The music press are always keen to suggest that the latest band to appear on their radar is the 'new' version of the last vaguely similar band that came along, thus Bloc Party become the 'new Franz Ferdinand', the Bravery (yukkk) become the 'new Killers' and this little mob from East Sussex, Keane, have the unfortunate tag of the 'new Coldplay', unfortunate given that they find themselves in the shadow of The World's Biggest Band (give or take U2 or REM). Keane certainly share Coldplay's penchant for introspection and shoegazing. Keane are vocalist Tom Chaplin, keyboardist Tim Oxley-Rice and drummer Richard Hughes. Note the lack of a guitarist. That'll be important later. The three look rather unremarkable and most unlikely rock stars, with the rosy-cheeked Chaplin looking like a choirboy who has been dragged out of the church and made to do fifty laps of the running track. You'd never catch them in tight Levi's and black eyeliner, much more likely an Oxbridge rugby shirt and ruddy complexion.

Well, the answer is a sort of 'ummmm…. yeah… maybe…'. There are some rather strong moments on this album and the whole things is imbued with a very clean, crisp, polished production. The basic debates consists of whether this is your kind of thing or not. For some, Keane are simply an extension of the softly-softly approach taken by Dido, Starsailor and their ilk. For others, they are quite an incredible band who are doing something a little bit different than everybody else (if you're wondering what that 'something' is, that would be their lack of a guitars).

The downside, for those with hipper-than-thou sensibilities, is that Keane have become a firm favourite of the coffee-table crowd, music for people who buy the obligatory Now That's What I Call Music album year after year but purchase Coldplay, Snow Patrol and post-Richey Manic Street Preachers albums to prove their alternative credentials. It does indeed belong to the camp of mawkish, deeply unthreatening guitar music made by the likes of the aforementioned Coldplay, Snow Patrol, Turin Breaks, Starsailor, this despite the complete absence of guitars on 'Hopes and Fears'. It's middle-of-the-road, and quite emphatically so, and thus Keane are a poor name to drop in more enlightened circles. There is the slight whiff of assembly line pop on offer here as well, with most prosecuting counsels offering up as their Exhibit A the fact that Keane once supported David Sneddon, a former winner of Fame Academy whose career was over as soon as it had begun. Forget the Keane/Coldplay comparisons, Keane's music all too often seems to echo the piano-driven tunes of the hopeless Sneddon.

One of the best things about Keane is that in Chaplin they have a very fine vocalist who can make something quite special out of something quite anodyne, which is sadly the case for the majority of this album. Chaplin's voice veers from low-key and haunting to soaring, as showcased best on 'Everybody's Changing'. If he were a better writer and the material was a bit gutsier, Keane would be a very interesting prospect indeed. As it is, they are a competent band playing polished tunes but lacking in guts, passion and character. The sheer repetitiveness of 'Hopes and Fears' does not look good for the future of Keane, as any departure from this tried and tested sound may alienate their established fanbase, but may result in a second album being quite drab and (even) more boring than the first. Keane are in quite serious danger of ending up as a three-man version of Elton John, which is truly a horrific fate.