20 YEARS ago, Blondie bangled the airwaves with ice-cream, obsession, sex and style - indeed, the sight of Debbie Harry cooing 'Heart Of Glass' on Top Of The Pops inspired the first significant twitchings in the Murphy pecker . . . but that's a little more information than you needed, Vincent.

However, Blondie were one of the great singles acts, masters of Ronettes-meets-Ramones PVC-booted street attitood over Spector-esque walls of sound. And they were a great band: behind Deb's purring Warholian Marilyn routine, Chris Stein played the evil genius, Jimmy Destri's gleaming keyboards added sugar and spice, and Clem Burke's powerhouse drumming gave it all an abrasive edge. Burke's very much an unsung hero - remember the thrillingly hyperactive fills on 'Dreamin'' and 'Union City Blue'? The guy mightn't have had Elvin Jones' chops, but boy, like Dave Grohl 15 years later, he was catchy.

Funny thing is though, discounting the blue-neon beauty of Parallel Lines, Blondie were never an outstanding albums band. And so it goes. No Exit is not the triumphant return many would've hoped for. Almost predictably, the album's highlight is the divine comeback single 'Maria', a bittersweet paean to yet another girl from another planet. With bells on. Hearing the group back on the radio is a downright spooky experience, but it's undoubtedly the same old three-minute heroism blaring anew from boutiques, coffee shops and record stores.

But in an age of Cardigans, Catatonias, Garbages and Celebrity Skin, there are many pretenders to the Blondie throne. And, apart from Debbie's Jazz Passengers-derived interpretative skills (displayed to full effect on 'Boom Boom In The Zoom Zoom Room'), not that much has changed. Craig Leon's back in the producer's chair, and the players are up to their old tricks, tinkering with slightly yellowing dance forms to not entirely satisfactory effect on the ska pastiches 'Screaming Skin' and 'Divine', and the rap/metal title tune, in which Debs dukes it out with Coolio over a quasi 'Come To Me'/'Kashmir' racket.

And while there's always been so much more to the Harry/Stein agenda than pure pop (let's not overlook the Warhol/Burroughs/Bockris angle and the fact that, via 'Rapture', they were the first white chart act to bring rap to the masses), this is an album plagued with misfires. It's as if, unsure of their worth in the marketplace, the band have gone back to not what they used to do best (wicked-tongued bubblegum) but worst (acting the musical magpie).

Chris Stein was always more of a facilitator than an instrumentalist, so the finest moments occur when Debs gets to really sing, like on the wonderfully wry country waltz of 'The Dream's Lost On Me'. Also, 'Double Take' packs enough atmosphere to rival a true classic like 'Fade Away And Radiate' (coulda lost the soapy sax though), and 'Nothing Is Real But The Girl', 'Night Wind Sent' and the Jeffrey Lee Pierce tribute 'Under The Gun' would hold their own on any daytime radio jamboree.

Ultimately though, No Exit reeks of a great opportunity fumbled. Perhaps the rigours of the road will restore the group's 20/20 vision. Until then, purchase only with extreme prejudice.