Tim Bowness displays a stunning change of pace with Powder Dry

‘ A damaged one-trick pony, whose trick is known too well ,’ croons Tim Bowness on the haunted and haunting This Way Now from his eighth solo album. His lyrics have never, across an expansive 37-year musical career, shied from grandiose self-flagellation. But if anybody had him pigeonholed as the master of epic melancholy, they’re in for a shock.

Because Powder Dry is like nothing he’s done before. Perhaps it’s signing to a new label; perhaps it’s just a rush of fresh inspiration. Even Steven Wilson – longtime pal and No-Man colleague – has said it’s the singer’s “best and most creative” album to date, emphasising that, while mixed by Wilson, it was produced and performed entirely by Bowness.

He’s shown off a flock of impressive guest stars on previous albums, so this really does feel like a reset, a confessional, almost a purging. His customary trope of patiently-building atmospheres is also jettisoned mercilessly. Of the 16 pieces on this 40-minute work, the majority quit at around two minutes, give or take – only outliers A Stand-Up For The Dying and I Was There pass four minutes.

That’s worth stressing, because Bowness’ trademark is settling into grooves then squeezing hard for emotion. Powder Dry is the opposite; it jumps between genres fitfully and restlessly. Early on it seems to be vaguely channelling Bowie ’s Low , before it leaps to Hours and then, before that can even be absorbed, onto to Outside with a dash of Earthling .

Electronica and even techno-tight dance have infused Bowness’ sound before, but here those elements lead off, until – again with disorienting haste – they’re co-opted into something else.

Probably the keynote track is Idiots At Large , which false-flags an 80s synthpop vibe, suggesting China Crisis being covered by Everything Everything, before a pummelling grind of industrial noise barges in, shoving the anticipated mood aside. Like many successful juxtapositions here, once the listener has acclimatised, it works.

The cryptically-titled pacesetter Rock Hudson opens this magnificently obsessed, feverish album, and as Lost Not Lost begins with ‘g o deep, go deeper ,’ it’s not kidding. You Can Always Disappear is a spooky fairground ride, while the title track signals regret, insomnia and ghosts – meat and drink to Bowness’s lyrical checklist, but now subverted with unnerving drones and a climax which evokes a German electro punk outfit.

There are some gentle passages, and Bowness’s voice remains as mellifluous as ever; but Powder Dry is a raw-edged revelation; a declaration of new and neoteric directions. Dynamite.

Powder Dry is on sale now via Kscope.