It’s now five years since actress Zooey Deschanel and M. Ward teamed up to release She & Him – ‘Volume 1’, a breezy and accomplished collection of country, retro pop and doe-eyed soul penned largely by Deschanel, with sympathetic arrangements by Ward. That release and the subsequent ‘Volume 2’ seemed at once familiar, from the Bacharach inflected lovelorn slant to the rosy instrumentation. A twee Christmas album seemed inevitable, and it was so, but this summer release sees us back in familiar territory once more.

Their latest flows in a similar vein to those preceding it. Whereas the debut tended towards a more country bent, it is a slightly more soulful road travelled toward ‘Volume 3’. Even Deschanel’s vocal, while still unmistakeable with those clipped inflections, seems just that bit deeper and lived-in. Fifties doo-wop, Hawaiian guitar shimmers and melodramatic strings weave in and around Deschanel’s songs; a collection that seems to live in the past even more so than her previous efforts.

Heavenly choir vocal harmonies open the album, with Deschanel in defiant mood on I’ve Got Your Number, Son – “I don’t want to be your rock in hard times/ ‘cos I’ve figured you out.” The album’s front section is a joy – summery, dreamy pop music – until the reins are pulled in with a ukelele-led Turn To White. The tempo shifts and vibraphone solo of Something’s Haunting You add interesting layers to what is ostensibly a slight little ditty. Similarly, on Snow Queen things suddenly shift into gear and sparing Motown horn punches lay the finishing touch to an already irresistible number.

Influences jump out  from the album; Together channels Jean Knight’s Mr Big Stuff, without the bite -”I have a sliver of love now/ I won’t push and shove now/ I hope you come around”. Frankie Valli casts his own over Shadow Of Love. A cover of Ellie Greenwich’s Baby is a faithful rendering, stripped back and full of space, and Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me, recorded by Karen Chandler in ’52, gets the duo’s respectful treatment. An unnecessary take on Blondie’s Sunday Girl fills out the numbers, rescued from tedium by the constant rumble of Jerry Allison style tom fills, and it seems quite an odd inclusion by a band that is normally more judicious in its choice of cover song.

‘Volume 1’ remains the She & Him album that sparkles with joie de vivre; those following releases grab the template and spin it around through various dancehalls and decades, offering glimpses of  at times admittedly pristine pop amidst the interchangeable catalogue. ‘Volume 3’ adds another disc to the She & Him jukebox – press a button, flip on the needle and listen to them all merge into one long, analogous playlist. It’s far from a giant skip forward, but if you like that kind of thing – and we do – then what’s the harm?