Leona Lewis: A(nother) Disposable Diva Is Born

Ever since she emerged the 2006 victor of the UK’s annual “X Factor” contest (think an English “American Idol” – i.e., an illiterate talent parade overseen by hack supreme Simon Cowell), 22-year-old Leona Lewis has been on a meteoric rise to fame. With a classic rags-to-riches background, good looks and a one-in-a-million singing voice, she’s been sincerely touted as an heir apparent to Whitney Houston, and has consequently topped the charts on both sides of the Atlantic with her single “Bleeding Love” – an incredibly rare feat for a British artist, and one that may be replicated with the American release of her debut album “Spirit” (which has already gone six times platinum in the UK). On paper, these sales statistics are all quite impressive – but that’s where the semblance of positive impact ends. Like so much of the mediocre pabulum spewed out by disposable ‘idols’ desperate to make the most of their fifteen minutes of fame, the ironically titled “Spirit” is an obvious example of hype and artificial emotion looming over musical substance; a sad waste of space made all the more depressing by the vast amounts of money and time lavished upon it.

While I don’t think anyone would go into a Cowell franchise record expecting originality or consistency, “Spirit”’s biggest sting comes from its lack of any songs that truly reach the listen-worthy mark. Of the thirteen tracks included on its American edition, only “Bleeding Love” is capable of withstanding repeat plays – and even that has the distinct aura of being Xeroxed wholesale from a Mariah Carey filler piece. Still, there’s some enjoyment to be found in its slow-burning R&B march, with layers of tasteful synthesisers gradually filling its mix and a cheesy yet appealing diva climax, complete with big key changes and a belted crescendo. Vocally, it’s all the Leona anyone needs to hear, encompassing every trick she possesses from the intro’s breathy cooing through her sensual lower register and subtle whistle notes. I also enjoy the main melody, which has memorable pre-chorus and refrain sections that establish it as the only number with the potential to endure beyond a few months.

As for the rest, it’s hard to know where to begin an analysis. There’s a very rigid formula at work throughout, with almost every track being an electronic (synths and drum machines) cookie-cutter mid-tempo ballad with nary an iota of personality. Many big names have been pulled in to contribute to the writing and production (Ryan Tedder, StarGate, Ne-Yo, Dr. Luke, Max Martin, Novel, Billy Steinberg, Walter Afanasieff), and it’s perversely funny to see how despite big differences in genre, experience and nationality, all are united in their complete inability to write a good song. It’s not even a case of individual contributors being distinguishable, as everything merges into a monotone, hookless sludge that’s all the more offensive for its insincere pretensions of honesty and human feeling. Really, you know you’re in trouble when the second best song on an album is a cliched, melodically banal guitars-and-strings ballad (“I Will Be”) penned by Avril Lavigne(!), and the third is a by-the-numbers cover of “The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face” that adds nothing to the Roberta Flack version – while losing much.

Besides the plodding drone of most of the songs, the other thing that really harms “Spirit” is Leona herself; a timely reminder of how a strong singing voice doesn’t automatically make someone a good vocalist. While there’s no doubting her power and range, her style is one-hundred-percent derivative of late-Nineties Mariah Carey (when Mariah went ‘sexy’, and switched her clean, clear delivery for one resembling the agonised wails of someone undergoing a root canal). As a result, Leona constantly sounds affected and irritating – not a single phrase is safe from extraneous ‘woo’-s and ‘ooh’-s, nor any word free from being dragged out to ten syllables; regardless of whether or not such a style fits the song’s melodic meter. With minute upon minute elapsing, her pointless warbling grows steadily more obnoxious, cumulating in the reverbed power-ballad “Here I Am”; a five-minute, minimalist torture session I never want to sit through again. Compared to that, even the derivative piano sap of “Better In Time” and “Yesterday” or the cheap keyboard-and-gospel-choir filler “Whatever It Takes” are masterpieces – and the rest are such generic R&B/adult contemporary nonsense that they’re not even worth dignifying with name mentions.

Overall, the overarching theme pervading “Spirit” is of being in a stuffy museum, with the lousy musical arrangements doing their best to age Leona several decades and failing to let her shine with hook-filled or danceable tunes. For a supposed ‘next big thing’, this is remarkably safe, sterile and uninteresting – although the self-indulgent vocalisations and superficial equation of pointless vowel protraction with technique and emotion seems to be all the rage in female singing these days, suggesting that “Spirit” will sell regardless of its actual quality. Regardless, this album is just a rambling bore-fest of overproduced ballads, and has nothing worth listening to beyond the already-issued “Bleeding Love”, which you can obtain for less cash – and far fewer headaches. 2 stars.