Music could do with more Lily Allens – singers who tend to opine first, and reflect on the consequences later. In a world of relentlessly on-message Reys, Gagas and Rihannas, her expletive-loaded candour is a gust of fresh air – a reminder that our chart idols needn’t be vapid waxworks.

On the other hand, there are times when Allen appears to have merely a passing interest in the business of pop. It’s five years since her last album, eight since her debut, the mockney masterclass, Alright, Still. With a family to rear, and a sideline in fashion to distract her, it isn’t always clear that music is where Allen sees her future.

Reuniting with producer and writer Greg Kurstin (her collaborator on 2009’s It’s Not Me, It’s You), she has at least placed the rest of her life on ‘hold’ long enough to put together a third long player. Thus far, most of the attention has been on the title (track): ‘Sheezus’ is generally perceived as a swivel- on-this kiss-off to Kanye West and his occasionally misanthropic and misogynist 2013 LP, Yeezus.

It’s a potent start to the record, Allen reeling off the prominent female artists of the hour and suggesting that, rather than twitter spats and chart rivalry, they should band together – strong women looking out for each other.

From there, however, her gaze turns inward. Happily married and living, apparently, in the country, it’s wonderful to hear that Allen has found peace and stability. But how will this affect the music?

Sonically, not so much: for a significant portion of Sheezus, Allen and Kurstin cleave to the dark, introspective textures of It’s Not Me. The beats are frequently brooding, the melodies sad and sonorous, even at times when her lyrics are ostensibly happy.

Creating a tension between the mood and the surface ‘meaning’ of a song is a sleight of hand that goes all the way back to Abba. It works on ‘Only Time’, a lyrically frothy and apparently upbeat paean to partying that has about it an element of cautionary tale. “We just wanna dance the night away,” she sings, “We don’t give a damn what people say/ We’ve had enough so turn it up/ Tonight we’re taking over.” And then comes the gentle warning: “We will drink ‘til we lose our minds/ Wanna lose sense of space and time/ We’re going through, it’s how we do/ Tonight we’re taking over.” The video makes it explicit that the new, more mature Lily doesn’t really approve.

She’s entitled to show a different side – to look at the world from the perspective of a secure, content young woman who’s found the love of her life. People will be familiar with the satirical intent of the album’s first single ‘Hard Out Here’, which deals with the objectification of women in the music industry.

In contrast, ‘Air Balloon’, is an infectious piece of ephemeral pop, that seems to imply an approval of tripping out. And elsewhere, she’s agreeably melancholic where appropriate, cooing and warbling in a voice forever poised on the edge of heartache.

But there’s also a finely tuned pop sensibility at work. The sentiments in ‘L8 CMMR’ may invite the accusation of smugness – “You can’t have him,” she asserts, “No way, he’s taken ladies/ I’ve got me his babies/ Look at my ring/ He’s going nowhere/ till this fat lady sings” – but you can sense that, in truth, Lily has her tongue somewhere in the vicinity of her cheek. And, besides, ‘L8 CMMR’ is as catchy a slice of summer pop as you’ll hear all year.

On the basis of its first few spins, Yeezus is not the meisterwork that we might have hoped for, at this stage, from such an independent spirit. But it is an album to be reckoned with, confirming that Lily Allen still has what it takes to make intelligent, hook-laden and sometimes challenging pop. Let’s hope we don’t have to wait five years for the next installment.