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Ah, the sophomore slump — it happens even to the best.

Technically, Wild and Gentle is Hatakeyama Miyuki’s third studio album as a solo artist, but it’s only her second with original material. (The hastily recorded Fragile was a covers album.)

Hatakeyama’s trembling croon is smooth enough to soothe, burnished enough to reveal vulnerability. It’s the kind of voice that could save bad music from itself. It’s not, however, enough to elevate mediocre arrangements.

Wild and Gentle travels further back in time than her debut album, Diving Into Your Mind. The last time out, she flirted with 70s So-Cal singer-songwriter/jazz-pop, but she kept her feet firmly planted in the present.

Wild and Gentle, on the other hand, could have very well been recorded in 1971, and Hatakeyama could have very well been Carole King. A track such as “Keshi”, with its Muzak-friendly orchestration, is doomed for the elevator.

Most tracks suffer from indescript arrangements, under which Hatakeyama buries her otherwise powerful voice. If it weren’t for an emotional reading by Hatakeyama, “Nemutte Shimaitai” would have been little more than blip. “Unmei no Ito”, on the other hand, is just plain listless.

Oddly enough, it’s the most dated track, “Umi ga Hoshii no ni”, which provides a welcome respite. Hatakeyama sings an incredibly infectous tune which makes the horn blurts feel charming instead of cheesy.

Toward the end of the album, Hatakeyama shakes herself out of her stupor and produces some interesting moments. The lilting meter and low brass accompaniment of “Unknown landscape” make it the most daring track on the album. “Nauseous ’cause I’m too happy” actually benefits from its sparse arrangement.

Unfortunately, Hatakeyama has traded the haunting emotional range of her previous work — including Port of Notes — for something safe. Listeners who love light, unobtrusive jazz may find Wild and Gentle suitable for those late, quiet nights.

Fans familiar with her full potential will find something lacking instead.

When Hatakeyama Miyuki covered “Dream a Little Dream of Me” on her debut solo album, she established her credibility as an interpreter.

The idea of an entire cover album by her sounded like a great idea. Releasing that album barely six months after said solo debut wasn’t.

Thanks once again to Japan’s frenzied work pace, what could have been a solid collection of interpretations instead sounds half-baked. That’s not to say Fragile, Hatakayama’s cover album, isn’t all bad.

In fact, Hatakeyama makes an admirable effort to zero in on the heart of her choices, stripping away a lot of the original arrangements down to a bare minimum.

The original version of Colin Verncomb’s “Wonderful Life” started out as a typical over-produced 80s jazz pop song, but Hatakeyama reveals a sturdy, beautiful tune through a Carole King-like piano accompaniment and her wonderful voice.

“Every Breath You Take” is a karaoke staple, but Little Creatures, who back Hatakayama on this track, preserves Sting’s distinctive bass work. When Miyuki sings the bridge of the song — “Since your gone, I’ve been lost without a trace” — it’s as great as a listener might expect.

The inclusion of current it-girl Norah Jones’ “Don’t Know Why” may appear to be calculated, but arranger Aoyagi Takuji does a better job of highlighting Jones’ country tinge than Jones does herself.

Hatakeyama doesn’t have the greatest English diction, but the burnished quality of her voice charges her performances with real emotion. It’s easy to overlook her pronunciation when she makes these songs her own.

Still, the best moments on Fragile are when Hatakeyama sings in her own language. “Ame no Gai wo” and “Natsu no Omoide” aren’t even typical J-pop fare — they sound much more Japanese than Hatakeyama’s own original songs.

Unfortunately, the missteps on Fragile cancel out its achievements.

Hatakeyama’s overly breathy interpretation of “The Shadow of Your Smile” meanders. The same goes for “I Love You, Porgy”.

The Rolling Stones’ “Sympathy for the Devil” is an incredibly easy song to mess up — see Guns N’ Roses’ version on the soundtrack to Interview With a Vampire — and the bossa nova guitar work on Hatakeyama’s version doesn’t plain work.

(The drum ‘n’ bass beat in the middle of the song, though, hints at an interpretation that could have worked.)

The reverb on “The Water Is Wide” could have been cut back a bit, but Hatakeayama’s a capella performance calls to mind Sinéad O’Connor at her best.

It would have also been nice if Hatakeyama included more Japanese-language tracks on Fragile. Her performance of “Every Breath You Take” is still great, but Sting doesn’t really need the extra income — it could have made room for something homemade.

Hatakeyama’s choice of covers is nonetheless a diverse, interesting batch, but the weak spots on the album don’t do that diversity justice. If she spent a few more months refining these interpretations, Fragile would have left a better impression.

Since the early 90’s, Hatakeyama Miyuki has involved herself in a lot of eclectic projects.

She started out as a singer for the 10-piece roots ensemble Double Famous, collaborated with Little Creatures, then paired up with Kojima Taisuke to form Port of Notes.

Now, Hatakeyama has struck out on her own and not a moment too soon. Like her cosmopolitan jazz-pop peer UA, Hatakeyama possesses a wonderfully resonant voice, full of longing, powerful in its vulnerability.

It’s a testament to a person’s talent when a song as overused by the advertising industry as “Dream a Little Dream of Me” can sound revelatory.

Hatakeyama’s solo debut album, Diving Into Your Mind, explores much of the same creative ground as her work in Port of Notes, except the overt alternative rock influences have been replaced with a ’70s SoCal feel.

Hatakeyama may still sound like Tracey Thorn of Everything But the Girl, but musically, she sounds closer to Carole King.

Nowhere is this more apparent than on “Kagayaku Tsuki ga Terasu Yoru”. The electric piano alone sounds like it was recorded sometime in the early ’70s.

“Ame wa Oboete Iru Deshoo” goes for a cabaret feel, much like “Ecrice” from Port of Notes’ Complain Too Much, while the Latin-tinged rhythms of “Aoi Yuunagi” could have been lifted from a Manhattan Transfer album.

Hatakeyama does let in a few post-70s influences in. “Into the Whisper” has an ethereal quality more akin to — you guessed it — Everything But the Girl, while “Nani mo Mayowazuni” contains some R.E.M.-like jangly guitars.

In a way, Hatakeyama has recorded the same kind of album Minako did with Suck it Till Your Life Ends wa Shine Made Sono Mama Yatte. Although not as overtly international, Diving Into Your Mind does explore a number of pop genres within the context of jazz, and Hatakeyama’s distinct voice ties it all together.

In short, you can’t go wrong with this one.