Jamiroquai’s eighth album straddles two traditional scenarios: a dystopian, digital future and booze-soaked sunny days spent spying on sophisticated ladies. Set to the sounds of French touch, disco funk, Tron movie scores and Bond-style strings, there are agitated prophecies – such as on synth onslaught Automaton – and libidinous love songs: he worships at the feet of a cosmopolitan female on Summer Girl, while Hot Property is about a woman whose mind is so sharp that “she just killed a man”.
While his energies might have waned (his voice on the chemically addled Dr Buzz is particularly fried), the spooky groove of We Can Do It and the chintzy jazz-lite of Vitamin revive the classic traits of his early career. Despite some naff phrases, dodgy song titles and a lot of robotic trickery, during times of grim austerity, the return of Jay Kay’s elite, escapist lifestyle – full of fast cars, fast girls and big bulldozing basslines – offers a flash of ostentatious fun.
