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 'The only thing I want is to make music that I really, really feel and to be honest with myself,' Duffy says. |
TORONTO -- Midway through an afternoon being spent grilled by journalists, Welsh soul siren Aimee Duffy gives little indication she's getting weary of her overnight rise to fame.
"I mean, all I did was make a record with 10 f---ing songs on it," she says sneaking a cigarette on a stoop behind the Phoenix Concert Theatre. "Then suddenly, through no choice of my own, I'm the new Dusty Springfield, I was born yesterday, I made a '60s sounding record, and I'm part of the new British, neo-soul wave…Wow.
"But really, the hype isn't bad at all," she says playfully. "It can only get bad if you let yourself become something else."
Just 24, Duffy's debut album "Rockferry" has been heaped with praise, earned her a MOJO award and sold millions. And since bringing her Motown-flecked ditties to North America, she's proven herself head-and-shoulders above the influx of British R&B singers making their way across the pond.
With her blonde updo and carefully put together outfits, Duffy comes off as a waifish Jessica Simpson and thanks to her torchy retro voice, inevitable Amy Winehouse comparisons have followed. But the soft spoken singer insists she isn't trying to follow in anyone else's footsteps.
"When we chose the songs that were going to make the record, we chose a balance of emotions, tempos and angles," she says training her eyes on a pair of squirrels scampering up a nearby tree. "But I think it was a very fine tipping point. There might just be one or two tracks that have that '60s flavour and had I chosen some other songs instead, the album would have been really different."
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A runner-up in the American Idol-like Wawffactor, there were plenty of opportunities to fast-track her way to stardom. But Duffy spent three years making "Rockferry" with the help of former Suede guitarist Bernard Butler.
"Word got around that I existed," she says dryly, "and whether it was an agent, a publicist or record label, people were asking, 'Can we meet her?' But I wasn't really ready. I just wanted to write songs. If I got one good one every month, it was a great feeling."
It was all like that up until January, she says. "After 'Mercy' came out the following month," she smiles as her touring band soundchecks instrumental strains of her doo-wop romp, "I haven't had time to breathe."
Confessional lyrics, which chronicle the journey from her tiny Welsh hometown to life in London, are latched to the disc's syrupy, orchestral vibe. But throbbing hooks and good looks often make easy targets.
First, up-and-coming R&B star Estelle was heard in the press questioning Duffy's soul music leanings, and then Sex Pistols frontman was caught berating her backstage at a British music awards show in June.
"I'm quite open and sometimes get stung by being a bit too open, but who cares? People have tried to kind of box me in with other things and say that I don't feel and I haven't got soul," she pauses. "What the f--- is that? We all feel.
"But what can I do?" she shrugs, stubbing out a half-smoked Camel Blue. "I can't live life explaining myself over and over and apologizing. I just have to know that my intentions are good."
Already well-aware that there are some people who would love nothing more than to see her end up as one of the "super casualties of music," Duffy says paparazzi aren't likely to snap her vomiting on her Jimmy Choos.
"I think I'm already aware there's a fine line in not letting myself become some self-indulgent diva who thinks she can have whatever she wants," she sighs. "The only thing I want is to make good music and make music that I really, really feel and to be honest with myself.
"If that means writing songs that don't hit the big time, all the time well…so be it. At least I can say, 'I wrote that because it really is how I felt about something and made me feel good.'"
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On the Net:
www.iamduffy.com