We are truly in a post-James Blake world. I cannot count the number of press releases I have read in the past fortnight that describe a record as being ‘dubstep-influenced’, only to find that it bears about as much relation to dubstep as James Blake does to Wu-Tang.

In Arms, the second release from David’s Lyre, at least boasts a vaguely shuffled drum pattern in opened ‘This I Know’. Other than this, what the press release actually means is ‘a record with electronic elements’.

David’s Lyre is the nom de plume adopted by singer-songwriter Paul Dixon. He is the latest in an increasingly long line of people to apparently realise that the conventional man-and-guitar set-up is the embodiment of the concept of ‘dull’, and that the format is made marginally more interesting by the addition of some beats.

In Arms adopts a much more pastoral tone than that heard in debut single ‘Tear Them Down’, chock full as it is of images of trees, flames, “wistful youth”, and all the other devices so beloved of those who enjoy mythologising the English countryside. These small-screen tales of introspection are set against beautifully cinematic arrangements, all intricate strings and occasional Ride Of The Valkyries-esque horn blasts.

The record boasts some interesting rhythmic ideas, particularly in the eponymous track. In fact the drums are the most striking thing about this release, helping to draw attention away from Dixon’s rather irritating warble. Vocals aside, this is an accomplished set of compositions, from a clearly talented song-writer.

And yet there is absolutely nothing here that will keep you coming back. The production is partly to blame for this. In Arms manages to be simultaneously rustic and clinical; everything shimmers slightly too brightly, and the overall impression is one of over-work. More important, though, is the unshakeable sense that In Arms is actually a work of near-plagiarism. The similarities to label-mate Patrick Wolf are so significant, and so manifold, that In Arms quickly becomes unlistenable. Everything is there: the fawning, faux-cryptic Albion lust, the marriage of arcane instruments (the lyre for Dixon, the ukulele for Wolf) with electronic drums, the slightly uncomfortable sense of self-satisfaction.

Above all, though, Dixon’s voice is so studiedly Wolfian as to ultimately become comical. The vibrato is uncanny; the slightly odd pronunciation identical. The quality of the compositions here means that this record warrants a listen. But until he finds a voice that is more than a facsimile of Wolf’s, Dixon will find it hard to be taken seriously.