Presumably to arrest a downward sales trajectory, James Blunt has re-enlisted Tom Rothrock, the producer of his successful earlier albums. But it's not the producer who needs changing; it's Blunt's own approach, which is increasingly threadbare – especially that little fluttery vocal tic that afflicts this album like a rash. To give him credit, Rothrock does a decent job of pumping life into Blunt's material, building a song such as "Bonfire Heart" from fingerstyle guitar opening to big, exultant conclusion by way of subtle accretions. Not that he has much to play with: maudlin plaints such as "Face the Sun" and "Sun on Sunday" are ironically bereft of light, while "Satellites", a clichéd lament for today's technologically mediated world, is simply insipid.
Download: Bonfire Heart; Postcards