Goldfrapp: 'Seventh Tree'

Being the perverse, restlessly creative soul that she is, Alison Goldfrapp was never going to play the dominatrix for long. Alongside Will Gregory, her reclusive musical partner, she crafted a hyper-sexual, hit-stuffed blend of glam and disco for 2005's Supernature, selling a million albums as a reward. However, the "revved up musical intensity" of their sound soon cowed Goldfrapp and Gregory, compelling them to replace it with something "dreamy and rural" for this follow-up album. A ballsy move, but the top ten success of recent single 'A&E' suggests pop fans are willing to embrace the change.

Though its warped, folky electronica is more subdued than the dance stylings of Supernature, Seventh Tree still sounds like a Goldfrapp album. The cinematic strings of 'Clowns' and 'Cologne Cerrone Houdini' are reminiscent of Felt Mountain, the duo's 2000 debut, while the fairytale folk of 'Happiness' could be a more reflective moment from 2003's Black Cherry. Goldfrapp's new musical template is bracing nonetheless: a wistful, often beautiful, amalgamation of strings, acoustic guitars and sparse electronica, all held together by Goldfrapp's multi-tracked, Kate Bush-style vocals. With this new sound - post-coitally sensual rather than groin-grindingly lusty - the Seventh Tree tour is unlikely to feature that highlight of past Goldfrapp gigs: the sight of Alison thrusting a theremin between her legs.

Nevertheless, Goldfrapp is on ribald form, filling Seventh Three with an assortment of semi-enunciated murmurs, coquettish purrs and hushed, intimate revelations. This album houses her most revealing lyrics to date, with 'Clowns' taking a pop at surgically-enhanced glamour models - "Only clowns would play with those balloons, what d'ya wanna look like Barbie for?" – and the poignant 'Eat Yourself' offering a truly heartbreaking pay-off: "How can I love you when I know you don't love me?" Elsewhere, Goldfrapp references fanatical travellers, alternative therapy hucksters and journalists who are obsessed with her age, sounding like a woman relieved to be getting it all off her (un-balloon-like, 41-year-old) chest.

Though Seventh Tree is a strange, otherworldly listen, even featuring the peculiar sound of a 17th century steel-strung harp on 'Road To Somewhere', it's far from inaccessible. In fact, the rollicking piano pop of 'Caravan Girl' is a smash-in-waiting if radio programmers are feeling adventurous. Goldrapp might not have a theremin between her legs these days, but here she sounds sexier than ever: warm, confident, comfortable in her skin. For that reason, Seventh Tree might just be the duo's best album yet.