Franc have, like, four members. One of them is called Franc, or at least something to that effect. They make loose, low-calorie, Dylan-appropriating country-rock, and they all live in London. Their songs are called things like ‘Smile’, and evidently have no ulterior motive beyond encouraging listeners to do so. They play a whole lot of harmonica. They are, in the words of someone given to liberally peppering their speech with unnecessary foreign parlance (and in a lazy and trite manner, at that!), not in the slightest bit prétentieux.
Nor are they ambitious, substantive or lyrically engaging. ‘Baby You’re a Rich Girl’ sounds a little like this: jangle, jangle, jangle, jangle, jangle, jangle, jangle, jangle, jangle [chorus begins], jangle, chorus, jangle, chorus, jangle, chorus, fin.
It’s quite superficially pleasant; a spot of seasonal smoke and mirrors that - were I not wearing a hat and scarf and were I not all too aware of the rain leaking through the edges of my window frame - I might just have fallen for. I can hear the singer now: "baby you’re a rich girl now", he opines, meaninglessly. Yes; smoke and mirrors, a touch of tuneful potential, and - at the moment - very little actual essence. Somewhere out there, Bob just rolled awkwardly onto his stomach and began to snore.
4Daniel Hayward's Score