The fourth studio album by the criminally underrated No-Man sees them navigating a slippery, light-footed semi-surreal path between art-pop and trip-hop via menacing night-time songs of obsession, disillusion, mortality, the pangs of corroded love affairs and the victimhood of fame. Multi-instrumentalist Steven Wilson (Porcupine Tree) and sensuously vulnerable singer Tim Bowness are occasionally joined by Richard Barbieri (Japan, JBK, Porcupine Tree), Robert Fripp and Mel Collins (King Crimson) on a moody, fragmented odyssey through dark hours of the soul. Even if there's no particular homecoming in sight, and no obvious answers to the plaguing questions and doubts, the journey's studded with unforgettable, bleak lyrical imagery and graced by persistently excellent music. If Tricky had hankered to be Scott Walker, if King Crimson had locked horns with Massive Attack, if AR Kane had eaten ABC; if the Wu-Tang's RZA had hatched plots with Bowie, or if "Dummy" had been made by Can with David Lynch in the producer's chair... well, they might have come up with this record, but I doubt that they would've done it as well as No-Man have.