Jumping the Shark

His delivery is low, wounded, yearning; despite the rockist structures, the keyboards and drum machines rattle in a pale imitation of the grandeur he’s seeking, like the last scene of Aguirre.

The melding of these stories with Cameron’s efficient, minimal compositions create the type of songs that penetrate deeply and linger in your consciousness long after you’ve stopped listening to them.

Cameron's vocals have a dramatic quality hat crosses the detached phrasing of David Bowie with Nick Cave's tortured rasp. [No. 134, p.55]

At times, the simplicity of the melodies (the synths at times sound like readymade ones you'd find on a Yamaha keyboard) and decidedly uncomplicated drum machine beats may leave the listener wanting more, but they play into the notion of these characters being pathetic, exhausted and disappointed so well that there really isn't a need for much more.

Cameron nonetheless hits the mic with the total hip=grinding conviction, as if daring you to proclaim him an ironist. [Sep 2016, p.70]