QUEENS OF THE STONE AGE

Putting Mark Ronson in the producer’s chair might seem an odd fit for Josh Homme’s ruthlessly efficient heavyweights. But his marshalling of resources presents a return to strippeddown muscle-bound testosterone QOTSA principles. The result is fan pleasing but a brutally unyielding restatement of bonecrushing brawn. There’s pell-mell attack (Head Like A Haunted House), spacey anthems (Hideaway) and even disco synths (Feet Don’t Fail Me), but it’s a record easier to admire than fall in love with.