hose still mourning the untimely passing of singer/songwriter Jeff Buckley (there has to be someone, right?) have cause to rejoice in Starsailor, the latest product of the Brit music press assembly line. The group, who take their name from one of Jeff's father's albums, share with him far more than that influence: they also feature a deep admiration for Van Morrison, a pretension far out of sync with their level of talent, and vocal histrionics that make Conor Oberst sound like Bob Dole. Unfortunately for the group, Buckley's formula worked best at his most vulnerable: "Lover, You Should Have Come Over" or his cover of Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah." While James Walsh is more than willing to set himself up as a Christ figure ala Scott Stapp, his vocals offer none of the delicateness or subtlety that could make this formula listenable.


Starsailor has some talent, the extent of which I will now begrudgingly describe. The boys know what a pop song should sound like, and the first 5-10 seconds of each track are quite compelling. In addition, they obviously know the meaning of (and are adept at implementing) the word "lush."


Their craft is an empty one, however, with each track going through the motions even less willingly than I wrote the preceding paragraph. This leaves Walsh's overworked vocals to fill in what is lacking emotionally. And what he can't do lyrically (which is quite a lot), he does with a post-Coldplay warble, making one's ability to enjoy this record almost entirely based on how the vocals strike you. The album's lush sonic consistency soon becomes oppressive, with the dynamic refusing to change and no way out of the album in sight. It's a frightening thing.


I shy away from lyrical analysis, as there is little to say beyond the fact that they're not good. I fear that the inanity of the subject must eventually wear off on its analyst. They are of a largely confessional nature, without ever acheiving the specificity that might make up for their lack of artistic resonance. "Don't you know you've got your daddy's eyes?/Your daddy was an alcoholic."


Starsailor, then, follow Travis, Muse, and the aforementioned Coldplay in the slow degeneration of Brit-pop to the level of its American modern rock equivalent. It's advisable to explore all of these band's catalogs before venturing blindly into Love is Here. And don't get me wrong, these bands are terrible. Such an exploration might, however, provide the fascination of the oft-referenced car wreck scenario. I'm not going to bother to find out.