In 1977, I became an avid, perhaps obsessive, fan of a Canadian rock group called Rush.

30 years later, the band are still recording records and touring, on an occasional basis. Today, they released another studio album, their first album of original music for five years, entitled Snakes & Arrows.

I didn't expect it to be very good; the band's creative powers have been in decline for many years. And indeed, it isn't very good.

Much is stale filler, flattered by vigorous, skilful playing and an interesting production. There are a few inspired moments, and some enthusiastic, energetic playing - but most notably, this record is blighted by an appalling vocal performance by bass-player/singer Geddy Lee. He's never had the most elegant of voices, but at one time he used to at least manage a coherent vocal melody.

Not any more. On Snakes & Arrows, as on Vapor Trails, the band's dreadful 2002 effort, he seems to throw the words on as an afterthought. It is as if he is making it up as he goes along, with his fingers in his ears. He manages a few coherent bars in a chorus here and there to be fair, but mostly, he warbles atonally over the music like an amateur improvising while hearing it for the first time.

Whether his task is made harder by excessively verbose lyrics I'm not sure, but somewhere along the line, Geddy Lee has lost the ability to integrate a vocal into a piece of music. To make matters worse, his voice has taken on a rather unattractive whining quality, and for maximum irritation, it's been doubletracked by producer Nick Raskulinecz.

Happily, there are three instrumentals here, unmolested by Geddy's tonedeaf whining - a lovely solo steel-strung guitar piece reminiscent of Jimmy Page's acoustic work in Led Zeppelin called Hope, a spirited, funky jam with some sublime bass playing called Malignant Narcissism and an energetic, aggressive piece called The Main Monkey Business.

In places, in the remaining numbers, there are some interesting musical moments, too - but for the most part, these songs have been crucified by the most half-baked, awkward, embarrassing vocal performance you're likely to hear this side of hymn practice at a special needs school.

Ah well. Even without the Geddy Lee Cringe Factor™, this would be at best a below-average postgrunge rock record that sparkles rarely and mostly falls flat. As it is, it's a dog.

Why do bands persist in stretching out their careers decades past their sell-by date? Because suckers like yours truly are still prepared to fork out for their records. Call me sentimental.