By Steve Babcock

Spawned by the Lilith Fair and Tori Amos’ raging ballads, the “girl with piano” of recent years has seen a fair amount of women with relationship ghosts to exercise and strong voices to unleash. Overdramatic? Maybe, but they’ve certainly found a niche.

The latest in this line, Charlotte Martin, exemplifies what has been the common thread of many of these artists. Artistically, the goods are there, but something seems to be holding them back from unleashing their full musical bevy of pent up anger because they have to be pretty for MTV.

In her debut full-length album, “On Your Shore” (RCA/BMG), Martin lives a somewhat inspired account of her emotional history set against the background, of, well, way too many instruments.

Raised on opera and Joy Division, Martin clearly has the background to put up the expression, and she obviously wants to.

Along the line, though, she is increasingly hampered by overt studio production and not enough focus on her own talents.

At this point, it seems proper to inform the reading public on what singer-songwriter actually means in this context. Martin did write the lyrics and actual music on the piano. The part the album credits do not fully reveal though, is that it’s the little guy, known as the “producer,” who listens to her songs and gets all these ideas about where sweeping strings, huge drum fills and ripping guitar solos would fit.

Here, producer Ken Andrews throws in a wealth of strings, and all but a few tracks employ outside instrumentation at times. This may sound nice and big, but it really distracts from Martin’s talent, which could stand on its own anyway.

She has a shimmering voice and she clearly knows her way around the piano. When Martin is allowed to shine, like on the song “Sweet Chariot,” she is clearly a cut above the packaged pop princesses and new look Jewels.

Her piano lines move seamlessly between classical octaves and a dash of discordant blues and her voice sweeps all over the higher register very effectively.

The lyrics aren’t bad either. Lines like “Halfway there/I was waiting by the phone for you to care” aren’t breaking any major ground, but she’s clearly dealing with relatable relationship problems.

Everything loses steam when the band comes in, though. The piano fades away, and sometimes her voice is even overtaken by vocal overdubbing and the aforementioned instrumental flourishes. As a result, there’s no room left for her to stand out.

An interesting Liz Phair circa-’94 moment at the end of “Something Like a Hero” with a cyclical stuttering effect on her voice, is the only possible example that she’s able to let loose the way Phair or, yes, Amos, always managed to.

Perhaps she doesn’t have any real ghosts to exercise; the point is, she’s so limited there isn’t even a chance to find out.

Where Amos’ bridges sound like thunderstorms, Martin –well, Andrews — actually uses a recording of a rainstorm over the music.

Something just isn’t there.

Perhaps the album’s finest moment comes through at its close as she re-interprets the Rolling Stones’ classic “Wild Horses” proving she’s way better at revamping Jagger than Britney Spears.

If that type of expression is what she can do, she should be allowed to show it. Otherwise, there’s an inkling of adult contemporary around the corner.

Still, it’s worth a listen if you’re not too entrenched in the Amos/Phair angst spectrum. If you remember when Paula Cole and Sarah McLachlan were queens, this one will bring you back.