Peter Peter, the repeating singer? Finding the named double reviving half a dozen of his own songs on the acoustic mode may seem… redundant. But here it is, undressing them like this, relieving them of their synthetic finery, stripping them of their neo-new wave gangue, is an idea that can be defended. A guitar, a voice nearby, a local studio Hotel 2 Tango, it gives the fairest conceivable measure of the value of songs sometimes too pop for their good. These pickings endlessly (man), these strummings effective (Little Shangri-La, baroque beauty), dance in the bare room, fill the space quite naturally, leaving Peter Peter’s slender timbre the place it needs to fully exist, whispered here, pushed there, with the echo as its only partner. The singer and his creations demand a little attention, and get it. What previously slipped on the body gains in relief, in asperities, in protrusions. At the Francos on June 15, that’s how we want them.
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