La Roux’s second record Trouble In Paradise was undeniably going to be a difficult one. That’s not quite in the sense of the ‘difficult second album syndrome’ that we in the music media are guilty of referring to a little too often, but more literally in terms of the arduous five years that have passed since the duo’s (now sans producer Ben Langmaid) debut record was released.

Label interference, the departure of Langmaid and severe anxiety, which physically prevented Elly Jackson from singing, all contributed to the length of time between drinks for La Roux. And yet for what it’s worth every one of those reasons for the delay is what has undoubtedly contributed towards Trouble In Paradise’s brilliance.

While Jackson is now a solo act, most listeners who fail to pay more than a cursory glance won’t be able to tell that La Roux is down a member (or was a ‘band’ in the first place). The frontwoman has always been the face of La Roux and there’s nothing quite so obvious about the direction of Trouble In Paradise that hints towards any drastic changes either.

Because on the face of it Trouble In Paradise sounds just like any good second record should. Extending on the synth-pop that defined her debut La Roux’s signature sound is this time intertwined with instruments that provides an infectious disco groove, which is complimented by the warmth of tropicana on its back.

Take opener ‘Uptight Downtown’ for example. It immediately greets you with jangly guitars before an embracing synth chimes in belong side it as if to quickly remind you of the backbone role it plays.

But in the absence of Langmaid Jackson’s transition to solo act is most notable when she assumes the role of a pop enigma with a fearless and prominent stance.

She beholds the mysterious quality of ambiguous sexuality that has been missing in pop music for some time. Sure, Jackson’s aesthetics have always been defined by her androgynous looks, but lyrically speaking she allows La Roux to convincingly communicate in a number of roles on behalf of any sexuality.

On ‘Sexotheque’ the singer details the infidelity of a man who wants to hit up where the “red light shines bright” while his partner “wants to know what it’s like to settle down”.

Things are less clean cut on ‘Cruel Sexuality’ though. The album highlight’s throbbing synths and a tail end breakdown, which has Jackson crooning repetitively you make me happy in my everyday life, why must you keep me in your prison at night?” has already led some to draw conclusions from the vague inferences to her own sexuality.

But as Jackson told newspaper News Of The World in 2010, “I don’t have a sexuality. I don’t feel like I’m female or male. I don’t belong to the gay or straight society, if there is such a thing. I feel like I’m capable of falling in love with other people. I’m not saying I’m bisexual, I’m just sexual!”

She is just sexual and for much of Trouble In Paradise it’s less about the whom and more about the generality of sexuality. In that sense Jackson taps into a broad audience. Regardless of labels the frontwoman’s words have the ability to relate to just about anybody.

However when Jackson does become more specific on the heartbreaking almost six-minute-long-ballad ‘Let Me Down Gently’ she demonstrates just how far she has come from La Roux’s 2009 debut.

While heartache defined much of that album it’s less prominent on Trouble In Paradise and it has done wonders for her ability to hit a high level of emotional resonance when she does tackle the subject. ‘Let Me Down Gently’ packs a far greater punch than anything she’s ever written before.

Just as elsewhere the personal anguish and pulsing urgency of ‘Silent Partner’ is more convincing than anything on La Roux.

Still, while La Roux was a solid debut album the ageing process hasn’t been so kind to it. By Jackson’s own admission to The Guardian it sounds “tinny, anaemic”.

Which is a fate that Trouble In Paradise seems unlikely to fall prey to. While there’s no doubt that adding more instrumentation has provided a human warmth and evened out the sometimes robotic qualities of their debut it’s the sonically darker moments that allows for an important display of variety.

While ‘Paradise Is You’ builds towards airy synths the Grimes-esque ‘Oblivion’ beats of ‘Tropic Chancer’ and 80s electronics of ‘Silent Partner’ are there to counter it.

More incidental though is Jackson’s change in vocal style. The lack of shrill falsetto, which characterised her debut, has been replaced for what could be interpreted as a more subtle and confident evolution in style.

In truth it had more to do with her anxiety affected voice restricting her ability to sing falsetto as she tells The Guardian in that same interview.

Nonetheless Jackson sounds far more seasoned and as a result there’s barely a dull moment on the record.

‘Kiss And Not Tell’ might be a little too saccharine for its own good and closer ‘The Feeling’ almost sounds like it came from the soundtrack to an infomercial. Yet these tracks are far from bad enough to drag the album down.

There’s nothing on Trouble In Paradise that sounds definitively like a chart hit like ‘Bulletproof was in 2009 and while that song seems resigned to supermarket radio as a yesteryear nostalgia trip Jackson has given La Roux not just a sophomore record that will sustain remembrance of her act, but  an LP that will stand out far more distinctly in the pop annals.

Trouble In Paradise is out now via Universal Music.

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