Whether by accident or design, the mathematical theme of Ed Sheeran’s previous album titles (+, ×, ÷ and = respectively) resolves rather neatly with – (Subtract). I interviewed Sheeran around the time of × and found him likeable enough but a bit out of reach. Multiplication did indeed seem to be foremost on his mind. Perched on the edge of a bed in a room above RAK studios in central London, he came across as a man obsessed with sales figures and chart placings, a coolly pragmatic mix of talent and ambition. (You don’t think Sheeran is talented? I watched him entertain 60,000 people in a football stadium for two hours with just a guitar, loop pedals and a lot of chutzpah. He’s got talent, all right.)

Since then, his hypersonic commercial trajectory has been followed by a brush with the hard stuff: his wife’s cancer diagnosis during pregnancy; depression; the death of close friends and family; and battling a spate of opportunistic plagiarism lawsuits in court. Concerning the latter, at least, he rightly remains undaunted: ‘Life Goes On’ is a thousand other half-remembered songs wrapped into one. He also steals liberally from himself, not least on ‘Colourblind’, which is essentially ‘Perfect’ v2.

So Subtract is all about depreciation. Not so much ‘less is more’ as ‘less is what you learn to live with’. In some ways, the spare feel is an artfully downsized throwback to Sheeran’s early days as a folk-ish troubadour, returning the songs to his acoustic roots, shorn of the rap and R&B accoutrements. ‘Eyes Closed’ and ‘Curtains’ tick the pop boxes – a little half-heartedly; in pencil rather than fountain pen – but for the most part this is a remarkably downbeat record, altogether miserable in places.

Drippy ballads such as ‘No Strings’ feel rote, but taken as a whole the album appears to have been conceived less with an eye on the charts and more with a quivering hand over an aching heart. The words are anxious and insular, even if the façade of intimate revelation opens out to reveal only the vague and vacuous sad-face emoji sentiments favoured by artists who have become accustomed to communicating Big Messages to millions.

The low-key musical palette further flattens out the emotional turmoil which apparently inspired the songs. In a recent review, I mentioned that the Dessner brothers from the National are currently pop’s most promiscuous collaborators. Kindly proving the point, Aaron Dessner has produced Subtract and co-written most of the songs with Sheeran, who seems to be chasing some of the fairy dust – and critical kudos – Dessner sprinkled on Taylor Swift’s folklore.

If so, he doesn’t quite get what he’s after. Dessner duly provides his customary tasteful, muted, autumnal mood board – musical Monet – but it feels as though he’s fielded his B-team, ideas wise. ‘Dusty’ is elegant and nicely tart. ‘End of Youth’ is glitchy and morbid. ‘The Hills of Aberfeldy’, co-written with Foy Vance, is a considerably more spare and measured take on Celtic folk than the ghastly cod-Irish galumphing of ‘Galway Girl’. The rest is heartfelt and rather bland. Subtract could be described as a brave album, but only within the very limited context of Sheeran’s massive mainstream appeal. Posterity will demand he takes more risks; tweaks the equation.

Alison Goldfrapp is/was one half of Goldfrapp, the duo whose core reference points bounced between Studio 54, The Wicker Man and a suburban sex party. For this first solo outing, all mention of musical partner Will Gregory has been excised from the press material, and she has resorted to her full title. One less member, one more name.

Not much else has changed. The good news is that The Love Intention returns to the glitterball grooves of superior Goldfrapp albums such as Black Cherry and Supernature. Which means uncomplicated hymns to liberation, love and lascivious nights spooling out over spangly disco and deep, dubby beats. Think ‘Can’t Get You Out of My Head’-era Kylie cutting loose, although ‘Digging Deeper Now’ veers closer to One Dove. The hard edges of ‘Gatto Gelato’ rub against ‘SloFlo’, which sounds like a Kate Bush ballad in space. Through it all, Goldfrapp’s voice – often layered into stacks of gossamer harmony – is all breathy invitation and insinuation. The result is a colourful electro-lollipop of a record. The beckoning summer to Sheeran’s bummer.