Straight, no chaser.

Synth-beats overlay the stilted lyricism of Birmingham born Mr. Hudson's 'Straight No Chaser'; an androgynous Kanye-West prototypical R&B/alternative mish-mash. Fresh from the unsuccess of 2007's 'A tale of Two Cities', Mr. Hudson, the band - lead by the eponymous Mr. Hudson - have re-branded themselves for 2009; although how much 'the band' did is entirely unclear. Feels and looks like a solo project from all perspectives. The new album features heavy and clear cuts from both Kanye West's latest release - 808's & Heartbreak - and Dizzee Rascal's Maths + English. It's an album of up's and down's, from the instant-hit of the title-track, Straight No Chaser, to the hackneyed and cliché melancholy of Instant Messenger. The album borrows gratuitously from the stock of boy's own bedroom lyrics, and although there is a fresh twist on the quintessentially talentless verbiage the album seems to crest before it has begun.

The album meanders through the first two tracks - instantly recognisable clones of any modern-day R&B star - before gradually becoming more progressive and introspective. It's not until you hit There Will Be Tears that Hudson finally makes a break from West's heavy influence. You can hear him in the production, as well as the first single which he features on; heady and hedonistic synthesised vocals and repetitive chords played off against cold-cut, clean lyrics and interesting nuanced bridges. It's pleasurable, but mundane, to follow the archetypal course of the album: Start high and heavy, slow down, finish with a crescendo. There are moments of the sublime - the poignant (though startilingly similar to Lee Evans' finale in his most recent tour), if hackneyed, lyrics of Time: "And as your old man said: Good friends, well you can count them on one hand - they'll never judge you, whatever your crime, crime, crime."

It's when it reaches these peaks that you can appreciate the rawness underneath, and you can ignore the overproduction which is rampant throughout the mainstream genres at the moment. At the end of Time - excuse me - we see a delightful little piano interlude, bringing the album resoundingly to a close, but you've had to wait 35 minutes to get to such a moment of piquancy.

We all remember the anticipation preceding Little Boots' release, and the anti-climax when it turned out to be a wantonly overproduced slice of the bizarre; and we all remember the catchy and auto-hit beats of La Roux's Bulletproof, but also, stuck at the back of your mind, is that question: What could this have been?