In the seven years since she last released an album, Lisa Marie Presley has overhauled her life – fourth husband, more kids, a move to the UK – and her image as a singer. She has junked the brassy, tacky pop-rock, allied herself with slow-burn songwriter Richard Hawley – whom she credits with "encouraging me to step out of hiding" – and producer T-Bone Burnett, and gone the way of dusty, twangy Americana. But if Storm and Grace is a huge improvement on its predecessors musically, a shuffling waltz of quicksilver guitars and rippling mandolin, the problem of Presley herself remains. For all its newfound duskiness, there is a lack of nuance in her voice, a stolid muscularity that emphasises the prosaic flatness of her lyrics. Several songs deal with her discovery, detailed in recent interviews, that entourages can't be trusted, but the attitude driving You Ain't Seen Nothin' Yet lacks fire, while on Un-Break and Storm of Nails she comes perilously close to self-pity.