Put one way, a “song cycle” is a series of art songs (“lieder”) with lyrics by a single poet on a unified theme. They are often both romantic and Romantic. Put another way, and if one has recently attended New York Theatre Workshop’s “Songs From an Unmade Bed,” a song-cycle is cabaret without the banter; a one-man musical without a dramatic engine.

Taken individually, or even in chunks of five or so, pieces from the new cycle sound delightful. But a lack of variation in timing, performance, and style keeps it all in low gear for too long. Charming song succeeds charming song, but, at the forty-five minute mark, the charm begins to wear off.

Sticking to form, the “Songs” all come from a single pen, of lyricist Mark Campbell. He takes one man’s New York love life as his theme, the musings of the average, gay Joe on the scene. Mixing things up a bit (and spreading out his risk), Mr. Campbell has a different composer set each poem. The strategy isn’t particularly revolutionary (“The Audience” at the Connelly just did it last month), but it does promise a tempting musical smorgasbord.

Mr. Campbell’s preferred tone is “light desperation.” Whether consumed by boredom and loneliness or failed relationship, his songs duck happiness. Though often very clever, some numbers refuse to realize their potential: They get in one good line before getting stuck. For instance, “I miss New York / and I live here” starts with a great whimper, but ends without a bang.

With so many different composers at work, the similarity between pieces is a little disappointing. Jake Heggie’s “The Other, Other Woman” has a good Mae West-style blare to it, but many pieces sound interchangeable. Far and away the best song of the evening, “Oh to be Stupid Again” comes, shamingly enough, from Duncan Sheik. Hang your heads, musical theater writers: Mr. Sheik is an indie rocker who made his splash by putting a song on “ER.”

It’s up to one fellow, Michael Winther, to interpret the lot. Our soloist spends a lot of time bouncing on and off his oversized bed, waking up on Neil Patel’s muffled, soft-white set, and basking in the light shining from variously shaded white fixtures. The pajama-ed three-man band does excellent work with their white piano and music stands. Unfortunately, Mr. Winther doesn’t supply the missing color.

Though his light, pop-ready voice sounds lovely in the quieter bedroom numbers, it gives out when taxed. When Debra Barsha finally gives him a chance to growl on “He Never Did That Before,” or Gihieh Lee sends his voice too high, Mr. Winther sounds out of his depth. Without a legit sound, or even a convincing belt, the “genre” songs get short shrift. But it’s not just Mr. Winther’s voice that prefers the intimate moments – his whole manner is better suited to them. He is better at giving up moments then seizing them.

In Mr. Campbell’s song cycle, a man wanders dateless in the city. Perhaps this rather confused evening of music, largely undistinguished (but with occasional gems) perfectly evokes city dating. Looking for love in New York is like hiring eighteen composers: There are a lot of guys to choose from, but only one or two ever work out.

Until June 26 (79 E. 4th Street, between Bowery and Second Avenue, 212-239-6200).