There’s a good reason why, despite the longevity of his music career, it’s unlikely you’ve ever heard of singer/songwriter Alex Wayt. After 30 minutes tonight it was all too apparent just why he’s slipped under the radar.

Musically-misguided, charisma-deficient and sporting a look best described as Miami Vice, Wayt spoke in cliches and sang his school-boy lyrics with the kind of cheesy veneer that made stifling laughter an ongoing challenge.

Despite the small but vocal crowd’s support, there was no getting past the dated music, cringe-worthy delivery and general dearth of inspiration on display during the course of what was a quite woeful set.

Watch the video for Alex Wayt’s ‘Take Your Time’ Live

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ALEX WAYT
King Tut’s, Glasgow, January 7 * *

According to a promotional quote on his Myspace page, Alex Wayt’s sound is “destinctive and accessible”. You’d be hard pushed to disagree with the latter part of this statement although it has to be said being accessible doesn’t necessarily equate to being good.
The first adjective on the other hand couldn’t be further from the truth as there was little evidence of anything even remotely distinctive about Wayt’s songwriting or performance tonight.
The only thing we can really glean from the quote is that this particular Glaswegian troubadour needs to use spell-check more often.
In front of a sparse turn-out, the majority of which bore all the hallmarks of being family and friends, Wayt never lacked confidence but his attempts at working the crowd verged on the comedic at times thanks to the audience’s size and half-hearted responses.
The signs weren’t good from the start. Choosing to make a choreographed entrance set the tone immediately. A couple of fairly predictable tracks followed with Wayt and his four-piece backing band doing little to raise the temperature.
Someone Like You epitomised the middle-of-the-road and rather soulless nature of Wayt’s music, the song instantly forgettable save for a spot of Baywatch-like piano while new track Don’t Say It, with its uneasy octave jump, could have been written by David Brent.
23 was meant to signal the end but the crowd’s demands for “one more song” were sadly obliged but the less said about that the better, nothing good ever came from covering Buggles.