Far

What if you found a sweet-looking older man’s wallet in the street? Or the local lake turned as thick as butter? What if there really was a 'human of the year' contest? Or you inexplicably forgot the words to your favourite song? 

Such are the scenarios posited on Far, and objectivity be-damned: I absolutely, completely adore Regina Spektor. Certainly a little bit when I was introduced to her via a friend’s copy of Soviet Kitsch; a little bit more when said album received an unprecedented three consecutive plays on a communal stereo soon after; more still when she captivated a half-full Cardiff Barfly around five years ago, and reaching titanic levels when I attempted to interview her over a crackling phone line some time later. That the cute puppies occupying the lorry next to her proved a significant distraction made no odds: she is charm personified, and I’d wager that’s why so many other self-respecting indie kids love her too. It’s also probably why Begin To Hope didn’t sit so well with many of them.