Sometimes, an album does exactly what it says on the tin. Bloc Party‘s seventh album is entitled Anatomy Of A Brief Romance, and that’s exactly what it is. Following the break up of his 11 year long relationship, Kele Okereke embarked on an intense liaison with a new man, one that didn’t last too long but obviously made quite the mark on the singer.

So this is a concept album and a break-up album all in one. Beginning with a track named after the date that the couple met and then dealing with, in order, the rush of new love, then seeing the cracks in the facade set in, before the painful break-up.

It’s obviously intensely personal, with many of the lyrics feeling like they’ve been ripped from Okereke’s personal diary. What may intrigue long-term fans though is the credit of the legendary Trevor Horn on production duties. It’s an intriguing choice for a band so firmly associated with sharp, angular post-punk riffs, and you can sense the musical departure from the first track.

That opening song is a sombre, atmospheric prologue to what to come. Horn’s influence is obvious from the start, with some glistening synths underpinning Okereke’s voice as he tells the tale of when he first set eyes on his new paramour. From here, we’re straight into the giddiness of intoxicating new romance, and it feels almost old-school Bloc Party.

Coming On Strong boasts some classic Russell Lissak guitar licks, although even at this early stage there are some red flags beginning to appear (“He shows me creep shots he took of me, before we’d even been introduced”). Pigwig has an infectious kinetic energy running through it, as Okereke describes an early date on the beach.

From there though, it’s a steady decline for the new couple – a decline that’s picked apart by Okereke. Worst Birthday Ever details a disastrous meeting with his partner’s homophobic, bullying family, while the incessantly catchy Not Your Problem covers the aftermath of the break-up, such as music that can no longer be listened to.

While it’s an ambitious concept that grabs the attention immediately, there are some definite weaknesses with Anatomy Of A Brief Romance. Okereke’s lyrics can, not for the first time, seem a bit cringeworthy – such as Pigwig’s cry of “My baby’s obsessed with podcasts on success” and general cliches like “Every day is such a vibe”. Also, it’s undeniable that Okereke’s vocal stylings can be, shall we say, a bit divisive. His half-spoken, half-sung style, and tendency to enunciate every word in every line can become grating after a while (although thankfully there’s nothing quite as irritating as Alpha Games‘ Callum Is A Snake).

The main issue with Anatomy Of A Brief Romance is that, listened to in one session (as it’s obviously intended to be), it becomes a bit exhausting. Break-ups are, by their very nature, personal but there’s a danger that listening to track after track of Okereke analysing every last detail of where this relationship went wrong can feel a bit like navel-gazing. The best break-up albums should feel universal – at times Anatomy Of A Brief Romance feels like it’s sailing close to self-indulgence.

However, while there’s nothing that comes close to recreating the thrill of Silent Alarm or A Weekend In The City, it’s still a mature and absorbing portrait of heartbreak, with Horn’s influence adding a glossy sheen to the band’s sound. Twenty-one years after their debut, they remain a band determined to evolve.