The hashtag #accidentalpartridge is fired at those on Twitter who make comments unwittingly reminiscent of Alan Partridge's turtlenecked patter. It could be stickered to this third album by stadium-aspiring London trio White Lies – overwrought metaphors like "she was a first-time caller but a long-time listener" yearn to be sung at the wheel of a Lexus on a Norfolk A-road. But as in the work of Simon Le Bon and Jim Kerr, an amalgam of which singer Harry McVeigh theatrically channels, dumb lyrics can be mitigated by robust anthems. The title track throbs with Patrick Bateman slickness and ennui, featuring the finest of many killer choruses, with Getting Even and single There Goes Our Love Again also particularly strong; the backing is 80s Big Music wed to Depeche Mode's techno precision and the occasional bit of polite cock-rock raunch. Alan would love it.