by David Hutcheon

Ever met a cyndi fan ? Me neither. Nobody ever argued that the mother of all Alisha's attics and Alanis Morisettes' refusal to learn to sing was an attack on the corporatisation of music. Then again, nobody ever attacked her, claiming that the american toyah was a corporate puppet, appealing to those afraid of rock carnality (tellingly, Lauper was big in Malaysia while Madonna tours were refused entry). Apart from the several hundred people thanked for their contribution to the album (from Hubbie David to Tommy Mottola) who even knew she was still around before 'You Don't Know' became a hit in January ? People bought her 'Twelve Deadly Cyns' greatest hits because the title implied she was a stiff. She's too old for Radio 1, too youthful for Virgin, too risque for Radio 2, she's got a great Cyndi Lauper album out, does anybody care ?

'Sisters...' lacks a 'Time After Time' or a 'True Colors', and you could easily live without it. It does, however, contain a large handful of tremendous ballads, as well as a few duffy uptempo things, an exceptionally naff Madnessy thing, and a surprise bonus comedy sketch called 'Lollygagging'. Thirteen years ago, when Simon Bates interviewed Cyndi for radio 1, he asked her if New York was her base. 'I don't live in a base, I live in an apartment,' she replied. I throw that in because there is nothing more interesting to add about 'Sisters Of Avalon'.