Strings and expensive-sounding gloss are applied by producer Bernard Butler but unfortunately it's Duffy-era Butler, rather than the sweeping soul of his mid-90s David McAlmont collaborations.

Largely, though, Nesbitt's teenage insights are buried in functional, anodyne pop music.

The sextet's debut album is too empty to excite, its odder, quieter moments all but smothered by windy rock. A shame.

Goldwing is just too canonical to tell us anything novel about either heartland or heart.

Embrace's populist sensibilities remain intact: stadium-friendly choruses rise up and grab you by the throat at every opportunity.

For anyone not instantly sold on gravel-voiced Americana, it’ll feel like hard work.

While the results are unfailingly envelope-pushing, coherent songs are few; Zipperface comes closest, but too often tracks go off on tangents just as momentum is building.

Track after track leans heavily on the relentless four-to-the-floor of trance, with Alice Glass's yelped vocals muffled under a weight of sound that's simultaneously boring and abrasive.

There are just too many pop stars here (Pink, Beyoncé, Kehlani) wailing anodyne hooks over glutinous beats. Perhaps the biggest problem with Revival – as with many latterday Eminem records – is the struggle of an intelligent fortysomething artist to evolve while somehow remaining true to the demands of his sniggery core audience of alienated males.

Professor Green’s whiny rap and the tired chart-house riff detract from the power of the narrative.

Flamagra is too considered, burdened, and what were once cosmic, mind-expanding polyrhythms come over as inconsequential and annoying.

It’s best when the pace picks up on the likes of Oh Woman Oh Man , with its rousingly multitracked chorus, or the crisp groove of Non Believer, but mostly it sounds like the same long, portentous chillout sesh.

It really says something when the desolate ballads (Morning Show) and spoken-word interludes on an Iggy Pop record are the tracks you want to go back to. It feels like elsewhere, Pop is impersonating himself.