How the hell do you describe Connan Mockasin? Seriously?

Sexy subterranean jazz? Sultry alternative pop? Low-octane, electronically slurred R&B? The musical expression of some deep and disturbing sensuality? Or in the peculiar case of this particular album, a simple sonic expression of caramel minus the real time calories?

Connan suggests the latter. He claims to have simply taken the word and expressed it. And yeah, the record is silky smooth. In fact, it's easy to spam-list a load of textural allusions; from the understated jazz rhythms, to the gluttonous resonance of the bass, to the slow-mo, sick-flow guitar jams, to that rich and sultry swagger partaken by the whole perverse ensemble.

But Caramel ain't just about mapping molecular structures. It's weirdly evocative, suggestive of a kind of sickly luxury, of pseudo-divine sensuality, of some semi-perverse erotica that gives the album a tang of adult innuendo. Given that half the tracks carry the title 'It's Your Body', it's evident that the connotations of caramel are stretched further than simple edible pleasures. Creeping amongst Mockasin's often indecipherable croons are mildly erotic sparks - talks of legs, love and dreams, squeezing, touching and teasing - all channelled through falsetto yelps and seductive warbling, caramel and the body locked in some freakily fetishized collision.

So yeah the album is weird, but certainly not silly. Executed with a cool and calm sleaze, we're reminded just how beyond-the-spectrum Mockasin's output is. Aside from the album's peculiar themes there's a genuine affinity with rich technical production; the ability to propel an instrument into a unique space, edging it beyond over-stomped soundscapes into a more visceral wilderness.

Connan's debut, Forever Dolphin Love, garnered a fairly consistent stream of critical acclaim. It's a very genuine enigma, full of lucid, barely concious transitions between low-octane melancholia and the more energetic throes of a warped psyche. It's got all the dramatic, climactic gloom of chamber-folk, further liquefied and enveloped in velvety jazz-haze. It's the exploration of some sub-concious state, every feature so intangible it can't be grasped, sanctioned or wholly digested.

Caramel shifts with same gestural swing, but does lack the debut's depths. It's beautiful, but recurring - we dive into the same sloshing pool of free thought, without reaching any startlingly new zones; a theme marvellously translated, but just a touch overplayed.

Still, however deep we dive, it still beats skimming the surface - it's mind zapping, it's heart-slowing, it's the coolest place to almost drown. Go cover yourself in caramel kids; it feels great.