This is not an album that will please fans of Ashcroft's former band, The Verve.
There is none of the brooding intensity, none of the symphonic magic that some felt 'Urban Hymns' possessed. In their place, we have an unambiguously sentimental love album, dedicated to Ashcroft's wife Kate Radley.
In their place, we also have music that is designed to smother, to sedate, to lull the listener into a soporific state of boredom. The songs are plodding, acoustic affairs - vaguely reminiscent of Gram Parsons' inspired country-rock with The Byrds and Flying Burrito Brothers, but crucially lacking Parsons' soul.
Indeed, the easy-listening steel guitar and sweeping strings on most of "Alone With Everybody" have far more in common with the MOR West Country sound of The Eagles and Joe Walsh than any tormented white boy cult figure.
That's the problem with happiness, though. It's so difficult to create any sort of resonant music when you have a smile on your face and all is right with the world. The up-beat singles, "A Song For The Lovers" and "Money To Burn", may mean plenty to Mrs Ashcroft, but they singularly fail to strike an emotional chord with anyone on the outside.
On the odd occasion that the singer does venture back into old Oasis/Verve territory "C'mon People (We're Making It Now)", the psychedelic, lyrically childish "New York"- he sounds half-hearted, like his heart is no longer in it.
The insouciant swagger of old has been replaced by a jangling guitar and a tranquil atmosphere, the scratched old Rolling Stones records have been swapped for an IKEA catalogue and a subscription to the local gold club.
Great for Mr and Mrs Ashcroft and their offspring, doubtless. But it's rather a shame for the rest of us. Rock could do with its maverick outsiders right now, and Ashcroft seems to be rather gracefully giving up his crown now that he's achieved success. File alongside any of McCartney's Eighties albums.
