Safe Trip Home

Artist: Dido

Genre: Pop

(RCA/SonyBMG)

Reviewer: CHUA CHERN TOONG

British pop diva Dido seems to specialise in churning out pleasantly safe pop tunes that are decidedly sallow, inoffensive and anodyne, as exemplified by her first two efforts, 1999’s No Angel and 2003’s Life for Rent.

The production values on both albums stick to a tried and tested blueprint: smooth, down-tempo, easy-listening pop that went down very well with Sophie Kinsella readers and adherents to post-feminist theories.

Even if she has notched a clutch of respectable hits on the charts, with key singles like Thank You and White Flag both reaching the top 10 in a number of countries, Dido’s musical formula seems to be permanently stuck in an unchanging groove, refusing to follow any du jour trends or embark on any radical artistic reinvention.

It’s the same approach that is adopted for this third studio effort, which is as featureless as pop records come.

The opening Don’t Believe in Love lopes along on a slightly trip-hop-informed beat, with a strategically placed string backdrop to add some colour.

Quiet Times introduces some polite acoustic-guitar lines, while It Comes and It Goes is only remarkable for its utilisation of a 5/4 time signature, a break from the straightforward cadences in the rest of the album.

Elsewhere, the moody Grafton Street possesses a nondescript electronic pulse reminiscent of Peter Gabriel’s Mercy Street, and Look No Further is a lethargic lullaby that eventually drifts away into nothingness.

Us 2 Little Gods has some sonically interesting vocal effects, but doesn’t add much to its overall structure, while Burnin’ Love has a slight gospel influence, with its carefully modulated choral harmonies.

The concluding Northern Skies drags on for nine lethargic minutes, shuffling along on a wearily outdated electro-pop cadence.

Brooding in some places, and blissful in others, Safe Trip Home never really breaks above its inherent placid surface, preferring to wallow in a safe womblike atmosphere for most of the proceedings.

It’s no overstatement to say that this album constitutes the perfect coffee-table record, tastefully constructed but creatively unimaginative. This could well be the aural equivalent of a particularly sluggish chick-lit tome, or an overdose of Valium.