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By Greg Hudson

Arts & Life Editor

You are lucky. You have the ability to listen to Luke Doucet and the White Falcon’s album, Blood’s Too Rich, untainted by the lame pretension of his press kit. And that’s liberating. It would be like watching There Will Be Blood before hearing over-eager cinephiles critically ejaculate all over it.

Mr. Doucet’s press kit is written by someone who longs for the limelight of rock journalism, but writes like a teenaged poet.

Dim the lights and let these words wash over you like Clearasil: “Nothing gets past his hand. Between pen and paper, nylon or steel strings, it will be written, remembered, repeated.

And it will sound better than anything you’ve ever heard.” And what do you do if you are said PR agent and you want to demonstrate your client’s hipster credentials and divers influences?

You write a year-by-year biography of your client and you mention an ‘important’ album that was released each year.

You probably use Google. What is sad is Mr. Doucet doesn’t need the hype.

His music is full, real, bitter-sweet and true. It’s alt-country at it’s pop best. Too bad someone told you that, because now you have to listen with cynical dissatisfaction.

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