Category — Album Review

Katy Perry is probably the only pop star I could ever feel compelled to deem a “guilty pleasure.”

In my opinion, there are two types of catchy in the world: The one with pop hooks so well-crafted you’ll want them replaying in your head until the end of time (“Umbrella,” “Just Dance”), and then there’s the obvious, derivative kind of catchy that cause you to itch and burn like an STD.

Perry’s productions are often in the latter category. In fact, they sort of like the music equivalent of herpes: Wildly contagious, annoying, and ultimately likely to lead to an intense awkwardness when revealing your condition to lovers and friends.

Take for instance one of the summer’s biggest singles, “California Gurls.” The track is little more than a direct rip of BFF Ke$ha‘s superior drunk-pop anthem, “Tik Tok,” yet it’s managed to thrive nonetheless.

It isn’t always the songs–usually the product of a suite of Swedish pop masterminds–that cause such pangs of guilt and anguish, but rather Perry herself, whose doe-eyed, potty-mouthed persona leaves much to be desired.

Perry’s shtick is obnoxious and, at times, hypocritical. Bolstered by a devoutly religious upbringing (and short-lived run as a Christian rock artist), she has the gall to criticize her fellow pop stars for being blasphemous sluts while simultaneously shooting whipped cream out of her tits and posing topless for Rolling Stone and Esquire.

For me, she’s a hard one to like–let alone to outwardly enjoy in public.

But good pop is good pop, and every now and then, Katy Perry delivers good pop.

This week sees the release of Teenage Dream, Katy Perry’s follow-up to her massively successful 2008 debut, One of The Boys. The album, like the one before, is a veritable “who’s who” of the top pop producers in the game, including Max Martin, Tricky Stewart, Greg Wells, Benny Blanco, Dr. Luke, and Stargate.

The album begins with its title track, which also happens best song of the bunch in terms of songcraft. “Teenage Dream” is not only a masterfully crafted pop tune with a smart hook, but a rare moment of tenderness for the otherwise bratty bombshell: “You think I’m pretty without any makeup on / You think I’m funny when I tell the punchline wrong,” Perry whispers on top of the song’s setting sun guitar strums.

Sure, the lyrics offer a cornucopia of only the most stereotypical lovesick vagueries, but “Teenage Dream” is still an amazing and evocative pop song. At the risk of massacring my reputation (what reputation?), it simply must be said: Listening to this song just makes you want to feel that way about someone.

“Last Friday (T.G.I.F.),” in contrast, feels entirely inauthentic. Much as with Perry’s summer smash, the song is almost a direct lift of everything you’ve already heard off of Ke$ha’s debut released earlier this year, Animal. Say what you will about Ke$ha’s aesthetic (or what she probably smells like), but any and all talk of drunken hook-ups and glitter on the floor are strictly within her domain at the moment. Any other attempt to emulate her drunk-pop revelry? Well, it just comes off sounding cheap.

The slap-happy silliness is pervasive throughout Perry’s record, including the stomping ode to the penis, “Peacock.” Scribed by one of the naughtiest names in popular songwriting at the moment, Ester Dean (“Rude Boy”; “Drop It Low”), “Peacock” is a most infectious, cheer-tastic celebration of the male member hidden behind the thinnest of veils: “Are you brave enough to let me see your peacock? / Don’t be a chicken boy, stop acting like a beeotch.” It’s the most fun offered on the record, even if the schtick wears stale after a few days.

It’s not all cotton candy and cocks, though. In interviews leading up to the release of Teenage Dream, Perry expressed her desire to fill the void of an Alanis Morrissette-like figure in today’s pop market on her next release.

“Circle the Drain” is the result of such desire, one of the album’s most impressive numbers. The song contains the best, most biting lines of the entire record: “Wanna be your lover, not your fucking mother,” Perry explodes with a vitriolic, shaking-with-anger kind of enunciation while exorcising her ex-flame’s demons.

“E.T.” and “Who Am I Living For?” follow along a similarly angst-ridden path. Still, Perry’s self-searching offerings are a bit too modern/major production (excessive instrumentation; squeaky-clean studio sounds) to be dubbed worthy of a Morrissette comparison–even if they dare to bare their teeth more than your standard Kelly Clarkson vengeance-seeking smash.

At best, Teenage Dream is a top heavy collection of party pop anthems and occasionally good, often schmaltzy slow numbers. Perhaps if she left the glitter act to Ke$ha and nixed the soggy ballads clogging up the second half of this record, Perry might have stood to offer something as tasty as her album’s cotton-candy scent. (No, really…the album smells.)

Aside from the occasional moment of sugary sweet brilliance however (“Teenage Dream”; “Firework”), the party balloons deflate rather quickly, resulting in a record that feels about as fluffy as the pink cotton candy swirled around Perry’s naughty bits on the cover.

Everything they’ve said is true.

“The introvert[ed] and darker sibling, who lives in the attic.” “More introspective and freeform than its poppier partner.” “Brimfull with dark secrets and distorted memories.”

All of these are the descriptions being tossed out by Röyksopp‘s camp in advance of the release of their fourth studio effort, Senior. And for once, a band’s press releases are entirely hyperbole free.

In stark contrast to the album’s companion piece–Junior, one of 2009′s greatest releases–Senior is entirely instrumental, brooding, for the most part, quite moody.

The noises used to build the album are dusty, weathered and strange; not unlike what you’d find rummaging through the boxes buried deep in some hidden nook at home. Each song creaks and crinkles with a vintage feel that’s both organic and supernatural, lending itself to that same magical energy behind each of Röyksopp’s productions.

On “Senior Living,” steel guitars mash together breathlessly with an angelic choir, sad strings, and twinkling electronica. “The Drug” blends muted ’90′s house synths with a trip-hop beat and occasionally jarring electro-interferences. “Coming Home” sees the world floating away on a dreamy, lush soundscape far into outer space–all set to the beat of a ceaseless metronome.

Truthfully though, it’s a bit pointless to point out “highlights” from the album. As the duo have stressed in the very slow promotion for this album’s release, this is an instrumental album, meant to be consumed all in one go.

It’s not a collection of stompers and ballads, and it’s probably the group’s least commercially appetizing offering thus far. That, however, does not take away from the album’s production value, which is nothing less than superb.

Fans will be pleased to know that the signature Röyksopp sound–the melancholy melodies and cyclical rhythms that have come to color each one of the duo’s releases ever since Melody A.M.–is still alive and well here, albeit buried under all the strange miscellanea.

Take for instance “Tricky Part Two,” which uses the instrumental from their 2009 album track “Tricky Tricky” (featuring Karin Dreijer) and morphs it into an even more complicated composition, incorporating elements of dance and electro-pop by the song’s end.

Even some of the band’s signature sounds from their debut make appearances here, as the light electronica flares from songs like “So Easy,” “Eple” and “Sparks” make brief cameos in tracks like “Forsaken Cowboy.”

While the Nordic duo have always had a knack for delivering songs with killer stories (“The Girl and The Robot,” “What Else Is There?”), they’ve managed to go a step further with Senior by proving that they can still supply narratives simply through music: “The Alcoholic” certainly seems to tell the tell of its namesake as a demented, drunken synthesizer waves and warbles its way through the countryside. No really, you can visualize it. Just listen to those birds chirping! And the rain!

In the end, Senior only aids in proving Röyksopp to be one of the innovative musical acts on the scene. They can churn out crunchy, sophisticated pop confections (“Only This Moment”), but they can just as easily evoke emotion through sound and sound alone.

For all info on the upcoming release of Senior, click here.

On June 28, following a four year hiatus, the Scissor Sisters unveiled their third studio effort, Night Work.

Darker and more cohesive than either of the Scissors’ past two efforts, Night Work is a masterfully executed, sleekly polished glimpse into the excess and depravity of 1970′s disco nightlife–all without ever hazarding the treacherous territory of homage.

Produced by Stuart Price, Night Work also doubles as the perfect disco-laden compliment to the summer’s best album: Kylie Minogue‘s Aphrodite (which just happens to be produced by Mr. Price as well–I bet someone’s having a good summer!)

The album largely revels in a barrage of dirty bass lines and guitar riffs from Babydaddy and Del Marquis, glitchy synthesizers and front-man Jake Shears‘ pitch-perfect falsetto, which provides the vocal backing behind the album’s massive glam-rock anthems (“Fire With Fire”) and dark disco haunts (“Night Work”).

Though the album dives into darker territory, there’s plenty of the Scissor Sisters’ signature camp style buried within the record.

Take for instance “Any Which Way,” a glee-filled romp that finds Ana Matronic playing the sex-starved temptress mid-way through and cooing about finding a man that smells like “cocoa butter and cash.” “Take me anyway you like it / In front of the fireplace, in front of your yacht, in front of my parents / I don’t give a damn, baby–just take me!” she shrieks. It’s silly, it’s naughty, and above all, it’s irresistible.

Don’t believe me? Just try to watch their Glastonbury performance of the track (with a special cameo by a certain pop princess). I defy you not to crack a smile.

Songs like the slinky “Skin This Cat” operate as further evidence that the Sisters have evolved their sound. The melodies here are vastly sexier than previous efforts, even if the lyrics provide enough of a knowing wink wink, nudge nudge to keep you giggling: “You’re not the first tom to walk my floor / So get around the block a few times more / And keep scratch scratchin’ at my back door / And I will show you.”

Further on, several cuts show off Shears’ darker side, including the stomping “Harder You Get” and “Sex & Violence,” which burns with an icy intensity and deranged flares of old school synthesizers: “Oh, I need a witness, to see the mess I’ve made,” Shears devilishly purrs. “Where do you live? What do you give? Who are you with? And how you getting home?” Glam, sex, and murderous intent…a personal favorite, for sure.

But perhaps no track best embodies the album’s true essence than with its final moment: “Invisible Light,” an immense, wildly celebratory six-minute opus of dark disco euphoria.

By the time Ian McKellan delivers his spot-on spoken word about “sexual gladiators” and “fiercely old party children,” the track is already bursting at the seams, at last unleashing wave upon wave of sublime coos and pulsating, tribal beats that come together in one gorgeous moment of frantic bliss.

If there’s any word to describe the Sisters’ latest output, it’s evocative: Of Grace Jones, of bell bottoms and gold chains, of the sweat and grime and filth of a dirty New York City disco.

And that’s what I call a proper night out.

To celebrate the album’s release, MuuMuse is proud to be giving away SIX COPIES of Night Work. send me an e-mail with the subject line “NIGHTWORK” or tweet me with the following phrase: “I found a whole new way to love @MuuMuse! #NightWork”

Six winners will be randomly selected and notified on Tuesday, July 27. Good luck!

To preview and purchase Night Work, click here.

As you may or may not have heard, a lot of people are getting all butt-hurt about M.I.A.‘s ‘Internet-inspired’ new record because it is a very noisy, very obvious rebel-against-the-rebels reactionary piece.

It is also kind of bad.

The album’s heavy reliance upon noisy sirens and over-driven guitar licks means that sometimes the songs will literally hurt your ears. She intentionally sings badly.The songs are not very danceable. And bad news for hipster douches: You’re not going to find a “Paper Planes” sequel here.

Nonetheless, there’s something sort of charming to me about this release.

I enjoy the tribal flow and lyrics of “Lovalot,” the anti-club banging, machine gun blaring appeal of “Steppin’ Up,” and I’m utterly obsessed with the carnal, pumping energy of “Meds & Feds.” I even kind of love “Born Free,” the Sri Lankan singer’s moderately successful attempt at producing her own punk anthem.

Sure, it’s no Arular–but it’s still got its perks here and there.

To celebrate the release, MuuMuse is proud to be giving away ONE VINYL COPY of M.I.A.’s new record, / \ / \ / \ Y / \.

To enter to win, send me an e-mail with the subject line “XXXO” telling me your favorite M.I.A. track, or tweet me with the following phrase: “I want to take a shot of TEQKILLA with @MuuMuse!”

A winner will be notified and selected on Friday, July 23. Good luck!

XXXO, B.

In case you didn’t know, Kylie Minogue is a legend.

Despite the pop singer’s unjustly limited visibility in the North American market, Kylie Minogue is a beloved musical icon in most other territories around the world. Her sheer popularity and nearly revered status is to such a degree that the only real way to describe it would be–at the risk of a barrage of anonymous heckling–to that of her contemporary, Madonna.

It is a wonder to think, then, that after over 23 years in the music industry, 11 studio albums, and over 68 million albums sold, following some of the most incredible international career highs and record-breaking accomplishments of a female musician in modern pop history, Kylie Minogue has only just now crafted one of her best records to date.

When it was announced that Kylie would begin working with legendary pop producer Stuart Price in the middle of 2009, the collaboration was almost universally celebrated amongst fans. Then again, it wasn’t altogether that surprising of a collaboration either.

Price is, of course, responsible for some truly killer modern disco records, including The Killers‘ Day & Age, Frankmusik‘s 3 Words, and the Scissor Sisters‘ upcoming Night Work, and of course, Madonna’s legendary Confessions On A Dance Floor. Realistically, it was only a matter of time before the two would unite.

As a result, Aphrodite is exactly the kind of record that one would expect when crossing Kylie Minogue with Stuart Price. That is–one of the most sleek, cohesive releases of her entire catalog. To put it simply: Yes, it does live up to the hype.

The album launches with its first single, “All The Lovers.” Currently a Top 10 single in the UK, the song is a solid representation of the bulk of Aphrodite, though far from the finest cut on the record. In fact, the soaring chorus and glittering electronica offer only a taste of what’s to come.

With much of the record, the producers on the job have taken Kylie’s disco diva connotation and added a more complex, edgier layer of dance production. Cuts like the Calvin Harris-produced, Jake Shears-penned “Too Much” are evidence of this next level sound, sounding something like a thousand glitter-filled balloons bursting all at once inside of an intergalactic vortex.

“Get Outta My Way,” the projected second single off of the album, is bound to be another success on the charts. It also happens to be a somewhat rare turn of defiance for Kylie, a singer best characterized by swooning love ditties and breathy enticements. This song, as Kylie announced to the crowd at Splash before performing the Aphrodite mega-mix, is about respect.

The singer’s confidence is only pushed further with the album’s Nerina Pallot-penned title track. Showcasing Kylie at her bossiest in some time, “Aphrodite” explodes with a militant, foot-stomping beat and a searing bolt of fiery energy: “I’m fierce and I’m feeling mighty / Don’t you mess with me, you don’t want to fight me!” she warns throughout the song’s storming chorus. Judging by the fact that both this song and “Get Out Of My Way” double as the album’s strongest selections, it’s safe to say Kylie wears her sass well.

In “Closer” and “Illusion,” two personal favorite cuts, Minogue and Price divine dark disco magic: The former, a slow-building haunter that shares connections to both her older work (“Confide in Me”) and a glimmer of Madonna’s Confessions; the latter a complex mesh of ’90′s house and Ace of Base-like synthesized bliss. Throw in a relentless throbbing bass and a few sex sessions worth of heavy breathing, and you’ve got nothing short of musical bliss.

Later on, both “Looking For An Angel” and “Everything is Beautiful” function as nothing short of definitions of the word “lush.” Warm, layered slices of piano-encrusted electronica stack one on top of the other as the singer’s lulling voice climbs over the melody : “If I lie with you long enough, I can see the things I’m dreaming of,” she coos during the song’s chorus, “Let’s go through the ritual, until everything is beautiful.”

Then there’s “Cupid Boy,” an unstoppable tour de force of jagged electro, moody guitar strums, and impossible girlish delight. The song features a surging, sonic-powered bridge of distorted vocals and an utter jaw-dropper of a chorus, colored by hard synth rhythms, an angelic chorus, and swelling, echoed swirls. “If only you knew, I shimmer for you,” Kylie coquettishly offers as the song begins, forever producing the same glee-filled moment of euphoria with each listen thereafter. Yes friends–this is what would be referred to as a “Kylie moment.”

But the opening moment of “Cupid Boy” is far from the only “Kylie moment” of the album–the euphoria felt during the middle eight of “All The Lovers,” the glitchy dance breakdown at the end of “Can’t Beat The Feeling,” the hands-in-the-air glee that is the chorus of “Put Your Hands Up (For Love)”–all of these fleeting moments of divinity only add more glow the hot pink, heart-shaped aura that surrounds all things Kylie.

At a time when a new musical endeavor made by a woman in pop over forty may end up looking like a desperate attempt to latch onto the latest trends and cheap production tricks of the girls on top at the moment, Kylie Minogue’s latest could not be perceived as more authentic to her artistry: Aphrodite is literally the essence of Kylie in audio form. The sparkling instrumentals, the euphoric, angelic coos–everything in this album is an authentic, unapologetic encapsulation the stuff of Kylie Minogue.

This isn’t just an incredible album, or even an album of the year (although it most certainly qualifies to win the title for both). As with Madonna’s Confessions or her own sister’s defining triumph, Neon Nights, Aphrodite is a complete and utter musical moment–a release for the ages, and ultimately, a classic in the making that will go on to become a glittering milestone in Kylie Minogue’s already illustrious career.

For years, Australian songstress Sia Furler‘s name was inextricably linked to all things blue.

There were her cosmic, soulful ballads with Zero 7 including “Destiny,” assorted slow burning singles from 2004 album, Colour the Small One such as “Where I Belong” and “Don’t Bring Me Down” and of course the singer’s now signature “Breathe Me,” the instant tearjerker that won the singer literally thousands of fans overnight thanks to its perfectly timed inclusion in the series finale of Six Feet Under.

With her 2006 album, Some People Have Real Problems, Sia slowly began tracing the outlines of something much bolder and brighter for herself. Bubblier up-tempos, such as “Buttons” and “The Girl You Lost to Cocaine” demonstrated Sia’s ability to go beyond the realm of the ballad. But perhaps more than anything, they suggested that perhaps the singer simply wanted to have some fun for once.

This week, Sia releases her fifth studio album, We Are Born, and it appears as though the singer finally got her wish.

Each song on We Are Born is vibrant and playful, colored by zany guitar riffs, celebratory hand claps, and impossibly catchy collection of lyrical hooks. Like a toy box stuffed to the brim with springy sounds and silly noises, it’s perhaps fitting that Sia’s new album sees its release only a week after the premiere of Toy Story 3.

Songs like “Bring Night,” “Clap Your Hands,” and “You’ve Changed” are so instantly familiar that it’s almost hard to believe we’d never heard these songs before. “Bring night, bring the night on!” Sia chants on the former (along with the voices of half a dozen or more celebratory participants) as she bounces above loud sirens and frenzied guitar licks brighten up the anthem.

Others including “The Co-Dependent” and “Never Gonna Leave Me,” simply ooze with feel good melodies, providing summer jam-ready guitar riffs and sing-a-long friendly lyrics.

The cohesive flow of the album is due in large part to the genius production by rising pop legend, Greg Kurstin. The producer has seemingly tapped directly into Sia’s on-stage persona for this record, providing a soundscape of bright beats and noises that completely translates the singer’s on-stage effervescence into music (as witnessed live in Boston, check out the MuuMuse review here.)

Even in Sia’s most solemn moments, the beat remains (mostly) bubbly, as with the gorgeous “Hurting Me Now”: “You think it’s a joke, but baby, you don’t even notice,” Sia softly murmurs during the song’s otherwise slap-happy chorus. It’s a devastating number, but you’d never know it if you weren’t paying attention.

It’s only with the album’s major ballad, “I’m In Here,” that Sia revisits the territory that first catapulted her into the public’s consciousness with Zero 7 and her trademark single. In short, it is the album’s “Breathe Me”–vulnerable, pensive, and an utterly gorgeous display of Sia’s range and delivery style.

Ironically, perhaps no song on the album captures Sia’s essence best than with her cover of Madonna‘s 1989 single, “Oh Father.”

While a major undertaking to begin with (covering the work of legends is always the stuff of danger), the singer masterfully tackles the Queen of Pop’s grief-ridden ballad, complimenting the track with her own signature warble and Kurstin’s playful, bells-and-beats production. The song may be Madonna’s, but the sound is completely and undeniably Sia’s–a perfect representation of what a cover should sound like.

With We Are Born, Sia has finally colored in the lines drawn by her past efforts. The album is not only Sia’s first major pop moment, but also her personal best and brightest yet.

To preview and purchase We Are Born on iTunes, click here.

Earlier this year, Swedish pop sensation Robyn announced that her next album, her first original studio album in five years, would finally be arriving soon–in three parts.

Now known as the Body Talk series, the three EPs that make up the collection will be released throughout 2010. The first of which, Body Talk Pt. 1, sees its official release in America today, June 15.

On her latest release, Robyn has taken the winning synth-pop formulas from her essential 2005 self-titled record and applied them to her continuously adventurous nature in an effort to dig deeper–for bigger beats, more texture, and more complex rhythms.

Perhaps no song off of the record is more of a shining example of who Robyn is as an artist than the opening cut. On paper, the song isn’t much more than an endless barrage of complaints about the singer’s hectic schedule: “My phone is killing me / My email is killing me / These hours are killing me / My tour is killing me,” she sing-speaks over a deep, building synthesized beat.

Yet this is Robyn, an artist surrounded by a nearly tangible air of cool, assured energy reminiscent of Madonna circa True Blue. She doesn’t come off as obnoxious, which is why each complaint sounds more like one sick rhyme on top of another, all leading up to that deeply appreciated climax: “Don’t fucking tell me what to do!” (If you don’t get what I mean about sounding annoying, just try to imagine Ke$ha singing this song.)

There’s also “Fembot,” the track that ushered in the Body Talk era after its initial appearance on the singer’s website. Infectious and playfully boastful, the song finds Robyn in robo-mode: pushing buttons, flipping switches, and initiating “slut mode”–whatever that means. While it seems every pop star these days is dabbling in technological titillation, Robyn’s supersonic flow just makes the song feel that much more authentic.

Further on, the brooding anti-melodies of “None of Dem” and the bright, flashing lights of “Cry When You Get Older” symbolize the marriage between Robyn’s earlier pop sensibility with her current advances into layered, complex construction (see her collaborative work with Kleerup and Röyksopp). They may still be dance floor haunts, but construction wise, they’re much more than a simple repetitive chorus and a single bass beat.

Admittedly, the album does feel a bit unpolished toward the end with the inclusion of Swedish lullaby “Jag vet en dejlig Rosa.” While a pretty melody, the song doesn’t quite have the legs to stand as a track in its own right.

At its core however, it is “Dancing On My Own” that embodies the heart and soul of this mini-record; a 21st century reconfiguration of the classic discotheque record, colored by icy rapid-fire synthesizers and flawless Swede-pop production courtesy of producer, Patrik Berger. The song is the purest definition of sad disco, as well as the logical artistic progression after the success of her previous tear-jerking stormer, “With Every Heartbeat.” For this song alone, the album deserves all the accolades it will surely receive.

Then again, this is just one third of a collection. I have no doubt that when the Body Talk series is complete, we’ll have received twelve to fifteen stunning tracks that would make for a truly solid follow-up to Robyn–as well as a slew of B-Side-worthy extras and unfinished snippets to help line the package with additional goodies.

To preview and purchase Body Talk Pt. 1, click here.

Reinvention can be a tricky thing.

The Bionic campaign began with the promise of a pop superstar’s futuristic return to the scene after an extended love affair with ’20s and ’30′s-inspired vintage sound. On the way back (to the future, if you will), Christina Aguilera would confront setback after setback in trying to properly relaunch herself.

In looking back at the campaign’s early stages, there’s little doubt that the Iamamiwhoami viral videos–now all but confirmed to be a project created by Swedish singer Jonna Lee–largely contributed to the initial deconstruction of the Bionic campaign’s magic.

For those unfamiliar, the mysterious web series first cropped up on the web in late 2009 as a series of two or three minute clips uploaded on YouTube. The videos featured an unidentifiable blonde frolicking around in the forest licking trees, rolling in mud–and generally just being weird–as lovely, lush electronica music played in the background.

While warped video and sound effects veiled the singer’s voice and face, early screen-shots from the clips all stubbornly pointed to the same source: Christina Aguilera.

At some point, most people began to believe–or at the very least, wanted to believe–that the “proof” photographs that circled the blogosphere did indeed come from Aguilera’s camp.

After all, the album was newly titled Bionic (which sounded forward-thinking), she was flying below the radar (filming Burlesque with Cher, as it turned out), and her album’s growing collaborator list was comprised of avant garde, left-of-center artists and producers like Ladytron, Hill & Switch, and Le Tigre.

So when the preview of the radio-friendly lead single “Not Myself Tonight” finally premiered on Aguilera’s website back in March, the hope that one of pop’s princesses was going deep underground quickly and definitively deflated.

“Not Myself Tonight,” too, was another major strike against Bionic. Production wise, the song sounded as though it were recorded in 2002; a by-the-numbers club banger that was neither bad nor particularly innovative. For a comeback track after an extended absence from the pop scene, however, the decision to release the song as the first single was devastating. The song’s final chart positions only further solidified proof of the folly, peaking at a modest #23 on the Billboard Hot 100.

The final blow against Aguilera came in the form of a new-found rival pitted against her in the media: Lady Gaga. Almost immediately after revealing the cover art and album title for Bionic (and truly, ever since her masked VMA performance in 2008), Aguilera continued to battle sharp, inaccurate criticism for allegedly lifting Gaga’s future-pop styling, eventually leading her to write a formal response to the drama on her website.

Yet anyone that truly understands pop should know that there’s no real style swiping between Gaga and Christina. They’re two blondes operating within the confines of the mainstream pop industry and both happen to hone excellent voices. Beyond that, there’s are few comparisons to make.

Their sounds are entirely separate, and as far as their artistry is concerned, Christina had been exploring issues of sexuality and dabbling in exotic fashions long before the name Lady Gaga ever hit the ears of most critics now lashing out against the singer. In fact, Gaga is probably one of the only artists that Christina doesn’t sound like on Bionic.

To be fair, the video for “Not Myself Tonight” did no favors in building a case for Christina as an artist in her own right. Scenes featured within the video depicted Aguilera in various states of undress and bondage, as well as shot-by-shot homages to Madonna‘s early ’90′s work including “Express Yourself,” “Human Nature,” and “Erotica.” While clearly out of reverence rather than unoriginality, the decision to release a video based on the work of another artist was ill-timed at best.

And so, at long last, comes Bionic–a record four years in the making, produced by the artists and producers that Aguilera admires, written to express her thoughts on womanhood, sexuality, and lifestyle.

Kicking off the new record comes its dubstep-laden title track “Bionic” which, while an excellent number, sounds as though it were lifted straight from the recording sessions of Santigold’s debut album back in 2008. It’s hardly surprising, given that the producers of the song are the very same who first worked with Santigold, but the general expectation behind an artist-producer collaboration is a creative middle ground that sounds entirely new (in theory, anyway).

“Many times imitated, not duplicated / Can’t be replaced,” Aguilera sings on top of the stuttering, grinding beats, she sings during the song’s second verse. Yet herein lies the problem with Bionic: It does sound duplicated.

One of the singer’s greatest weaknesses here is a propensity toward sounding like a mimic. From lifting Sia‘s warbling delivery style on “I Am,” to the dead-on imitation of M.I.A.‘s monotone delivery on “Elastic Love,” the singer seems to be so lost in the shuffle of talent that I can’t help but wonder if “Not Myself Tonight” would have made for a far more fitting title for the record.

Imitation aside however, there’s no denying that a great deal of Bionic is actually quite good.

Despite her reinvention into robot territory, Christina’s still found plenty of time to entertain her lady region (as with Back to Basics‘ “Still Dirrty”), including the booty-popping “Woohoo,” featuring Nicki Minaj, which finds the singer doling out instructions on how to navigate below the belt. “You don’t even need a plate, just your face, ha,” she offers during the instructional chorus.

There’s also the Latin-tinged “Desnudate,” a romping, stomping burst of breathy desires being purred into the listener’s ears. Further on, the tempo drops for a coo-heavy, Janet-esque offering with “Sex for Breakfast.”

Then there’s just plain self-indulgence, as with the album’s final moment, “Vanity,” a wonderfully cocky electro-pop ride through tongue-in-cheek lyricism. “Mirror mirror, on the wall / Who’s the flyest bitch of them all? / Never mind, I am,” Christina taunts off the top of the track before calling on her queens and launching into a flurry of bratty boasts.

Given all the controversy surrounding Christina’s pop star status in 2010 however, the irony sort of just writes itself in the final seconds of the song: “And the legacy lives on, going strong / Let us not forget who owns the throne,” Aguilera pompously declares. “You do, mommy,” baby Max responds. Crickets.

And while the gorgeous Linda Perry-penned ballad “Lift Me Up” is the next best candidate to follow Aguilera’s already established classics, “Beautiful” and “Hurt,” there’s little debate as to the album’s true shining moment(s), which comes in the shape of three Sia ballads: “I Am,” “You Lost Me,” and “All I Need.”

These songs aren’t just torch tracks–they’re the kind of next level balladry we’ve come to expect to come from the Australian singer-songwriter responsible for “Breathe Me.” Here is where Christina truly shines, delivering a wealth of vulnerability and control when needed and a signature yelp when it’s time to truly unleash.

At the same time, the album also suffers from a fair share of filler, including the noisy, childish chant of “I Hate Boys” and the needless noodling found on the rather unspectacular “Prima Donna.” “Glam” is another dud that, while initially promising, ultimately fails to inspire enough energy in the chorus to prove itself as fierce as the lyrics imply.

As one may gather from the song descriptions, the main issue with Bionic is that it lacks any solid musical identity, as well as any real sense of cohesion.

Perhaps if the album had been separated into a more logical two-disc process–a side for serious contemplation and sophisticated pop such as “Birds of Prey,” “Monday Morning,” (both of which having been unfairly ousted onto the second disc) “Bionic” and all of the killer ballads–as well as a side for the best of the sex-drenched club jams (“Vanity,” “Woohoo,” “Desnudate”), the package itself would be more appealing.

As it stands, Bionic is a convoluted set of semi-working parts that could use some serious rewiring. But while the machinery included within isn’t necessarily pieced together properly or as cutting edge as promised, there’s still good enough reason to invest in Aguilera’s latest reboot.

In December of 2008, 19-year-old singer Diana Vickers was prematurely eliminated from the fifth season of the UK’s X Factor.

Within months after her departure however, the young singer was already creating a healthy amount of buzz around her debut–enough to nearly overshadow that of her former competitor’s efforts, Alexandra Burke and JLS.

The buzz was due to an ever-expanding rumor list of drool-worthy collaborators and musical legends, including Guy Sigsworth, Starsmith, Chris Braide, and Cathy Dennis. As the news trickled down, the promise of these recording sessions grew greater, as fans waited to hear what the quirky singer was quietly cooking up in the studio.

Then came the release of the singer’s debut single, “Once,” an instantly catchy, thrilling rush of explosive choruses and big bass beats. The single proved that Vickers’ odd, hushed delivery and near-broken vocals lent themselves perfectly to pop, causing the song to rocket to the #1 spot on the UK Singles Chart in late April of 2010. Her debut album soon followed on May 3, which also hit the #1 spot on the UK Album Chart the following week.

Songs from the Tainted Cherry Tree is incredibly solid electro-pop package, colored by an unconventionally raspy voice and a youthful spirit. Neither dance music nor torch song balladry, Vickers’ album is a refreshing blend of bright electronic hooks and classic crooning, refusing to be characterized in either direction.

With glittering, multi-layered electronica-inspired songs like “You’ll Never Get To Heaven,” “My Hip,” and “Remake Me & You,” Vickers follows in line with such artists as Ellie Goulding and Imogen Heap) in forging the somewhat newly founded genre of indie electro pop. The songs, which feature extensive production and wild, whizzing noises, mesh together to create a whimsical soundscape complimented by cheerful crooning and dizzying melodies.

“The Boy Who Murdered Love,” set to be the next single released from the album, is among one of the most immediate standouts on the record. In the song, Vickers recounts a love gone sour with the most biting of lyricism and pained delivery: “You’re the boy who murdered love,” she begins, “cold hands and a heart of stone. You’re a Midas in reverse, you’re the king of pain and hurt.” Everything about the song burns with broken-hearted anguish, resulting in one of the most delicious of the electro-pop confections on the record.

“My Hip,” which features Vickers herself taking a turn on the trumpet, is another highlight. Taking a break from the lush, ethereal electronic sounds for a brief foray through frantic, skipping beats and trumpet flares, the singer charms her way through a gleeful crush. It’s both adorable and addictive.

Vickers’ only cover on the album is also a delightful surprise for music fans, The Sugarcubes‘ song, “Hit.” Vickers’ version blends in effortlessly with the rest of the record, replacing the groovier original beats with bright, poppy synthesizers and swirling electronic beats. As it (unsurprisingly) turns out, the singer’s voice takes well to Björk‘s throaty yelps, making it sound more like an original selection than a mere karaoke attempt.

The ballads, however, are a bit more temperamental than the uptempo offerings. “Four Leaf Clover,” for instance, is an overly soggy misstep that, aside from the song’s lonesome verses, never fully redeems itself from a rather cliched chorus. The same applies to “Me & You.”

It is only with “N.U.M.B.” and “Notice,” two incredibly sophisticated slices of adult pop, that Vickers truly raises the bar for the rest of the album and firmly establishes herself as more than just a pretty voice. The proof comes three and a half minutes into “N.U.M.B.”, as Vickers tackles the final repetition of the chorus expert delivery, emitting a soaring, heartbreaking final note that comes crashing down. Chills.

Vickers’ debut is far more exciting and listenable than most of what’s come out of the X Factor/Simon Cowell hit machine as of late. Songs from the Tainted Cherry Tree is a highly listenable, engaging album of lush electronica that proves why Vickers is much, much more than simply a finalist on some reality show.

Known for providing some of the most innovative, genre-bending dance-turned-R&B-turned-rock ‘n’ roll tracks of the 21st century, Kelis has always been known to be a formative, if not consistently underestimated figure in the music industry.

With “Acapella,” the singer’s colossal first single from Flesh Tone, it was clear that the singer was by all intents and purposes ‘back’ after a four year hiatus from the industry. The song, which would eventually hit #1 on the Billboard Dance/Club Play charts, doubled as a successful re-introduction into the scene and provided a perfect showcase of the album’s major themes: carnal beats, soaring vocals, and an emphasis on forward-thinking electronica.

But while all signs pointed to promising results, it’s hard to say if anyone could have expected this album; one that could easily be declared the best albums of the year thus far. Yet that’s exactly what we’ve been given.

Flesh Tone is only a nine-track album, but it sure doesn’t feel that way. Each track seamlessly feeds into the next thanks to a series of transitions, resulting in a non-stop primal party mix that holds true to Kelis’ initial hopes for the album. “It’s an album you can get sweaty to,” Kelis explained to Rap-Up early into the promotional campaign for Flesh Tone. She wasn’t kidding.

With opening tracks “22nd Century” and “4th of July (Fireworks),” Kelis immediately builds a case for her complex new sound. Both songs are structured more like ten different tracks being played at once, transitioning into new bridges and alternating melodies and dance breaks.

Soon after comes the lonesome sounding “Home,” which sounds like one thing and expresses quite another: “The lights are shining, I’m already home,” Kelis croons above scorching synthesizers and a blaring beat. The pulsations are bold and vibrant, even if her voice remains mournful.

There’s also “Emancipate,” which may well be the “Vogue” or “Express Yourself” of 2010. “Let me tell you what love is,” Kelis announces like a proper disco diva at the start of the song. “It’s about meeting each other half way…I’m in route.” What follows can be described only as a modern re-imagining of Erotica-era Madonna, as the mantra “Emancipate yourself” repeats again and again on top of strut-and-pose synthesizers. It’s an instant, undeniable gay anthem for the next generation.

The David Guetta-produced “Scream” is another major moment for the singer, as Kelis finds herself getting even more comfy in her new role as commander of the dance floor. “You’ll never know if you don’t let it out/ You have enough, they’ll call your bluff” Kelis announces as the song dives into the chorus. Here, the synthesizers flare like smoke pouring from the speakers while the frantic electronic noises begin to dissipate, making each repeat of the chorus sound not unlike a rocket launching from Earth.

The true triumph, however, would be the final moments of the record with the Benny Benassi-produced “Brave.” The song is the most personal of the bunch (aside from the final ode to her newborn son, Knight, entitled “Song for The Baby”), which finds Kelis taking on her divorce, pregnancy, and various other inner demons in a rave-happy, carnal explosion of noisy synthesizers and grinding electronica. “It was crazy. Had a baby, he’s amazing,” she croons across the song’s first verse, “He saved me. And this time, it’s just us.”

An immediate favorite from the get-go, “Brave” is truly what brings Flesh Tone from greatness to the upper echelons of incredible.

The brilliance with Flesh Tone is that Kelis has taken very Top 40 production value (Jean Baptiste, for instance, often works with the Black Eyed Peas) and transformed it into complex, next level electronica with multiple layers and dimension. These aren’t simply three minute dance tracks with catchy, radio-ready choruses, they’re part of a complete album experience providing the soundtrack to a host of stories and emotions.

In short, the best way I can describe this album is to declare it a kind of Confessions on a Dance Floor of the new decade. And that, my friends, speaks volumes.