Rumer, St James's Church, London, review There is a kind of glistening perfection to what Rumer does that, in some strange way, can be hard to get past. Her luxuriously toned voice rises smoothly through the registers, sailing across graceful melodies with the apparently effortless flow of a gliding bird on the breeze. A nine piece band, all dressed in black, fall in beneath and behind her, an exquisitely subtle blend of brush stroked rhythm, tasteful licks and nuanced harmony. They call it easy listening for a reason: it is extremely easy on the ear. They also call it middle of the road, and, for sure, it is music that never ventures down any odd or wayward byways, just purrs right down the centre with the smooth running of an expensively upholstered, air-suspended luxury vehicle on cruise control. The consequence is a show that lacks highs and lows, a comfortable journey that never really seems to have a destination in mind. The thing about Rumer is that there is more to her than just feather light entertainment. The tone of her voice is very similar to Karen Carpenter's, a thing of pure wonderment, but the substance of what she does owes more to the philosophical self-interrogation of Joni Mitchell and the soulful expressiveness of Aretha Franklin. Offstage, Rumer comes across as a sharp, urban hustler, a woman with edges and lust for life. Promoting her second album, Boys Don't Cry, a collection of covers of songs by male writers reshaped from a very feminine perspective, she described the recording process as a "bloodbath." But presenting the songs to an audience for the first time, all the blood seems to have been washed off, leaving only mellifluous modulation. The range of her music is actually extremely wide, encompassing the country lament of Leon Russell's My Cricket and the deep groove of Isaac Hayes's Soulville, but the gentle tastefulness of her players has a tendency to even everything out, emphasising similarity rather than diversity. It is left to Rumer herself to really define the material and, perhaps out of nerves at making her live comeback in the intimate confines of a church, she delivers note perfection rather than really digging in. It was only right at the end of the set that Rumer seemed to finally loosen up. She spoke with cheerful frankness about her perverse respect for Neil Young's A Man Needs A Maid: "He doesn't want to get involved. He just wants someone to do his dishes. Stripped to piano and almost choral backing vocals, the performance is astonishing, the gender twist on the lyric evoking layers of irony, but the emotional centre holding firm and true.