Something else to join the ranks of supermarket shelf perfection: for the housewives, the out of touch middle-ager and the harassed exec who can only get in touch with modern music through the aisle at Tescos. And that isn’t meant in a derogatory manner. Jack Johnson’s new album should take pride of place among the Adeles and Kate Nashs for attaining an enviable place in the world of music; an album that’s pretty hard to take offence against. That is, unless, you’ve already received ASBOs for offences against flickering acoustics and vocals so soporific they could put nocturnal creatures to sleep.Hawaiian born Johnson returns with a fresh batch of songs so laid back they’re practically horizontal; the relaxed lifestyle from deep in the Pacific permeates through pianos as gentle as waves lapping against the shore and drums that rustle like palms in the warm evening. The lush greenness of his background translates into ecological awareness and is a fundamental part of the record, most notably as the album is recorded using solar power. However, beneath the peaceful veneer, one can detect a darker side to Johnson’s lyrics; concerns about the state of the world are all too evident on title track Sleep Through The Static (“who needs police when we’ve got guns?”) and his responsibilities as a dad of two show on Home (“I’ve got to get home, there’s a garden to tend.”)

And yet, I do find something offensive about this album; it seems all too easy for Johnson to slip back into this undemanding role as purveyor of easy listening classics, as this album in no way deviates from his norm.

However, you can’t deny he’s good at what he does, and why should that change?

Miranda Thompson

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