Respite too comes from the orchestral flutters of Thieves, Isadore’s snarling guitars and Switchblade’s opening rhythmic attack: these tracks give the album’s plodding, soul-searching air a much-needed injection of energy. 'We are all tomorrow’s food, today,' he croons on Tomorrow’s Food – no doubt some existential angst-inspired comment on the, like, modern world, or something – and 'I was lost but now I am found' on In the Company of Wolves, which despite its incredibly cringe-worthy storytelling is actually one of the album’s more interesting efforts musically, thanks to an unexpectedly dark breakdown and some scratchy, squealing riffage. Reports that he still has that infamous six-pack, however, remain unconfirmed.

Mid-tempo, canyon-sized epics fill the record, driven by soaring soulful vocals from nu-metal pin-up-boy Brandon Boyd who, as most middle-aged, tattooed American rockers tend to do, has developed a bad case of the hippie lyrics. Subsequently we fully expect reactions to it to vary from peeved and disillusioned (fans) to passed-out in a coma (the rest of the world). Not a crime, of course, if it’s done with intelligence, killer melodic know-how and some kind of tangible emotion, but Incubus don’t manage any of these with their latest offering. Seventh studio opus If Not Now, When? is a sedate, pristinely produced offering, closer in spirit to the U2s and Coldplays of ‘alternative’ music than their early heavy-riffing counterparts. Incubus used to be a rock band, right? You wouldn’t know it from listening to them these days.

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