John Squire's debut album, Time Changes Everything, proved that being a great guitarist in a great band doesn't stop you sounding like you spend your nights drinking bleach. And on this second album, the desire to run screaming from Squire's gruff, bizarre voice is overwhelming.

Despite trying to appropriate Bowie's arch-twang and inject a little of Jim Morrison's grubby sexuality into his Northern soul, he sounds like a laryngitis-stricken Danny McNamara from Embrace. Even Squire appears embarrassed by his sound: the vocals are so low you can barely hear them above the bluesy bass and rumbling retro melodies.

For this album, Squire has turned to American realist Edward Hopper for inspiration. Hopper specialised in depicting characters from depression-era America and hinting at the tragedy behind normality. Sadly, songs like Automat and Cape Cod Morning only reveal Squire's disastrous lack of direction.

He mangles lyrics, stripping away every nuance of sensitivity, replacing it with would-be anthemic cliches. His guitar playing remains sublime and there's a warmth to these songs, but it's not enough to rescue this MOR mess.