Pitchfork

"The Time of Times", the penultimate song on Damon Gough's fifth album in six years, recycles the chord progression and guitar melody from "The Shining", the first song on his first album, 2000's justly loved The Hour of Bewilderbeast. The obvious bit of self-reference is a disheartening representation of how much this once-promising Brit has squandered his potential. Whereas winsome cello and french horn-laden orchestration introduced "The Shining" with a welcome dose of humble folksiness, "The Time of Times" is blown-out and schmaltzy, with busy tap-tap percussion competing with crass strings and bumptious piano. Even worse, "The Time of Times" is one of the more listenable moments on Born in the U.K.

With its rah-rah title, well-manicured production, and simplified themes of love and loss, the new album is a blatant rush at England's pop charts. Moving from indie XL to biggie EMI in his native country, Gough gets caught up in his own chart ambitions, leaving the music suffering somewhere underneath. Continuing the downward critical trajectory of his now-rancid output, Born is his blandest, most non-descript offering yet. Even the so-so Have You Fed the Fish? seems like a masterpiece in comparison to the downtrodden piano banalities that slosh all over this latest nadir. To realize his LCD vision, the cloth-hatted troubadour taps into the easy-listening ivory drones of Billy Joel, Burt Bacharch, and Elton John at their appeasing worst. Furthermore, every speck of the songwriter's Hobbit-like wackiness and humor is flushed out in favor of meaningless nuggets of Dr. Phil babble that would even have Zach Braff's eyes rolling.

Though never a great lyricist, Gough once managed to cover his more embarrassing couplets with unpredictable stylistic switch-ups and a bevy of sparkling instrumentals. Since his early EPs and debut LP, though, his gags-per-song count has escalated, reaching its unfortunate peak on Born. Though he was on the Springsteen bandwagon well before Bruce's current "it" influence status, Gough displays none of the Boss' hearty drama here. At his most potent, Springsteen managed to hit on universal truths by way of remarkably on-target specifics, e.g. the fully-fleshed Shakespearean theatrics of "Jungleland". But, like the Killers, Gough seemingly wants to hit on Springsteen-ian angst without having to worry about such time-consuming details. So we get a deluge of gutless broadsides buried under years of overuse. The flat, mid-tempo "Degrees of Separation" attempts to overcome ambiguous relationship troubles with lines like "even though there's no way out, we'll find one" and "I'll be by your side, believe me." Cornball ballad "Promises" has Gough wondering, "But how will we carry on/ When all of these things have gone?" where the "things" are lazily undefined. While there's something to be said for allowing listeners to fill in songwriting blanks with their own experience it's generally useless when the accompanying music is this piddling.

Talking about his heightened populist bent, Gough recently said, "I don't really wanna be James Blunt... with mediocre material that makes it to No. 1. But... I've come 'round to thinking, well, actually, you can't fault what he's done." And, after Born, this half-hearted, anti-critical justification seems desperate. Whether Gough will make it to No. 1 has yet to be seen, but there's no question about his close proximity to Blunt-style mediocrity. The closing lines of the album once again have him singing Springsteen. "And if we still don't have a plan," he says, "We'll listen to 'Thunder Road'." But if he hopes to snap his streak of blah bromides, Gough will have to produce more than empty reference points.