When Paul Weller writes, “Get your face off the facebook and turn off the phone/the death of the post box/nowhere feels home,” he is condemning his own work. This album feels homeless, aimless – a man unable to innovate because of the weight of his own influence, history and spectacular back catalogue. It could be argued that this album is timeless and it would be if it were written in 1972, but instead it sounds desperate, dated, and a last gasp at something Weller hit on years ago. Without irony or a nod to whimsy the classic mod vibe isn’t post modern, it’s just boring – and kind of sad.