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Allen's songs never feel labored.

Simon Emmet

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In 2006, Lily Allen became the first breakout star on MySpace, and even nonadolescents could figure out the appeal. Her debut album, Alright, Still, had an irresistible single called "Smile," a follow-up about a dope-smoking little brother, and just enough ska and reggae samples to hint at the existence of a precocious streak. There was a minor controversy over Allen's fondness for obscenities and Mockney (the British term for the upper-class affectation of a lower-class Cockney accent, à la Dick Van Dyke in Mary Poppins), but even that advanced her charm as a real girl sticking up for herself, even if no one was actually trying to keep her down.

Allen's follow-up, It's Not Me, It's You, isn't nearly as cute, but grownup things rarely are. Born in London and raised there by an actor father and a film-producer mother (as a girl, Allen appeared as a lady-in-waiting in Elizabeth and was mentored by, among others, Joe Strummer), Allen, 23, appears to have embraced a slightly more serious view of what pop can be. Not that you can tell from the hooks. Produced by Greg Kurstin of the retro-pop duo the Bird and the Bee, the music robs every genre it can in the pursuit of anything that might stick in your ears. There's a klezmer-inspired accordion that morphs into a glossy Abba-worthy chorus on "Never Gonna Happen" and an intro that sounds like an electronic version of "Rawhide" on "Not Fair," all of which succeeds in creating enough of a melodic diversion to make you forget that the songs are split-timed and almost mechanically verse-chorus-verse.

What's different--and better--is Allen. Her range is a tiny thing, but she dispenses with the guv'nors and blimeys and sings with a pout, as if she were caught in the middle of a mildly disappointing day--though no worse than what she expected when she got up. Her voice rarely rises above the conversational and never sounds labored; nothing she sings feels like a statement, which is why you're surprised when the lyrics add up to something smart. "The Fear," already a hit in Britain, is a hummable single about vapid consumerism ("I want to be rich and I want lots of money/ I don't care about clever I don't care about funny") that honors both "Lost in the Supermarket" and "Material Girl." "Not Fair" laments that her otherwise excellent boyfriend is lousy in bed ("I look into your eyes, I want to get to know yer/ And then you make this noise and it's apparent it's all over") but advances from slagging wit to real disappointment in the chorus.

Allen takes on a few subjects that are beyond her grasp--"F___ You," her rotten egg lobbed at George W. Bush, feels ridiculous and late--but even when she's being stupid, she sounds like an honest pop star. To quote a line from her ballad "Who'd Have Known," "Even though it's moving forward, there's just the right amount of awkward."