What do you think of when you think of Lynda Carter and music? I bet you either think of her performance as the lounge singer in Fallout 4, or else “All the world is counting on you / And the power you possess…”

But near the end of her time as the Princess of Paradise Island, she released her first album, Portrait, which I have listened to many times. (Unlike my friend Mark Paxson, I have never really gotten used to using Spotify, so I have no precise stats on how many times I’ve listened to it. But it’s a lot.)

Now, I might as well get this out of the way up front: I don’t consider this a great album. To explain my usual criteria: I like songs that have interesting lyrics, evoke strong moods, and tell a coherent story. Warren Zevon, Leonard Cohen, and Richard Thompson are my go-to artists for that sort of thing. For a specific example, see the last album that I wrote about at length, Zevon’s Transverse City. That was a heavy concept album, pulsing and growling with ominous themes of a dystopian cyberpunk future, narrated with acid wit.

You’ll find none of that on Portrait, which is pretty much one ephemeral, bubblegummily sweet and unmemorable pop love song after another. On the other hand, I think we can all agree the cover art is much easier on the eyes than the garish neon punk horror of Transverse City:

But, if the album is such a thoroughgoing exercise in banality, why am I writing a blog post about it? Well, to be honest with you, I’m trying to solve a mystery. Namely, since it’s so trite and unremarkable, how come I have listened to it so much?

There’s no denying that Ms. Carter’s voice is very pleasant. But there are plenty of female singers whose voices I enjoy: Sheena Easton, Feist, Bonnie Tyler—but I have never listened to an entire album by any of them. And for beauty of voice combined with intelligence of lyrics, give me Pamela Field or Julia Goss singing Gilbert & Sullivan over any of them. And yet…!

Why is this album the one I listen to, on repeat, of a rainy evening, while sipping my tea and looking out over the sea, waiting for my lost love to return? (Okay, I made that last part up. I sometimes confuse old episodes of Pokémon with my own memories.)

There is actually one original song on the album which I feel rises above the level of generic pop ballad: “Tumbledown Love,” which takes some care with the imagery and the atmosphere and, I think, flows back and forth between different moods. It’s sad, and it’s sweet… but I never knew it complete, because to be quite honest, I can’t manage to make out all the words.

Speaking of Billy Joel, probably my least-favorite track on this album is the cover “She’s Always a Woman.” I don’t like the original, and changing the refrain to “she’s only a woman like me” makes no sense at all. At least it is musically pleasant.

If “Tumbledown” is the best track and “Always a Woman” the worst, then we can safely say this album has a low variance. In fact, if you told me the title of one track at random other than the two previously mentioned, it would take me a minute to think of which song it was. They all sort of blend together. And not in the way that the songs on Transverse City all touch on a certain theme, but in a mushy, slurry way, consistent with the original meaning of the word “pablum.”

That sounds negative, but I don’t mean it as such. Like Reginald Bunthorne’s groupies, I say, “nonsense, yes, perhaps – but oh, what precious nonsense!” Trust me, I have heard songs that are truly insufferably saccharine. Even some of my favorite artists have been guilty of these. And when I come across such a song, I simply do not listen to it. I have not quite so thoroughly transformed into Ignatius J. Reilly that I purposely seek out art that I hate.

But, good news! I think I’ve figured out the appeal of this album for me. The answer was foreshadowed in the first paragraph, when I alluded to Lynda Carter’s appearance in Fallout as a lounge singer in an apocalyptic wasteland. I realize I listen to Portrait in the same frame of mind: coming in from the desolation of the wider world, I seek refuge in listening to the pleasantly forgettable strains of her songs. It is probably not a coincidence that I often pair listening to Portrait with distant artillery ambience videos. I find this strangely soothing; as if I’m in an officer’s bar, not actually at the front, but still aware that it’s out there.

Or something. I dunno; it’s a guess. Give it a try yourself and make up your own mind. There are certainly much worse things you could listen to.