IT'S one of music’s ironies that the more an artist strives for authenticity, the more they can find themselves trapped in templates.

Sullen, spiky Nottingham singer-songwriter Jake Bugg – who, putting it kindly, is not always the easiest person to warm to – has covered most of the for-real bases in his nascent career, from baiting the likes of One Direction and Little Mix to rubbing shoulders with Noel Gallagher to being trumpeted as the Bob Dylan of the East Midlands.

On his third album, it extends to writing all his own songs, suggesting he bristles at suggestions he’s been given a leg-up so far, and mostly self-producing.

The result is a sprawling, bewildering compound of genres that demonstrate how artistic freedom can open the doors to indiscipline and incoherence, and portray Bugg as overconfident, confused, or both.

Reaching its nadir when Bugg raps – yes, honestly – on Ain’t No Rhyme, and lurching between indie swank (Gimme The Love), torch-song soul-searching (Love, Hope And Misery), MOR (Bitter Salt, All That) and country balladry (the title track), On My One never finds a home and rarely convinces, its best moments hamstrung by its creator’s reedy, limited vocal range. On this evidence, Bugg is nowhere near as good as he thinks he is.