Pretty, lovely, fine, fair, comely, pleasant, agreeable, acceptable, adequate, satisfactory, nice, benign, harmless, innocuous, innocent, largely unobjectionable, safe, forgettable.

I have just summed up in 19 words what I am about to say about Coldplay's debut full-length, Parachutes, in 600. Aside from being seemingly tailor-made for the paper-thin adult contemporary market, what is it about this Britrock quartet that's driving them up the American charts? Is it their popularity in their home country, or their Mercury Music Prize nomination? Could it be their charming, boyish good looks? Perhaps, even, a reputation built by Noel Gallagher's projected insistence that they're "a bunch of fuckin' pansies, the lot of them?"

In reality, Coldplay's secret deadly weapon is vocalist Chris Martin. With the ability to mimic a Brit-accented Dave Matthews one minute, Jeff Buckley revived from the dead the next, and sometimes even a young Peter Gabriel, Martin's heartfelt delivery seems to be what's winning the hearts, wallets and alternative radio request lines of Americans young and old. That's not to say that the rest of the group isn't sharp. Guitarist Jon Buckland provides plaintive, strummed acoustic guitar with the occasional amplified wail, and bassist Guy Berryman with drummer Will Champion form a competent rhythm section.

Oh yeah, the songs. They're nothing special. Most of the 10 tracks on Parachutes are indeed pleasant enough, often consisting of standard alterna-pop fare with the occasional folky ballad. They're innocent and inoffensive in general, but in turn, they're also exceedingly generic and immediately forgettable-- so much so, in fact, that after a minute of one song, you've usually already forgotten what the last song sounded like. And that's even after a few listens.

Parachutes opens with "Don't Panic," the title of which is likely lifted from British mock sci-fi classic The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, despite the fact that the song has nothing to do with it. This subdued, dreamy opener contains Martin's falsetto chorus of "We live in a beautiful world," which seems to sum up the overall sentiment of the record; the record also closes with the inspirational swinger "Everything's Not Lost."

Most of the other songs sort of drift in and out of consciousness, with the exception of the second track, "Shiver." It's the only truly decent song on Parachutes, but simultaneously, it's the only one that blatantly shows its influences. In fact, the influence can even be pinned to a single song: Jeff Buckley's "Grace." Martin has his Buckley impression down cold, complete with dynamic range and the trademark vibrato. But as enjoyable as the song may be, there's no question that Buckley did it better.

And of course, you've probably heard their smash hit single, "Yellow," by now. Indeed, it's the most obvious choice for a single, and it represents Martin's vocal stylings effectively, but it's also the record's weakest moment. Buckland's grating, slightly tuneless guitars seem jarring, especially when sequenced in the middle of a series of songs that generally lack dissonance. And the saccharine lyrics are those that might have caused Mr. Gallagher's hypothetical remark: "Look at the stars/ Look how they shine for you/ And everything you do." You'd practically expect the band to show up at your doorstep with a wilting bouquet and Hallmark card.

Parachutes is ultimately a promising debut for Coldplay, if by "promising," I mean, "promising them a windfall of cash and international popularity." If nothing else, it's harmless and pretty. Unfortunately, it's nothing else. If that's what you look for in your music, by all means, go for it. If you want substance, I suggest moving on.