As one of Britain’s most consistent singles bands ever (in a six-year period between 1979 and 1985 their first twenty releases made the Top 20; spookily enough their twenty-first stalled at No.21), Madness were frequently under-rated by ‘serious’ critics on the rather patronising grounds that they seemed to be enjoying themselves a bit too much and therefore couldn’t be regarded as heavyweight contenders.

Their beginnings as a ska outfit were still being held against them in 1985, which belied the dark, brooding Pop of the like of ‘Michael Caine’ and ‘Yesterday’s Men’. Now, two decades after they first emerged, the magnificent seven are back with an album of all-new material. Thankfully, the collective’s absence from the touring treadmill means that they’ve approached this with all creative batteries recharged and their impeccable Pop sensibilities bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

The opening ‘Lovestruck’ is vintage Madness, a moody verse dominated by Chris Foreman’s Barryesque guitar lines giving way to an exultant chorus whose key line (“Lovestruck, I’ve fallen for a lamppost”) conjures up the image of Suggs as a Cockney Gene Kelly skipping and singing through the rainy streets of Camden Town. That’s followed by the current single, Cathal Smyth’s ‘Johnny The Horse’, which is where Madness’ great gift for slipping cyanide into the cider becomes truly apparent. Casually heard this seems like a jolly, upbeat romp with a chorus made for an up-for-it mob until closer inspection reveals a tale of someone who’s slipped through all of society’s safety nets and meets a tragic and undignified end; somehow the line “Johnny The Horse was kicked to death/He died for entertainment” doesn’t exactly lend itself to communal celebration.

‘The Communicator’ acknowledges the band’s ska roots and there’s a further nod to their formative influences in ‘Drip Fed Fred’, where the debt to the multi-styled pre-Punk music hall mavericks Kilburn & The High Roads is paid in full by inviting Ian Dury aboard for a guest vocal.

So then, Madness haven’t panicked and frantically attempted to embrace recent musical styles, proferring merely (merely!) to stick to their instincts and produce an album which is infectious, introspective and frequently inspired. As ‘Saturday Night, Sunday Morning’ says: “Like thieves returning to the scene of the crime/I knew we’d come back/we always do”.

Maybe so, but few bands do it with the elan of Madness.