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Dua Lipa is our most palatable popstar. Not a whiff of Marmite about her, nor the perfectly passable pop she creates. As a result, Radical Optimism feels like a misnomer – neither a radical departure nor an optimistic statement. Is this radical optimism in the room with us now, Dua? All I see is an overwrought formula yielding a surprising paucity of hits: a clunky bunch of Cinderella songs with no glass slipper. Training Season and Illusion both glisten, but French Exit and Anything For Love pair anodyne mall jingles with the highest production value known to man, the end result sounding like royalty-free shampoo music. Houdini, the album’s funk-licked lead single, remains the big bop it was six months ago. But that’s 100 in pop years. In the end, it’s all more flop than bop. If this is what radical optimism looks like, we’re gonna need a bigger Lipa faith.