IS L a Thomas Pynchon fan, an acolyte of the siren, 'V', in the American gamester's first novel? Probably not since 'L' is a pun on the French feminine and the L of this record is a far less contrary character than Pynchon's R Sphinx.

And there may be the rub. Words Mean Nothing . . . can be a marvellously soothing and glistening background record but it's also rather retiring. It rarely forces itself on your attention and when you subject it to concentrated listening, it tends to dissolve.

Basically it's an encounter between one singer, Denise - or L - and the songwriting sources, Paul Tiernan and producer Stano with his partners, Donald Teskey and Mick Smith. Since the production opts for a slimline grace, you'd suspect that Tiernan's more traditional singer-songwriter style might jib with Stano's keyboard-pop approach but it's a tribute to both her and to Stano that you rarely detect any discrepancies.

Discreet and languidly drifting, Words Mean Nothing . . . doesn't subject its melodies to static and there's no technicians jabbering away to prove their self-importance. Early on, this tone of subdued romance works on 'Raging Sea' and 'My Wrists For You' but as it proceeds, it can get too balanced. You rarely get the sense of feelings being tested to breaking point, as L's own diction seems to float above the lyrics. Only on 'Baby's Shoes' and 'What Do You Do?' does she find words which she can start to shake some meaning from.

There's bashful elegance and some sweet dreams here but Words Mean Nothing leaves me ambivalent exactly because of its title. Certainly it leaves me wondering whether the State's recent wary approval of culture has created a situation where design skills are perfected at the expense of obstreperous content. L can disguise pastel miniatures but they also seem to disguise if not suppress nightmares.

My advice: perhaps L should follow V to the end of her story.

• Bill Graham