Tiffany Page

Location:
North London, US
Type:
Artist / Band / Musician
Genre:
Acoustic
About Tiffany Page
"23-year-old, Fender-wielding Chrissie Hynde for the 21st century, complete with wild streak a mile wide." - Q Magazine
Listen to Tiffany's first single, Walk Away Slow, and it's her voice that will strike you first. It's a voice that knocks you back and then sits you to attention. It has the sassy swagger of Chrissie Hynde, Shirley Manson's vampish purr and the hellion roar of Courtney Love. It soars and soothes and cracks around the edges, as spiky as it is seductive. That it's wrapped around three perfectly formed minutes of sunburst guitars and a chorus that cements itself to the inside of your skull only enhances the effect."
"She got her first guitar for her 14th birthday. By then she had discovered the joys of American alternative rock – the first records she bought were Nevermind, Pearl Jam's No Code and Smash by The Offspring. As soon as she had learnt how to play three rudimentary chords on her new acoustic she began writing songs. She still has the tapes of all of them. She can't recall any titles, but suggests they were exclusively angry."
"Discovering Hole was the start of my teenage angst years," she says. "That led to L7 and Babes In Toyland… I loved how these girls could sing like men. It sounded like it hurt them. That's how I wanted to be."
Tiffany began work on her debut album last summer, writing and recording in Los Angeles and London. Fleshing her songs out with a full band has, she says, brought them properly to life and indeed it is a record populated by proper tunes – short, sharp, instantly memorable songs, each as tightly constructed and fat free as the next. Songs like Heaven Ain't Easy, Hope He Doesn't Know and Out Of Mind, with their snappy riffs and soaring choruses. And all the time there's that voice at the heart of everything.
There are depths and darker corners, too – the melancholy ballad You Won't, the jagged twists and turns of Police and, perhaps best of all, I Am The Blaze, which travels through bittersweet verses to a roaring storm of a chorus.
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