Able to perform before they’re able to think for themselves, they capture our attention with almost morbid curiosity. They come to center stage through “Star Search,” Miss Teen USA pageants or even The Mickey Mouse Club. They are paraded, poked, prodded and preened by over-zealous manager-parents. They are subjected to intense media scrutiny, and we wonder, “When will they break?” They are the über-teeny-boppers—adolescent artists performing for a juvenile audience—and there’s nothing new about them.

At least not in concept.

From the original boy band, the Jackson Five, through to the cultural Zeitgeist of the New Kids on the Block and the mind-warping musical contributions of Kriss Kross and Hanson, pop has been graced by a singularly impressive array of prepubescent has-beens. Christina Aguilera and Britney Spears have also warbled and shimmied their respective ways into brazen, busty music icons. However, after a summer dominated by the multi-diva scream-fest “Lady Marmalade” from the Moulin Rouge soundtrack, bubblegum pop seems to have momentarily burst. From its ashes, a new breed of artists has risen—still barely out of (or still attending) high school, but with more poise, more maturity, more substance and certainly more fully clothed than the vocalists who have dominated music charts over the past two years. They’re the latest incarnation of singer-songwriters, talented more in voice than in measurements.

Michelle Branch is one such shining example in the musical firmament. After being signed to Madonna’s recording label, Maverick (no small feat in itself), her debut single, “Everywhere,” has ignited radio waves from coast to coast, and her first album, The Spirit Room, has peaked to date at number 84 on Billboard’s Top 200 chart. That’s not too shabby for any artist breaking into the business, but at the age of 18, Branch’s accomplishments simply astound. Granted, other kiddie stars have climbed closer to the top of the countdown ladders, but Branch’s music is more of a slow, steady burn than a firecracker explosion—one gets the impression that she is here to stay.

Branch is not revolutionary in the vein of Maverick’s last breakout artist, Alanis Morisette, who refocused attention on female solo artists; rather, Branch ventures into well-worn territory, pushing outwards slightly on the edges of the path she treads. Her voice—fresh, controlled and similar to that of a fuller, richer Natalie Imbruglia has a touching frankness and honesty devoid of pretense. Throughout this 14-track outing, Branch muses openly and unapologetically about love. With lyrics sentimental but not saccharine, she opens up a soul obviously already mature. When describing such a precocious talent, it seems a shame to bandy about such an overused descriptor, but none other truly suffices.

The Spirit Room exudes a comfortable aura, feeling like a work from an artist in an assured, mid-career groove. Branch verbally muses and toys with, but isn’t compelled to express everything in her vast vocabulary all at once. Throughout this competent and eminently listenable album, one has to keep reminding oneself that she’s very young; too young to be this good.

Branch has obviously benefited greatly from the adroit producing hands of Jeff Shanks, who straps Branch’s voice and guitar centre stage, underscoring with hip-hop beats, richly textured orchestrations and densely ethereal atmospherics. Shanks gives a decidedly varied spin to jangle/folk-rock, but does almost too much; throughout, you wish he’d get out of the way and just let the kid sing. It’s a testament to Branch’s musical poise that she doesn’t get lost in the over-zealous mix. That said, the pairing of rolling acoustic guitar with a stuttering drum machine on the opening of the radio-smash “Everywhere” melds with surprisingly fluidity.

Radio-ready, percussive and power-chorded, it sets a spirited mood for the next offering, “You Get Me,” where Branch, slightly breathy and with a twinge of heartache in the leading edge of her voice, muses about being an outsider: “A little left of center” and “a little out of tune.” It’s comparatively stripped down and, not coincidentally, probably the album’s best track. Branch also shows hints of an alternate persona towards the album’s close. On “Drop in the Ocean,” gone is the infectious jaunt and impulse of earlier tracks, and in its place is a more tortured soul: Raw, brooding and foreboding. Branch uses her lower register to convey a wrenching sense of loss ,and when ascending into her upper register, she conjures the sound of Björk in her melancholy, perhaps the harbinger of darker releases forthcoming.

Despite Room’s inherent strengths, Alicia Keys (another new-ultra-young-woman-with-substance) will likely overshadow poor Miss Branch. Keys, positively ancient at 20 years of age, has been catapulted further into public attention. Her debut LP, Songs in A Minor, has gone double-platinum in less than three months, with a no less impressive, but certainly more well-publicized effort. Like her songs, Keys is sultry, confident and poised, but she lets her material speak instead of her figure. She and Branch seem to share a kinship in that they mark a return to musical, not image-driven stardom. It may have as much to do with the industry’s natural cycles as it does with the actual talents of Branch and Keys, but for the time being, their sound (and the change) is glorious.