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Experimental breakbeat diva
THERE haven't been many Dots in pop- Dot Cotton from "East Enders"
has yet to commit to vinyl-so when you hear the name Dot Allison
it's like accessing a long lost Internet website. Co Dot
UK-click
Dot, y 'see, was the enchanting singer in One Dove,
seminal early-Nineties Balearic beatnicians who caught the
post-"Screamadelica" Zeitgeist immaculately with their Weatherall-
produced "Morning Dove White" album. If The Orb were for post-club
stargazing, One Dove were dubwise, soul-searching chillmongers.
They drew plaudits from the Primals to Underworld, but then all but
disappeared. What happened, Dot?
"We had problems with our label and some internal bad
feeling, so we all got a bit jaded," says the winsome chanteuse, as
we chat in London's Soho one afternoon. "We'd started writing a
second album, but by then it had fractured into three people
writing separate stuff. It lost the innocence of that first
venture."
Dot walked away from everything in One Dove,
including all the gear, but still holds fond memories of the
project.
"It was definitely a magical time," she remembers,
sounding like Ruth in "EastEnders". "It felt like the spearhead of
something really big, and it was. As a result of it, there's a huge
genre of dance music now. Ten years later- like with everything
that's quality and exciting - it gets accessed by all and sundry
and people move on."
Dot was initially scared of going solo: "I definitely
enjoyed being behind that veneer of a band, though I was never
really the decision-maker. So I left One Dove for a number of
reasons - I owed it to myself as a songwriter to be able to assert
what I wanted and have it considered." She had to sign on after One
Dove and spent four months in a wheelchair after a serious car
accident
"But there was something non-scary about being on
your ass, because the only way was up," she says. "I went from
month to month, trying not to look at the bigger picture."
Spending time building a home studio set-up and
moving from Edinburgh to London, Dot followed her dream to exist on
the experimental pop margins.
"Not having to write with a group is liberating," she
says. "It's like a huge weight off my shoulders not having to deal
with the internal ego problems. But at the same time there's a lot
of women in pop who are happy to just be an ornamental factor.
Having been in a band with two guys, nobody thought I could do what
I've done without them."
Spending time building a home studio set-up and
moving from Edinburgh to London, Dot followed her dream to exist on
the experimental pop margins.
"Not having to write with a group is liberating," she
says "It's like a huge weight off my shoulders not having to deal
with the internal ego problems. But at the same time there's a lot
of women in pop who are happy to just be an ornamental factor.
Having been in a band with two guys, nobody thought I could do what
I've done without them."
Did that piss her off?
"Yeah, because there's so many women happy to just
look pretty in front of a band," she asserts. "I'd like to see more
women getting a sampler or a guitar and working for it.
Dot's fab first single, "Mo'Pop", is a gorgeous,
summery Saint Etienne-y ditty, with a sanguine French segment in
the middle.
"It's an unrequited love song," she explains, "and
there's no other hidden meaning in the French bit, really. It just
says, 'Sometimes you crush me', and it's about the mixed signals of
being in love. Like when you have something really precious in your
hand that you want to hold onto really tight, but if you do, you
destroy it." Oh yes.
Elsewhere on forthcoming album "Afterglow", though,
you'll find the edgy Portishead-isms of"Melted", ethereal Bjork-ish
experimentation, and pensive, meaningful breakbeat-noir.
According to Dot, they're "mainly love songs, and
songs about growth, change and rebirth".
The Maker suggests she's a technoed-up Dusty
Springfield - and therefore less open to manipulation - for the
ninties.
"I'd love to have done a duet with her," she
enthuses. "I love Dusty's voice, I'd like to be a jewel in the mud
of pop." CARL LOBEN
Originally appeared in Melody Maker March 29, 1999. Copyright © Copyright, IPC Magazine Ltd. 1999 All Rights Reserved.
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