She must have read the book on it - the trigonometry of songwriting for a mass market.

Frank is a twenty-something Dane with a mission to copy and paste, using everyone from Roxette to Natalie Imbruglia as her templates. When the first words that spring to mind are 'innocuous' and 'inoffensive', it's unlikely that the outside of any envelope is being stretched, is it?

Even the title speaks volumes. Ancient Pleasures hints at Van-ish contemplation but delivers on Britneyesque vacuousness. With most of the songs co-written by Frank, she's anxious to hang on at the helm, but still succumbs to a Hudsonite grafted identity that comes courtesy of some heavy hitting producers (Bob Clearmountain, for starters).

Which is not to say that Ancient Pleasures won't shift the units. Hogging the middle of the road is an eminently crafty position to adopt. The debut single, 'Symptom Of My Time' is a radio-friendly piece of candyfloss that'll drill cavities in the enamel of an entire generation, given half a chance.

Is this the best that globalisation has to offer us? Singers with no sense of place? Or time? Frank could be singing in anywheresville - or nowheresville. Suspended in the anaesthetising ether of her own making, she's suitably competent, non-toxic, safe.

If yours is a music shrink-wrapped and clingfilmed, then drop Ancient Pleasures right into your shopping basket. On the other hand, if you're not quite resigned to the lobotomy yet, pass by.