The flagship lyric of new album—“Old flames burn out”—is its simplest and most poignant. Less angular than her self-titled 2009 breakthrough and even chiller than her synthy, summery ‘Trouble in Paradise,’ new record eases into easygoing trop-pop while only lightly recounting the dissolution of the 17-year relationship that preceded it. Sometimes it’s unsettlingly breezy, leaving the facts of the case (almost two decades!) more weighty than the actual music, but the breeze means she’s moving on quickly, it seems. 

True, there are your usual signs of a bad break—anxiety-fueled nights in the club (‘Lose Myself’) or pointed accusations of lying (‘Babyline’), but the album usually tip-toes around a rawness that would have benefited it greatly. ‘To Make Our Love’ is more powerful in the things it leaves unsaid, as she and her partner try their best to extend their relationship into “more than a passing phase.” But apart from this clear-eyed line, Jackson has trouble distilling the enormous scale into clear images, preferring anonymous snapshots of falling asleep on the phone. “Lately, our connection’s unclear.” That’s it? She seems to have relinquished herself to the timidity of putting the past behind you, as she spends ‘Your Lover’ worrying about the other woman’s feelings. “Rough ride, rough week,” she sighs. Come on, the first bit of ‘Bulletproof’ is more scorched-earth than this; instead of a seismic portion of your chipping away, you’d think Jackson’s singing about a fling.

The uncanny aspect is that Jackson seems more relaxed than ever on these easy-breezy jams; they’re bouncier and tighter than her past catalog, even if they’re missing the edge of some highlights of ‘Trouble in Paradise,’ its sunny sister album that similarly has an undercurrent of constant fretting. Here, she feels right at home on the UK street soul of ‘To Make Our Love’ and ‘Night Vision’; the dark R&B of ‘Cabin Fever’ suits the deeper register she employs most often on this album (not a lot of of that crystalline falsetto from ‘In For The Kill’ here), no matter her incoherent warnings to be “careful what you spread around making my toast.” Even ‘Falling,’ which borrows from Fabiana Palladino-like 80s sophisti-pop sheen, prefers to croon rather than cry. Bookending the album with resignation in her voice, “Old flames burn out” is a shrug—miles away from the rage and pain typically associated with a devastating breakup. But everyone processes grief in different ways. Can’t complain about using it to make a welcome collection of easy hits.

7/10