oul is a funny thing. There is a common assumption that it is a pre-requisite for "good music" to have soul. However, there are some artists that make us rethink this. With their self-titled 1998 debut, and 2000’s classic The Facts of Life, Black Box Recorder has successfully reinvented the term "soulless" as one of endearment.

For this listener, soul has never been that big an issue. After all: coldness, cynicism, goofing around to avoid emotional contact – it’s all part of the human spectrum - and it’s just as fascinating to observe as someone "laying it bare." However, even those who are more fussy about their emotional content may be won over by this.

Because while there are no drastic changes on BBR’s fourth release, this is a slightly more upbeat affair than the two records that preceded it. Previously happy to build his scathing witticisms over mid-paced, melancholy guitar-and-synth-pop, songwriter Luke Haines (also the brains behind indie mainstays The Auteurs) takes his project to the discotheque on more than one occasion here. Think a more cynical Pet Shop Boys, with an ice maiden taking over vocal duties.

That ice maiden being the great Sarah Nixey, of course. Was there ever a vocal delivery so cold and controlled? Certainly not many that spring to mind, but her deliciously empty presence is everywhere on this record. Opener, "The School Song" is possibly the best track. Nixey does her best haughty headmistress / dominatrix impression ("You’re weak and spoiled / Look at you" / "This is an educational establishment / not a night club") over a deliriously catchy piece of synthetic disco-pop.

"The New Diana" finds Haines at his most subversive, lacing a slab of Destiny’s Child-style r’n’b with his acidic sense of humour ("I want to be the new Diana / lying on a yacht reading photo magazines / visiting the shore occasionally"). Funniest of all is "Andrew Ridgley", a devoted fan letter to the former Wham Star ("I never liked George Michael much / although they said he was the talented one"). Tongues are planted firmly in cheeks, but it remains strangely touching. Musically speaking, "These are the Things" is the pick of the bunch, a gloriously melancholic partner to the Pet Shop Boys’ "It’s a Sin."

There is more characteristically Black Box Recorder material to be found elsewhere. "British Racing Green" and closer "I Ran All the Way Home" are classic Haines balladry: all shimmering guitars, tinkling xylophones and breathy female vocals. Irresistible, frankly.

The album is not quite a match for The Facts of Life, then, but a more than adequate follow-up. Any attempts to find a heart here will prove fruitless, but when the tunes are this good, it would be foolish to resist.