic Guitars, How Twee Can You Be? The whole show is a battle
between embrace her neat ditties on messy making love and feeling a bit nauseous at the out-and-out limpness of it all.
Emmy is clearly talented. Her voice is beautiful, her melodies are sublime and at one point we start to mentally compare her to Joni Mitchell circa Blue. But then we listen someone state, "She sounds like Phoebe from Friends", and it takes a lot of effort to watch the rest of the show without cheering out for a rendering of Smelly Cat.
High degree: Emmy's tale of her low Reading fete, aged 17: "I woke up in a stranger's tent. The next day I found out that my friends had sold me for a g of Ketamine."
Low point: It's a fine line between departure the herd wanting more than or absent MOR.
How hard does she rock?: You are joking, right?
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