What Would Life Be Like Without A Few Mistakes

How does the old saying go? No one is a prophet in their own land? Charlie Winston did not have far to go. He put on his natty fedora, hopped on the Eurostar and became platinum in France. Only two and a half hours separate London from Paris. What was lost in translation here was welcomed with open arms along the Seine. “Hobo”, his brilliant sophomore release, is a big serious pop record. It’s honest and raw and quirky and rootsy and existential with so much soul and passion it defies any categorization. And therein lies the problem. Those are all qualities us anglo-saxons have always viewed with great sceptisism and even disdain. Furthermore the English have always considered the gallic fervor to be very suspicious. (They even killed their own King for Christ’s sake!!) Charlie himself says it’s character. The French like character. Well, I might be besieged by tight upper lipped mad dogs and Englishmen, but I love Charlie Winston. The gypsy rhytmns of “Like a Hobo” make me want to twirl my skirts and wear flowers in my hair. I go weak at the knees for the sweet “I Love Your Smile” and I have never wanted to be Audrey Tatou more in my life! (Check out the video).  Nearly at the end of the album in “Every Step” when he sings “It’s OK, I have no lock, key or a cage, you’ve got to want to stay…” all I can manage in a whisper is: “Charlie, you are a man, how do you know how it feels?”


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