Lawrence Arabia’s cult status is built upon the avoidance of many clichés that will haunt those attributed the title of “singer songwriter” till long after CERN’s Large Hadron Collider eventually kills us all, sometime next month. Instead of earnestly pining about girls over an acoustic guitar to reverent audiences of chin-stroking bores, New Zealander James Milne (for that is he) and a kick-ass band toured the life out of his second LP Chant Master to the delight of crowds more prone to rapturous dancing rather than introspective beard fondling. It was an appropriate reaction to a set of songs that yes, might have been largely about girls, but were also catchy, borderline anthemic in places, and often funny as hell.

Lawrence Arabia gigs were never anything but a party. On record however, the songs of Chant Master displayed a more distant, woozy quality in preference to the vigour of their live incarnations, sometimes to great effect, occasionally to their slight detriment. What’s most noticeable about The Sparrow on first listen is that it’s comparatively far truer to his live sound – a fine development – even though the songs on it are far less immediate than on its cheeky, hook-laden predecessor.

Though charming opener ‘Travelling Shoes’ displays that same knowing grin you imagine the majority of Chant Master was sung through, on first encounter at least it certainly seems The Sparrow is a far more downcast affair. The jokes are less thick and fast, or maybe just told by a tongue thrust even further into his cheek than before, making them tougher to spot. There’s none of the outright glee of ‘Fine Old Friends’ or ‘Apple Pie Bed’ here, and in many respects the more subdued but equally luscious Sparrow acts like the flip side to its precursor – it’s tempting to think of the two as a double LP, given the distinctly different aspects to a musical personality they display, and the fact that their combined running time barely touches 70 minutes.

A second listen however is a revelation. Songs you thought hadn’t left much of an impression have actually camped in your psyche, kicked off their shoes and are just opening their first tin of beer by the time you’re back for round two. It’s a remarkable first revisit effect which only gets more rewarding with each return – a testament to the durability of Lawrence Arabia’s songwriting. The peaks and troughs of the album’s moods become more extreme as you gain familiarity, the playfulness of ‘The Listening Times’ at its start contrasting with the darker, compositional masterclass of ‘Legends’ at its end to eventually dazzling effect. The Sparrow’s dark humour reaches its peak on its curious centrepiece ‘The Bisexual’, which sees Milne adopting the eponymous character to deliver lines like “there’s an argument that says everyone is a little bit, y’know…” in a manner that might look crass on paper, yet on record comes across as oddly engaging. The guy knows a lot about delivery.

The brass laden dirge of ‘Dessau Rag’ aside, The Sparrow is an album paradoxically concerned with classic songwriting whilst still seemingly despising of singer-songwriter clichés. There’s an increasing Lennon-McCartney-esque vibe to proceedings (try hearing ‘Bicycle Ride’ without expecting the next lyric to be “Because the world is round it turns me ooooonnnn….”), but you certainly get the impression that this increasingly mature approach has Lawrence Arabia heading less in the direction of ‘The Frog Chorus’ and closer towards an ‘Eleanor Rigby’ moment. There’s certainly enough to The Sparrow to suggest he might just have one in him.

Listen to The Sparrow