Had she been born in the 1530s, Candice Night would have been massive. Competent on the hurdy-gurdy and the shawm, comely and fair of face, possessed of a voice suited to both the church and the bed- chamber, she could probably have married Henry VIII or Thomas More or someone and got herself on a tapestry.
Candice Night: Reflections
You-know-who’s missus on a first solo run.
As it is, she must slog away in a tiny niche – that of cod-renaissance music reliant on formal chord progressions like Black Roses or the aery-faery lyrics of Wind Is Calling.
And with Robin Red Breast, Night teeters precariously on the edge of parody.