After the tabloid hoop-la, Michael’s rabid satirical attack on the Blair/Bush love-in sounds… well, soft as a lapdog actually. Sloganeering has never been Michael’s style, and it still isn’t: the most dangerous record of the summer is a restrained, sophisticated pump & squelch affair, licked and nuzzled by electronics, crooned rather than shouted. If George hadn’t told us it was about the folly of UK foreign policy, it might have passed unnoticed on the second half of the album, like a song about silk housecoats, so slinky and unobtrusive is its touch. As understated political rants go, it’s oddly compelling. Good boy, George!