HE used to be such a nice lad, that Ed Sheeran. In reality, between the Prince-Harry features and the acoustic guitar, his music has always had more bite than James Morrison and Newton Faulkner.

His second outing – the x standing for Multiply – signifies growing songwriting ambitions but also growing pains; Sheeran is jittery about life for much of this album, scattered with references to sex, booze and smoking something other than Marlboro Gold. Standard tear-jerker One, which opens x, is no true indication of what’s to come, with hip-hop and R&B influences incorporated into the down-and-dirty Sing (Sheeran’s entertaining, if bewildering, stab at being Justin Timberlake), the Craig David-like Don’t, Nina and The Man.

Even if Sheeran can’t convince as a wild(ish) man, the sleaze outperforms the slush; Tenerife Sea and Photograph are the sort of teen-pleasing filler he felt obliged to include. Messy, mainly brave, and demonstrating a willingness to take chances, x is the sound of its creator working himself out.