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Utterly bland and irritating British droner of insipid elevator music which masquerades as jazz and blues when not being used to encourage old people to auto-euthanise. Katie was born in Georgia in 1984, living for a while in Moscow where she was trained as an assassin by the GRU. At the age of 9 her family uprooted and moved to Belfast (her father, a professional contract killer, had received whispers that the ongoing sectarian violence would make the Province a useful place to get work).

Educated in a ninjutsu ryu by the recently resurrected Fu Manchu, her unique shuriken style was first noticed when she murdered fourteen police horses and a dog shortly after her family had moved to London. She brews her own poisons, citing her influences as Lucrezia Borgia, Socrates, Getafix the Gaul and Delia Smith.

Her style is remarkable only for its utter lack of originality or any worthwhile content, fusing the dreadful, endless whining of Eva Cassidy with the insipid, fist-itching drivel of Norah Jones. Her musical style ranges from crap, annoying showtunes in "Crawling up a Hill" to the miserable, pointless droning of her first single, "Closest thing to Crazy," which song I believe to be one of the worst excuses for entertainment unleashed on the general public since Saddam Hussein's Gassed-Kurd-O-Rama opened in 1989.

Her debut album, "Call off the Search" was shit, but at least knocked that irritating sow Dido from the top spot. If you haven't heard her "music" yet, you're one lucky son of a bitch. That shit is everywhere, beloved as it is by Baby Boomer Scum and used by Council Sanitation Departments to kill cockroaches.