Danielia Cotton Rare Child

Hey, did you guys know Danielia Cotton is awesome? She can rock, she can bang on her drum all day, and she’s the only person that’s right for her ex. She can do anything—except, maybe, craft a decent album.

Yes, it’s true: Danielia Cotton has a truly awesome voice. It’s gravelly, in that sleek Sly Stone/Tina Turner badass brooding growl; rich and distinct, it soars over the music, letting everyone listening to the record know the reason they put in the disc—to hear Cotton. She maintains presence on every song, front and center, and it captivates the listener.

It’s too bad that there’s nothing of substance to really place that voice on. Every song, literally, is about how awesome Cotton is. For instance, on the opening track, the inexplicably spelled “Make U Move,” Cotton growls, “Gonna make you move / just keep your eyes on me / ‘Cause I’m a little Black girl / that rocks your world / so come move with me”; all of which would be acceptable if they weren’t thrown on top of Hendrix throwback riffs that sound less edgy and more pedestrian—the lyrics, being as shallow as they are, only enhance this feeling. Even on “Running,” where Cotton is—guess what?—running back to her partner, she let’s said partner know, “And if I can’t catch you / Then who can?”

The instrumentals also chug along, seemingly on Casio playback. “Bang My Drum” particularly insipid—blasé southern-fried rock not sure whether to ape '90s Def Leppard (the drumming is indicative of a man with only one arm) or any current pop country hit. The lyrics (I’m going to do what I want! Because I can! Because I ROCK!) do nothing to elevate the song.

The nail in the coffin, however, is the slipshod pacing of the album’s material. It’s a veritable roller coaster; starting high on “Make U Move,” the album suddenly screeches to a halt for “Didn’t U,” before picking up right back where it left off on “Rare Child.” And that’s the first five tracks. Side B follows similar suit, only ending with two slow songs that are so sonically similar that I couldn’t tell when one ended and the other began.

The infuriating part of this album is how good it could be given a decent backing band and possibly a producer who has listened to southern rock for more than fifteen minutes. Without these things, however, the New Jersey rock diva flounders in a pool of mediocrity.