Since winning the conveyer-belt of musical mediocrity that is the X-Factor, metrosexual Mancunian Shayne Ward has released a dreadfully bland debut album, sold hundreds of thousands of copies of it, and been feted for his modus operandi, which is basically 'become the British Justin Timberlake as soon as possible'. He has also become one of the most adored British pop stars of the noughties, thanks to damp-knickered women with too much money and too little sense. Ward has deemed his second album, Breathless, 'funky, sexy and different', which - apart from sounding like a sales pitch for a fragrance - is somewhat true, with regards to the curtailment of the soppy ballads that were prevalent on his debut. Don't get your hopes up, though; apart from a couple of tolerable tracks, Breathless is just as insipidly uninspiring as its predecessor. From the embarrassing calypso-pop of single If That's OK With You (not since the Crazy Frog has there been such an irritating, gimmicky vocal effect used on a song), to the entire mid-section - a selection of songs that are the equivalent of white noise (Until You, Some Tears Never Dry, Melt the Snow and a terrifying cover of The SOS Band's Just Be Good To Me), Breathless is a black hole of the musical cosmos. Ward, while doing his level best to have his voice heard over the deluxe production, comes off as a sub-Timberlake wannabe, and possesses neither the vocal skills nor the originality to replicate the superstar's success. The songwriting teams here, too, are truly dire (see the title track's entire embarrassing lyrical lexicon for details). It's hard to single out just one entity to be culpable for this unabashed money-making vehicle, but in a way, Ward must be pitied - he's merely a pawn in a rich man's game. Nevertheless, can somebody please, for the love of God, just round these muppets up, lock them all in a padded cell, and throw away the key?
