It has been suggested that Macklemore & Ryan Lewis are the Coldplay of hip-hop. Listening to ‘St. Ides’, Chris Martin could sue for copyright violation: “And when I lose perspective / Need to go to a place where I lose reception / Looking at the satellites pass by / Reflecting on my past life”. It’s not that Macklemore’s rapping is insincere – sincerity is the one thing he has going for him. It’s just hard to listen to an hour of songs that siphon everything that’s mawkish and gauche about self-help-life-coach-mulch.

The duo’s second album is barely a progression on their Grammy-scooping The Heist, but they’ve halved their output of ‘conscious’ raps, as Macklemore insists we call them. He instead fixes attention to himself, and it turns out he is not a very interesting man. Tracks like ‘St. Ides’ and ‘The Train’ are coated in a weary optimism that makes for easy and pleasant listening. But their headphone reflects on listening to music on dreary weekends, and it leaves little room for any real feeling.

Self-consciousness runs rampant, not least through opening track ‘Light Tunnels’, a rehash of his apology to Kendrick Lamar after swiping the 2013 Grammy for Rap Album, and throughout, Macklemore pushes the limits of the marketability of guilt. He has, however, got a raw deal for album closer ‘White Privilege II’ – as a song, it is plagued by lyrical immaturity and overproduction, but as a statement, it’s not empty. Just as only a black artist should have the space to discuss problems of the black community, only someone like Macklemore can explore the dilemma of cultural appropriation for white rappers. If he doesn’t talk about it, he doesn’t acknowledge his privilege, and if he does, he’s turning white guilt into another packaged product. It’s a catch-22 worthy of expression. His view is not the most sophisticated, but the plethora of voices on the track – fans, disgruntled white people, impassioned and frustrated black people, himself in centre stage – is not entirely uninspired.

When he’s not trying to be Seattle’s Akala, though, he’s writing genuinely funny novelty rap. ‘Downtown’ is the duo at their best, rechannelling the same energy that went into ‘Thrift Shop’: Ryan Lewis lays his usual romping brass while Macklemore riffs with dexterity on the niche topic of mopeds. ‘Let’s Eat’ is similar fare – instead of a vapid critique of body image issues, it decides to frolic around healthy-living tropes like paleo, yoga and Fitbits: “I never knew what a carbohydrate was / Turns out that it’s all the snacks I love”.

Unfortunately, unless they’re willing to metamorphose fully into ‘Weird Al’ Yankovich, the duo won’t last. They’ve talked as much as they can about drug abuse, consumer culture, the perils of fame, and race, and in their often superficial treatments have made hard work out of topics that should be constant founts of inspiration.

If Kanye’s The Life of Pablo showed us anything, it is that music can and should be challenging; rap maybe more so than anything else. This Unruly Mess I’ve Made isn’t artistry, but there’s worse things you can have on your phone for a three-hour train journey. That might well be their most damning criticism.