If there’s one thing that the slightly promising opening riffs of ‘Turn It On Again’ indicate, it’s that Ronan Keating is desperate to feign off that ‘Young Daniel O’Donnell’ moniker that was creeping in round the edges, or possibly to distinguish himself from the insufferable Boyzone posse and its indelible legacy of sanitised sentiment.
While his band may have spawned an array of pop icon wannabes, Keating seems at pains to let you know he has grown up. Granted, the music is no less clinical or formulaic, yet there’s a softness, a maturity, a lack of offensiveness in this album.
Therein lies the great paradox of Ronan Keating – the music may be overwhelmingly banal and AOR, yet there is something about the way Keating wears his Irishness on his sleeve that is slightly endearing. There is exuberance, heartfelt emotion, and of course that mandatory slick production swipe. In addition, Keating has had a hand in the writing of each song, which makes something of a refreshing change. It’s hard however to get really excited about an album that’s so undeniably by numbers.