“No, you’re not going to get what you need,” begins the title track of Robyn’s first album in eight years. The track is ostensibly languid and sexy, but under the surface it prickles with unease. It sets the tone for an album that is never stingy with tunes, but on which the themes of heartbreak and despondency seem to have seeped into the songs’ sonic fabric. “There’s no resolution,” Robyn sings on Human Being, and she could be describing the music around her. Her vocals are cut adrift amid drones that bend out of tune. On Baby Forgive Me, her vocal is haunted by a sinister, off-key electronic shadow. Somewhere in the distance there’s the muffled sound of an audience cheering: it’s as if they’ve been shut out. The closest the album comes to raising a smile is Ever Again. Whether the album ends up exerting the kind of influence over the Top 40 that her earlier releases did seems questionable – it feels almost too opaque and inward-looking for mass appeal. As evidence of a unique artist pursuing a personal vision in a world filled with the commonplace, however, Honey is perfect.