Música Universal

A capella music is surely even more of a matter of taste than Marmite, Jeremy Corbyn or coprophilia. While I can admire the technical virtuosity of this all-female vocal quartet, their percussion-bereft, brass-less, maracas-shunning renderings of Cuban sons, congas and boleros and Brazilian bossa nova have the slightly repellent showiness of free jazz and the straightforwardly alienating weirdness of barbershop Oxbridge/Yale types in boaters.

Occasionally, a plain voice escapes the harmonising pack, but from The Manhattan Transfer to 4 Poofs and a Piano, this preachy sound leads this particular Latin music lover cold. Lo siento very much, but stripping down here feels like putting lots of clothes on. Also, zero stars for the cover and album and band titles. The former is cheesy, the latter corny and confusing. In the Instagram age, such visuals and branding are just not OK.