YOU don’t get to your third full- length album of original songs without talent, perseverance and a fair amount of support along the way. Karl Broadie had the kind of reviews for his first two CDs ( 2002’ s debut Nowhere Now Here and 2005’ s Black Crow Callin’ ) that aspiring singer- songwriters can generally only dream of. On the strength of One Million Emeralds , I find it hard to see what the fuss is about. Broadie’s primary influence is Dylan, and his was a bandwagon I could never catch either. While I could see the genius in him, I never could come at his hillbilly whine. Broadie’s voice is kind of limited. A croak can be a good thing, even a great thing, but without variety, without different characters in the voice, and in conjunction with a bogus American accent, it wears you down. That leaves his songwriting, which fares better. I don’t hear the depth of Dylan or the clever wordplay of contemporary Josh Pyke, but Sunday’s Bells is beautifully realised and Dear Natalie has a sweet, nostalgic feel, made magical by the lap steel guitar of Bill Chambers.
One Million Emeralds Karl Broadie ABC/ Warner