If you can get past the self-deprecating cover with Smith as a leather-jacketed, sunglass-wearing and sax-tootin’ dude then you’ll find a whole range of styles on show. The songs are either Harry Nilsson-styled piano barroom tales, Jack White keening blues, Dylan-esque wordplay or loose-hip Stonesey rock ’n’ roll. It all adds up to a varied album, and yes there is a hint of pastiche about it all, but for the most part Smith places his songs in the present day – singing about panic attacks, refugees, religion and young and bearded hipster girlfriend thieves. He’s gathered a great group of players on an album that perhaps lacks depth by way of its delivery yet is still an entertaining listen.

Chris Familton