Though she runs the risk of becoming just another alabaster-faced singer in the fickle shuffle of Stereogum sweethearts, newbie Welsh songstress Duffy proves she just may have some staying power with Rockferry (May 13, Mercury). Though not exactly a trailblazer of the genre (the album's essentially a pop-by-numbers transliteration of Motown standards), Duffy's crooning still provides a fresh alternative to the rehab melodrama of Amy Winehouse and the mushy gospel of Joss Stone.

The 10 songs are meant to be a musical travelogue of an area the singer says lies between Liverpool and Chester. And although the contrived framework and the gaudy construction of her image cheapen the virtues of Rockferry, there is substance to the album beyond the '60s 'do and the well-fitted minidress. Slow-burners like the title track quickly belie Duffy's frilly ruffles and the record stands on its own.

It's a shame, though, that no matter how lush, the abundance of love-sick ballads on the record are allowed to impede Duffy's momentum. Most lamentable is what follows "Mercy" and "Delayed Devotion"—the only up-tempo romps on the album. Book-ended by punchy cellos and an assortment of quick hooks, "Mercy" is the set's highlight, while "Delayed Devotion" is an uncharacteristically flirty filler track that doesn't prepare listeners for the pair of sleepy ballads that close out the album. Rockferry sadly blows its wad by the midpoint.

But in a musical universe where most singers can't sing and any others who can are either on a crack bender or shilling for bland corporate truffles, Duffy could be pop-radio's new best friend.