It's been barely a year since the release of Singing Adams' debut Everybody Friends Now, but it's fair to say the group have been quiet. Ex-Broken Family Band man, Steven Adams has been nonchalant, posting quirky images on their website every few months, whilst fans of incandescent British indie-pop have been twiddling their thumbs waiting for December the 10th and the arrival of The Singing Adams' sophomore effort, Moves.

With the lack of activity, and a new album ousted so quickly, it's no surprise that this works on a very similar vein to its predecessor. And therefore Moves attracts the same questions about ambition. Whilst there's obviously nothing wrong with trying to hone certain types of song, what made Broken Family Band interesting was their ability to integrate perspectives, humour and variety in their storytelling. It was what made them stand-out from the otherwise congested crowd of rapscallions.

'No Rock Song' begins the record, aiming to throw you up against a pastel-coloured sunset of vocal harmonies, hand-percussion and luminous guitar melodies; a la Belle & Sebastian. After two minutes and forty seconds, we end on the line, "there will be no rock." Soon enough we're launched into the folk jam, 'Good Luck'.

Moves aims for accessibility as its cloak, and deeper ominous themes as its dagger. Although this is intriguing. it comes with compromise: the most transparent in this instance is the production. By the time that 'Good Luck' passes, it's apparent that no matter how hard that Melinda Bronstein strikes that cymbal, it's not going to carry. This doesn't bring out any more colour or character in the guitars and vocals, inversely, it does quite the opposite. Unfortunately, the sonic aesthetic consistently lacks character, and it just doesn't compliment Adams' writing.

"There's a hole in this, and we're looking right through it." 'Black Cloud' is a distinguished pop song with haunting motifs, simplistic instrumentation and subtle interchanging of chords. The lyrics fuel the fires of impending doom at the centre of Moves; yet function as a bastion of spiritual hope and change in perspective on the record. Along with leading single 'Dead End', and 'Building A Wall', it functions as a sun-stained pinnacle in the desperate day-to-day reality that Adams' is trying to portray.

It seems obvious that the strength of the band arrives in the form of vocal melody, themes within the writing and infectious phrasing, yet there doesn't seem to be too much emphasis on those elements. There are moments of broken effortlessness which feel far more organic than the countless quirky flashes that bookmark the album. 'London Trocadero' allows more aggressive elements to define its direction whilst letting Adams to quip about humourless confusion and "giving up". It's almost reminiscent of the slack-jaw nature of The Unicorns and other punk-rock from the early 2000s.

Rounds of melodic interaction on 'Theme from Moves' and concealed expansions of instrumentation display a broadening of horizons as the release begins to creep toward an end. Whether it's the incessant longing for company that we can hear throughout 'What Happens Now?' or the attempt to conjure something reflective with sombre objectives, you can't ignore the throwaway recline toward the end of Moves: another day has passed, and we're coming to terms with our broken reality.

Steven Adams possesses versatility as a songwriter, and shows once again on this record the meaningful songs he's capable of. However, it feels like this is an album which needed more time and thought to nurture its delicate ideas. Whether that was expanding on the desolate premise or merely moulding the same songs in slightly different ways, there just isn't enough in its finished product. Beyond the writing at Moves' behest, the production is flawed and flat throughout. Whenever I heard potentially rich songs like 'See You Around' creep by like a fart in a jar, I kept asking myself the question: what are they going for with that? The style is remarkably different to the rest of the artistic tones of the release, which are sometimes boorish in their frank nature.