BRUCE Springsteen’s finest albums have been driven not only by majestic guitars, wailing sax and the Boss’s passionate vocals, but also by great themes.

Born To Run, for example, tackled the rootlessness of youth; Nebraska, the cold shadow of loneliness; The Rising, the emotional fallout from 9/11; and Wrecking Ball, corporate greed. They are all damning dissections of the faltering American dream.

Springsteen’s latest, High Hopes, has no such cohesion. His 18th studio album is a random collection of cover versions, reworked old material and a couple of gospel and Celtic-influenced curveballs.

It is bracingly good and typically urgent; but it is not a classic, despite the uplifting presence of Rage Against The Machine guitarist Tom Morello, now very close to Springsteen, and the consummate musicianship of the E Street Band.

There are some tremendous tracks, as one would expect. American Skin (41 shots), originally written in response to a needless NYPD shooting, is now given added relevance by the tragic killing of Trayvon Martin, while the majestic electrified reinterpretation of The Ghost Of Tom Joad breathes new life into a neglected classic.

There’s a Vietnam memorial, The Wall, which resonates across the world today, scarred as it is by needless suffering and war, and a lilting cover version of Suicide’s Dream Baby Dream which imbues High Hopes with a fragile optimism that the album’s title ironically suggests.

It would be harsh to say that High Hopes sees Bruce Springsteen marking time. There’s far too much good material, beautifully played, on it for that. But it is a gentle detour on the Boss’s long and winding road into the heart of the American psyche.