Since the demise of sub-Take That bluffers Boyzone, Ronan Keating has released just four studio albums; a surprisingly lean tally, considering that he's been more ubiquitous than Twink on The Afternoon Show during panto season. Still, though most of Keating's output has been mediocre at best (Life Is A Rollercoaster), spine-shudderingly bad at worst (When You Shay Nothing At All), there must be something about the lad that induces knicker-wetting excitement of O'Donnellesque proportions amongst middle-aged women. Is it the perdurable blond-haired, blue-eyed hunk image that he's cultivated since he was 16? The fact that he's a down-to-earth family man and rampant charity activist? Or the fact that he, like so many others, makes music just so terribly easy to listen to? We, as a nation, should love Ronan Keating, national treasure that he is. But when he's making music as bad as this, it's just asking too much. From the truly awful lampooned cover of The Golden Horde's Friends In Time (complete with some random screeching female providing the 'woahh yeahs' to his... er... 'woahhh yeahs') to the karaoke versions of the Goo Goo Dolls' Iris and Neil Diamond's Hello Again; Bring You Home is 52 minutes and 54 seconds of your life that you will regretfully, never get back. Think about it. Do you really want to be lying on your deathbead, desperate for one more hour so your kids can make it to the hospital before you meet your maker, thinking about that 53 minutes you spent listening to Ronan Keating's Bring You Home? No, you don't. Its predictability is the most riotous thing about it: upbeat Eurovision-reject pop songs (It's So Easy Lovin' You, We Just Need Time, All Over Again - Kate Rusby, what were you thinking?!), downtempo schmoozefests (Bring You Home, Superman - the latter containing the immortal line 'With you I feel like I'm flying') and the pitiable, yet obligatory 'experimental dance one' Back In The Backseat. It's hard to believe that this man is only 29 years old; but the sooner the better he releases the inevitable Bagatelle covers album, takes up a Sunday night residency at the Red Cow Inn with Sonny Knowles and leaves us all in peace, the better. Go away, Ronan.
