(Gingerbread Man Records)
Plodding, genre-hopping songs all end up as unimaginative ballads, their dreary lyrics littered with gibberish – though Sheeran’s hooks remain strong on his second album this year
You may be yet to consider Ed Sheeran for the position of modern-day national bard but, on the face of it, he’s a strong contender. He’s got the relevance and clout – the 32-year-old is by many metrics the most popular artist in this country, and has been for the past decade – and he’s got the persona: his entire public identity might be summed up as “utterly unremarkable British bloke” (albeit one with atypically evangelical self-belief in his own troubadouring). To top it all off, Sheeran is back with his latest affectionate portrait of his homeland in the form of England, the second track on his seventh album, Autumn Variations.
There is, however, one small problem. England has to be one of the most mind-numbingly banal paeans poor old Blighty has ever been subject to. “I find this country of mine gets a bad reputation for being cold and grey,” croons Sheeran, an odd complaint considering he’s halfway through an overwhelmingly dreary catalogue of coastal sights: “broken glass and train lines”, the “pub with a flag that’s working flexible hours” (whatever that means) and “only one road sign, telling cars to slow down”.
