I always defended Keane on the basis that, unlike Coldplay, they seemed not only content with, but proud of, their ability to write huge, radio-friendly tear-jerkers, rather than nursing deluded ambitions about chin-stroking artistic statements that would, supposedly, be of greater merit than “mere” pop. This defence relied for the little assent that it received on their continuing to write such songs. What’s gone wrong here is that (a) they’ve pitched up in Berlin and decided they’re Bowie — squiggles, squelches and sonic trickery abound, but not once do they add to the music — and (b) they have forgotten (The Lovers Are Losing and You Don’t See Me excepted) what they’re great at. The girlie “ooohs” on Spiralling are bad enough; the shrill, Ashes to Ashes-aping Better Than This is even worse. For now, at least, that defence lies in tatters.

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