Daughter of Syl Johnson, best known for the classic Is It Because I'm Black, Syleena is, sadly, moving gradually further away from crafting her own classic. Her debut was an intermittently great wallow in the pain of a break-up; her voice a strikingly individual, deep and garnet-hued thing. But that individuality has drained away, leaving the bedroom soul of this third record cooing and woo-wooing with generic blankness.

There is, of course, a ludicrous raft of producers - including R Kelly and Kanye West - who between them can't conjure more than slick homogeneity. A couple of songs towards the album's close, particularly the Philly-ish shuffle Still Open, suggest something more substantial but, melodically and lyrically, banality remains the order of the day, with occasional forays into more gruesome territory, as on the wincingly awful Phone Sex. "Can you see me in a red thong?" she pants. Unfortunately, yes.