There have been suggestions in the music press that 12 Memories is Travis’s Kid A. It’s certainly true that this is not a “typical” Travis album, but then what is? Their debut release, Good Feeling, bordered on glam rock; their sophomore attempt, The Man Who, was a not altogether successful take on country-rock; while the group’s last record, The Invisible Band, was a full-on feel-good, if paradoxically melancholic, outing.

Of course, what has made them so successful, aside from Fran Healy’s effortless way with a tune, is the universality of his lyrics. As he succinctly observed in a recent interview: “Our songs help people through a hard time, they’re a fast car out of a bad situation.” You just have to think of The Invisible Band’s lead single, Sing, and the chorus: “You’ve been waiting in the sun too long/ But if you sing, sing, sing, sing sing/ For the love you bring won’t mean a thing/ Unless you sing, sing sing.” Granted, it’s hardly Keats, but that’s not the point — its simplicity connects.

Travis take a huge step on with 12 Memories, even though it may not appeal to fans expecting another slew of gentle pop songs. It’s not as if, musically, they’ve suddenly discovered space-jazz; their musical palette hasn’t expanded to take in shocking pink or vibrant purple. It’s the subject matter that’s been refined, defined and focused.

Take the single Re:offender, which leads on a simple acoustic guitar and Healy’s plaintive falsetto before the chorus eases in: “You say you love me and then you do it again/ You say you’re sorry and then you do it again.” Just another standard account of love gone wrong? It could certainly be taken that way, but actually it’s inspired by Healy’s childhood experiences of domestic violence. Uncomfortable yet?

Travis are regularly vilified by critics for being an unchallenging happyclappy outfit. But Healy’s gift for rendering complex emotions and situations in a devastatingly simple manner refutes this accusation. This ability, coupled with his antipathy towards his father, surfaces again on the painful Paperclips, a song that will resonate with anyone who finds themselves repeating a father’s mistakes. Over a single lonely ramshackle guitar, Healy whispers: “I don’t want to be like you any more.” It’s simple, direct and heartbreaking.

Healy’s anger is not confined to his father. Surprisingly for a band condemned by some as anaemic, on Peace the F*** Out, a sinuous Beatlesesque pearl, Travis take Tony Blair to task for the war in Iraq. They are never less than supremely melodic, even if the lyrics are a little clunky. 12 Memories is a brave and brilliant album. It’s also Travis’s best yet.

12 Memories is out on Independiente

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