Stuart Staples' shivering baritone is as haunting as ever on Tindersticks' ninth album, but it is David Boulter who opens the record, with the tender, spoken-word Chocolate. Twenty years on from their debut, and nine from their 2003 hiatus/lineup change, Tindersticks' maudlin, jazz-streaked music feels as vividly wearied as ever. Loss and a search for release suffuse the album: Show Me Everything's taut percussion and strip-tease bassline create an air of subdued desire, as Staples sings of "latex on my fingertips, we touch through glass, we feel nothing"; Medicine sends up a bleak, string-laden prayer for the refuge of that same numbness. It finds its dizzying, grief-stricken crux on Frozen, on which Terry Edwards' brass cranks up to psych-jazz speeds, and Staples knots himself into desperate lamentations before collapsing into soft, brush-tap tempos and cristal-baschet chimes for the album's final twinkling adieus.