And now young Gazza does what it is written that all pop puppets must do three albums into their career and gets all serious on us. This – of course – means guitars, ‘roads’ that are inevitably ‘long’ (but not ‘winding’) and lots of stuff about how he’s, like, not a pop puppet anymore. Musically it’s tougher than you might expect, veering close to – gasp! – Keane territory, but vocally he still sounds like a junior Westlife member. Plus there are no songs about what it’s like to have a heavily pregnant Jordan sit on your face, which is inexcusable, really.
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