Jeff Martin

For new singer-songwriters, the path from darkened bedroom to gloomy red spotlight leads through a minefield of clichΘs. Downbeat, sensitive and solo, Jeff Martin could find it all blowing up in his face after one more false move.

Although he doesn't emerge unscathed, that Martin makes it through at all is an achievement. His debut album was launched in the chattering Shelter. As punters skimmed the inlay cards of their free CDs, the song titles were foreboding. Tired, Slomo, Call It A Day and Still, the title track, gave every indication that the gig would start off slow, probably shift down a gear, and conclude in inertia.

Making a low-key entrance, Martin began with the sparse instrumental To What End. An unassuming presence, the young musician knows his strength lies in the impressive reach of his classically influenced guitar.

Agile and dexterous, these floating cadences could just about keep rather leaden lyrics buoyant. Nowhere is this more noticeable than in the single Wiseone, where Martin's throaty croon - "it's not a smile, it's a picture of a smile / perceived insight from serotonin release" - aims for a significance beyond his reach.

The pulsing melody saves it from falling flat, however.

Elsewhere, Still had a ghostly chime redolent of early Simon and Garfunkel, and Tired featured a duet between guitar and cello, echoing a sleepy theme.

Gamely taking the "cheer up" criticism of a Whelans patron from a previous gig, Martin concluded his set with an Elton John cover. The rendition was not superb, but his sense of humour brought welcome relief to a set that musically and emotionally rarely strayed from the same register.

Martin has the potential to rise above the din of downbeat folk if he follows Elton's maxim: don't go breaking my heart.