Not a heroic endeavour by any stretch of the imagination...
With the music scene currently skewed toward hair-dramatically-parted indie-guitar bands, skinny-jeaned electro-boppers and tattoo-festooned metal-heads, it's a tough old time for silky-smooth singer-songwriters. And, indeed, one can't see it getting any easier for any of these slinky beasts to get a play on the paparazzi-floodlit media playing field any time soon.
It's also a rather crowded substitute's bench: Melua, Tunstall, Orton, Lerski, Thorn, Williams, Chapman, Jones, Keys; the list goes on and on and on. And, unfortunately, judging by 'Breathe with Me', Athena Andreadis is in danger of never ever getting out of her tracksuit and attempting to limber up on the sidelines without looking stupid. She is in danger of being reduced to merely handing out bottles of Lucozade at full-time and smacking people on the back in a thinly veiled display of annoyance while stamping her feet.
Now don't get me wrong - there's nothing extraordinarily frightful on the album - I mean it's not like she's guilty of grating live seal pups on a timpani in the reckless pursuit of an exceptionally innovative sound. No, it's just that when all is said and done, it's an extraordinarily unremarkable product in a market of extraordinarily unremarkable products made by extraordinarily unremarkable people that would contribute more to society if they worked on a market, (and an unremarkable market at that).
Andreadis's sound, as you will have no doubt correctly ascertained (in fact I'll wager twenty-five pots of vegan chump that it's been correctly ascertained) is a predominantly acoustic one; acoustic guitar, pianos, harmonicas, muted drums and percussion; with perhaps a smattering of a jigawatted bass guitar thrown in for good measure: How refreshing. I jest of course because I bet there's roughly a nought-point-one percent chance that even Patrick Swayze would describe this setup as "radical", and he says "radical" a hell of a lot.
Before you lose your collective cool, of course it is true that remarkable things can often be achieved with these component parts (sit DOWN Jamie Cullum). But, more often than not, there is a hefty chance that lyrical innovation and/or idiosyncratic weirdness will bear the brunt of the load and yank something that is usually very safe and very familiar into the realms of the scary unknown and perhaps even to a glorious musical utopia.
Lyrically then, Andreadis concerns herself almost exclusively with romantic melancholy - or melancholic romance (whichever takes your fancy) - and as heartfelt as this can be at times ('Shades of Grey' or 'All I See Is You'), it also gets rather boring when you realise that all fourteen tracks on the disc are destined to sound very alike. Think about it: If you bought a packet of Jelly Babies and discovered the sugared miscreants were exclusively green, surely you'd take them back to the shop from which they were bought to pursue gastronomic restitution? Yup, you bet you bloody would.
Also, a gaggle of critics (if someone could fax me the correct noun should one exist, I would very much appreciate it) has remarked on the sonic beauty of the voice that is given life by Andreadis's full, full lips; the lips that purse and push and gently kiss exquisitely breathy notes into the murky ether of human existence. There is no explanation for this; it's really not that special. Andreadis can carry a tune to be sure, but she ain't Aretha Franklin for Christ's sake. It's as upfront charming a voice as that of Holly Lerski - and as pitch perfect as that of Tracey Thorn - but even then it lacks the sinewy smoky depth of the latter, and the effortless cool of the former. No, it just can't be anything other than that most hideous of things: nice.
There are definite punctuations in this tedium however. 'Eden (Garden State)' is at once unintentionally hilarious because Athena really, really wants someone to "give me one, give me one", (though sadly we later discover she's referring to "one little moment"). Also worth a look is the unashamedly perky ballad 'Pretty Things' which features a harmonica played as if someone is trying to approximate the sound of a blunt saw cutting through bone. 'Recently Scarred' is a bizarrely poppy affair, and the very-very-sweet-indeed 'This Life' (which is thankfully not a cover of The Way Out's theme tune to the wildly successful television programme of the same name) is a charming way to bow out of abusing the world's cochleae.
To her credit, Athena Andreadis can certainly knock out a tune. It's just a shame that on 'Breathe with Me', it's the same tune again and again and again and again and again...