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“‘Oh my God, you look just like Shakira! No, no–you’re Catherine Zeta!’ ‘Actually, my name’s Marina,’” she sang on “Hollywood,” the second single off of 2010′s The Family Jewels.

It’s been over two years since her debut, and Marina + The Diamonds is back with yet another identity crisis for her second go-around in the studio–and this time, she’s evoking a cold, cruel bitch named Electra Heart.

While crafting the follow-up to her 2010 debut, Marina originally turned down requests to head into the studio with bigger names. But after an extended period of solo writing sessions, she found herself unhappy with what was being produced. As she explained in an interview for the Electra Heart campaign, she finally gave into the idea of collaboration after meeting with producer Rick Nowels–which she called the best decision of her life.

Looking over the liner notes for this record, it’s easy to see that Electra Heart is a major powerhouse production–Dr. Luke, Diplo, Cirkut and Greg Kurstin are just some of the names involved–which has led many indie purists and/or music snobs to brand Marina a “sell out.” After all, here’s an artist who spent a good chunk of her first record working with indie-pop producers like Liam Howe, now stepping into the booth with the same producers who help shape radio smashes for Britney Spears, Rihanna and Katy Perry. For shame!

But for those willing to look beyond the star-studded names and actually pay attention to the lyricism and songcraft found on Electra Heart, it’s obvious that Marina Diamandis is written all over her second studio album–an even stronger, more cohesive set than its predecessor.

The transformation into the Electra Heart era began over six months ago, as the singer started to release grainy webcam photos of herself sporting a platinum blonde wig (it’s since been dyed, and really more of a grayish white now), along with a video series.

The first, called “Fear & Loathing,” found the singer snipping away her locks to a short black bob, and was soon followed by the clip for the campaign’s phenomenal (unofficial) lead single: “Radioactive,” still one of the best singles of 2011. The clip followed the singer, now sporting that blonde wig, as she traveled America with a bad boy in tow, stirring up trouble in convenience stores and hotel rooms in the dusty deserts of the heartland.

“Radioactive” never gained much traction in the UK, however–ultimately sputtering in at the lukewarm height of #25 on the UK Singles Chart. Whether a reaction to Marina’s partnership with the Norwegian dance-pop production duo Stargate, her new image or simply due to poor radio reception, the song was largely ignored by the general public. Nonetheless, it bought Marina some extra time to suss out the finer details of her upcoming project.

Inspired visually by the camp of The Valley of The Dolls, as well as by ponderings about the new, instant mini-celebrity age of Tumblr, Marina began posing in ‘60’s retro couture—as a suburban housewife, an idle teen, a homewrecker, a beauty queen (all lovingly referred to as “The Archetypes”)–to personify the spirit of heartbreak threaded throughout her upcoming effort.

“Primadonna,” the album’s storming lead single (after “Radioactive” was declared a buzz track) released earlier in April, was the world’s official official grand introduction to Miss Electra Heart: “Get what I want ‘cause I ask for it, not because I’m really that deserving of it,” Marina declares across the song’s surging beat; a colossal pop smash that most resembles Britney’s dub-pop masterpiece “Hold It Against Me.” (No surprises there–another win for Dr. Luke!)

With its cheerleader-friendly chants in the background (“Wow! Yeah!”) and sarcasm-soaked lyrics, “Primadonna” is the album’s cheekiest representation of Electra Heart: glitz, glamour, and nothing to offer of any actual value–like a well-produced dance-pop single from The Real Housewives franchise but with an added wink wink that says, quite Britishly, ‘I’m taking the piss.’

And so we finally have Electra Heart, a concept record with two personalities at play: There’s Electra, the ruthless anti-heroine of the record, and Marina, the quirky, dramatic singer-songwriter whom we’ve already met in different capacities on The Family Jewels.

Similar to Lily Allen‘s brilliantly acerbic It’s Not Me, It’s You from back in 2009, the album’s genius comes in the form of smart, mocking lyricism meshed with power-pop beats. (It makes sense too: Greg Kurstin, who executive produced Allen’s record, had a hand in a few of the tracks on Electra Heart as well.)

Beyond “Primadonna”, Electra Heart rears her platinum blonde head in the form of other hilariously deadpan anthems like the punchy album opener “Bubblegum Bitch”: “I’ll chew you up and I’ll spit you out, ‘cause that’s what young love is all about,” she triumphantly declares above the crashing beat, one of the many crafted by Nowels. That she uses the phrases “Soda Pop” and “Dear Diary”—two album tracks by our very own bubblegum pop Queen Britney (who she genuinely adores)–in the second verse is surely no accident at all.

“Homewrecker,” Electra’s cruelest cut of the bunch, sees our heartless heroine trouncing around and getting herself into plenty of trouble: “Deception and perfection are wonderful traits/One will breed love, the other hate,” she declares in an authoritative British accent above dreamy, atmospheric waves (and a dull buzz that sounds a bit like a tattoo needle humming in the background). All at once, she charges into the chorus: “And I don’t belong to anyone…they call me homewrecker!” she dramatically cries out. It’s an anthem for the morally bankrupt–something I imagine Marina had only too much fun writing for herself.

As with The Family Jewels, the greatest highlight of all—even with Dr. Luke, Diplo and Rick Nowels on board—is Marina’s lyrics. Like a cross between the quivering intensity of Fiona Apple, the black wit of Joan Rivers and the imagery-ridden power pop songcraft of Bonnie McKee, her way with words—wrought with humor (“I want blood, guts and chocolate cake”), bitterness (“You don’t love me, big fucking deal”) disarming honesty (“I just wanted to be perfect”), and thought-provoking ponderings (“No room for imagining, ’cause everyone’s seen everything”)–is simply unparalleled in the pop landscape. She’s a master lyricist.

The album isn’t entirely the work of Electra, either. Songs like “Starring Role”—one of the several highlights of the record—prove that underneath the gray hair, glamorous dresses and that heart-shaped mark on her cheek, it’s still Marina singing: “The only time you open up is when we get undressed,” Marina sadly sings. And despite her best attempt at defiance during the soldiering chorus, the song shines with its bitterness: “Come on baby, let’s just get drunk/Forget we don’t get on,” she offers.

The persona peels back even further on the utterly devastating “Lies,” co-produced by Diplo, Cirkut and Dr. Luke. Set against a pulverizing series of weird, winding gritty beats—reminiscent of Britney’s ex-sexin’ Femme Fatale anthem, “Inside Out”—Marina waves a white flag: “You’re never gonna love me, so what’s the use?” she sadly resigns. It’s all shades of perfection, although the acoustic version of the song released weeks earlier already proved that–even stripped of the brilliant electronic production by the talented producers–the song is one of the best tracks Marina’s penned, ever.

Apart from heartbreak however, the record also seems to find its fascinations in exploring issues of power and identity. Most obviously, of course, is “Power & Control,” a personal favorite of the album: “Women and men, we are the same/But love will always be a game,” Marina declares with a raised fist above the song’s surging chorus. With its hammering beats and damning piano melody twinkling in the distance (and an unbelievably incredible bridge of layered vocals and dance floor pulsations), the arena-sized power-pop number feels ready to split at the seams at any second.

It’s not the first time Marina mentions the power struggle between men and women, as with “Hypocrates”: “I know you only want to own me, that’s the kind of love you show me/You tell me one thing and do another, keep all your secrets undercover,” she sings above the big, sparkling guitar-pop tune which tinges with a breezy, almost ‘60’s pop flair, “American Pie” style. It comes as no surprise then that Electra Heart is hellbent on being no one’s bitch.

“Sex Yeah,” one of the incredible deluxe tracks of the record, finds Marina delivering one truth after another above a kicking synth-pop rock pulse, similar to Ladyhawke’s debut effort. “Question what the TV tells you, question what a pop star sells you/Question mom and question dad, question good and question bad,” she wisely offers in the first verse. “If women were religiously recognized sexually, we wouldn’t have to feel the need to show our assets to feel free,” she declares in the next. Feminist theory set against a surging, foot tap-friendly beat? Sign me up, please.

As the album slows to a contemplative finish, you start to wonder if this is Electra Heart’s tragically tormented inner dialogue or just Marina’s own self-consciousness. It’s not always easy to tell.

On “Teen Idle”—yet another one of the album’s shining highlights—Electra’s (or Marina’s?) anxieties come to a head in the album’s saddest contemplation (with the blackest sense of humor): “I wish I’d been a teen idol/Wish I’d been a prom queen fighting for the title/Instead of being sixteen and burning up the bible feeling super, super, super suicidal,” she sing-songs. Dreamily crooning about becoming “a real fake” and drinking the pain away, the song provides the album’s most food for thought (both chocolate and angel cake, in fact!) about growing up in the digital age of fame and instant celebrity.

Electra Heart is undoubtedly one of the best records of 2012, on par with Lana Del Rey’s Born To Die released earlier this year. Funnily enough, both share in an obsession with the glamour of vintage American life–possibly as a by-product of the two having a producer in common (Nowels). Yet whereas Lana uses Americana to evoke a certain nostalgia in her music, Marina takes classic American culture and molds it into much more biting, frank and cynical.

Somewhere at the intersection of a campy Broadway production, the raw angst of the ’90′s school of female singer-songwriters, unabashed bubblegum pop and just a touch of macabre exists Electra Heart, a collection of brilliantly crafted, smart pop songs with a healthy sense of humor that refuses to be any one thing. It’s an album that criticizes, indulges and wears as many hats as it damn well pleases. Or, in Electra’s case, wigs and diamonds.

Electra Heart was released on April 30 in the UK, and will be released July 17 in the US. (iTunes)

After serving up endlessly ferocious features on tracks like “Bottoms Up” by Trey Songz, Usher‘s “Lil Freak,” Jay Sean‘s “2012 (It Ain’t The End)” and her grand triumph, a spotlight stealing verse on Kanye West‘s star-studded “Monster,” Nicki Minaj‘s 2010 debut Pink Friday should have been a roaring proclamation that the new face of female rap had finally arrived.

Instead, the album turned out to be a plodding series of motivational cliches and lukewarm midtempos about overcoming obstacles, following your dreams and rising above. And that’s fair–after all, she managed to defy expectations, skyrocket to the top of the charts, reinvent the boundaries of female rap (and rap in general) and ultimately became the most important thing to happen to female rap since Lil’ Kim and Missy Elliott in the span of about two years.

Still, the album equivalent of one Taylor Swift surprise face after another about being on top wasn’t nearly as captivating as the fire she was spitting on everyone else’s songs. By the end, the album barely showcased why her star rose so quickly in the first place.

Two more years have passed, and Minaj is back for another solo round–Pink Friday: Roman Reloaded–and this time, she’s actually packing some heat.

Not, however, that her latest campaign has gone off without a hitch: After teasing out tracks like “Roman Reloaded,” “Roman In Moscow” (which didn’t even make the record) and the slap-happy “Stupid Hoe” over the past few months, Minaj faced a barrage of criticism for her seemingly rush releases, cheap production style and basic rhyme schemes. (The chorus of “Stupid Hoe” is literally the phrase “You a stupid hoe!” repeated ad nauseum, for instance.)

Added to that, there was that throw-anything-at-the-wall-until-it-sticks performance of “Roman Holiday” at the 2012 Grammy Awards earlier this year, which was something like an interpretive dance between The Sound of Music and The Exorcist. Then came the album artwork, which featured a paint slathered, whitewashed Minaj (and her Illuminati rumor-sparking Eye of Horus makeup) with a sloppy finger-painted title slathered across the bottom. It was all one big mess.

And that’s exactly what this album ultimately is: a mess. But a mostly good kind, if you can believe it.

At first, Roman Reloaded–which is focused around her gay boy alter-ego, Roman Zolanski–plays like an identity crisis happening in real time. Rap? Ballads? Drunk-pop anthems? Where is she on the map? Really though, Reloaded represents exactly what Nicki is right now: A smorgasbord of sounds to appeal to the broadest base possible. As she rapped in her feature on Madonna‘s “I Don’t Give A” (which she borrowed from Jay-Z): “I’m not a businesswoman, I’m a business, woman!”

Nicki Inc. includes the silly accents, explosive energy and alter-egos of Mixtape Minaj and her numerous features, the pop radio-friendly hooks of “Super Bass,” the dance floor queen on David Guetta‘s club smash, “Turn Me On.” She’s a wackjob of all trades, and her success has come from a variety of noises and sounds. A “sell out”? I guess. But as she astutely raps on “Roman Reloaded”: “I guess I went commercial, just shot a commercial/When I flew to the set though, I ain’t fly commercial.” The woman knows how to get money.

“Authenticity” aside, Roman Reloaded has plenty to offer.

The rap section at the forefront of the record (there’s a clear division between rap and pop-dance midway through the album), sees Minaj at her most playful mentality since her mixtapes: The Ryan & Smitty-produced “HOV Lane” is a thrilling burst of cocky energy: “I’m in the HOV lane, and you? Y-you? Y-you? Soul train!” she taunts. “Beez In The Trap,” on the other hand, floats atop drippy, atmospheric electronica and a beat that sounds like fingers snapping in an empty auditorium. “Bitches ain’t shit and they ain’t say nothing/A hundred mothafuckas can’t tell me nothing,” Minaj boasts on the Kenoe-produced minimal beat. Apart from an embarrassing guest verse from newcomer 2 Chainz (“True religion trousers”–oy!), the song might be one of the most inventive moments production-wise for Minaj.

It can all become a bit much: Apart from “Stupid Hoe,” the punchy Hitboy-crafted “Come On A Cone” (her ice is so cold, it should come on a cone…like ice cream, I guess?), Minaj takes her rhyming skills to another level: “When I’m sitting with Anna, I’m really sitting with Anna/Ain’t a metaphor punch line, I’m really sitting with Anna,” she raps, reflecting on her Fashion Week experience dressed as a giant 3rd grade art project next to Anna Wintour. Later, she operatically croons the phrase “Put my dick in yo face!” for a good 30 seconds. Who says artistry is dead?

Aside from the self-glorification, a majority of the record is devoted to dancing up in the club: Tracks 10-13 on the record essentially congeal into one mega-marathon of thumping RedOne-produced pop radio anthems, as each track borrows from about a dozen songs you’ve already heard on the radio.

Her current single, “Starships,” most notably cribs from at least three major ’10-’11 anthems, including Rihanna‘s “We Found Love,” P!nk‘s “Raise Your Glass” and Britney‘s “Till The World Ends.” Still, it’s a thoroughly amazing pop song–from the rollicking, mile-a-minute power pop verses (“Fuck who you want and fuck who you’d like!) to the surging beat breakdown.

If “Starships” is Minaj’s equivalent to Lady Gaga‘s “Just Dance” for this era, then “Pound The Alarm” is Nicki’s “Poker Face.” Borrowing from the same winning formula (which, lest we forget, is already based on winning formulas), the track sees the bewigged rapstress popping bottles in the club and dancing around once again. “Pound the alarm!” she declares before the foghorn from Britney’s “Stronger” ushers in another explosion of beats.

The slap-happy “Whip It” follows suit: “Whip it, whip it!” she yells, before a quick moan and a whip crack leads into–you guessed it, another explosion of beats, albeit more in the bubbly ’90′s direction of Aqua or Vengaboys. And “Automatic”? “It’s automatic-ic-ic-ic!” Minaj happily sing-songs across–shocker here!–another bouncy breakdown of beats. They’re all terrific tunes, and if you’re not paying attention, you’d never even know you’ve just listened to four separate songs.

By the end, Minaj begins to flaunt a more vulnerable side, as with “Fire Burns” and the album’s incredibly catchy power-pop ballad “Marilyn Monroe,” which centers around one of Monroe’s most famous quotes and contains one of the album’s hook-heaviest choruses: “Is this how Marilyn Monroe felt?” Minaj sadly ponders aloud. To answer that question: I’m not sure how often Marilyn Monroe felt the need to put her dick in anyone’s face, but if she did, then yes–it probably is, Nicki.

Other sweetly sung songs are less successful, like the plodding “Right By My Side” featuring misogynist Chris Brown. And speaking of assholes, the standard edition’s second-to-last closer “Gun Shot,” includes some truly cringe-worthy crooning by Minaj (there’s one whining note at 1:35 that literally sounds like a cat being set ablaze) as well as a feature from the homophobic Beenie Man, who at one point almost faced charges after calling for the death of gays in his lyrics. An interesting choice for a collaborator, given that the album is supposedly from the point of view of Roman. Wonder how Nicki’s Ken Barbs feel about that one?

But much as with Pink Friday‘s “Super Bass,” the album’s (arguably) greatest highlight is featured on the deluxe version: “Va Va Voom.” Produced by Dr. Luke and Cirkut, the insanely infectious bout of seduction finds Minaj playing the temptress atop some delicious dub-lite pulsations a la Britney’s Femme Fatale sizzler, “Seal It With A Kiss.” “I know that he got a wife at home, but I need just one night alone,” Minaj slyly croons. Throw in a very “You Da One”-esque breakdown (again, Dr. Luke), and you’ve got an unbelievably sickening (in the good way!) pop tune.

Roman Reloaded is a lot of things: sophomoric, derivative, explosive, ridiculous–but above all, it’s just a frivolous good time. The album’s essentially the perfect party playlist, as there’s enough to whet anyone’s appetite in a 2-hour stretch: bouncy Euro club cuts, ‘tude-heavy rap offerings, slow dance sections and off-the-walls pop corkers.

Sure, she might be more of a novelty act than a rapper or a singer at the moment, but the trick is not to take any of this too seriously. After all, Nicki clearly doesn’t.

Pink Friday: Roman Reloaded was released on April 3. (iTunes)

Music, as a wise woman once declared, makes the people come together.

As with his 2010 studio album Believe, Progressive House DJ/producer Morgan Page‘s third effort In The Air relies on vocal contributions by talented singers hailing from a multitude of genres. As he explained of his new album: “This record exists between the club and pop worlds with a little bit of indie thrown in there as well. I wanted to try some new flavors and attitudes, while keeping my sound intact.”

Accordingly, there’s a slew of new names to add to Morgan’s ever-growing list of collaborations, including Tegan & Sara (who aren’t actually strangers to the dance scene, having already guested on the brilliant “Feel It In My Bones” off of Tiesto‘s Kaleidoscope in 2009), as well as singer-songwriters like Greg Laswell, Shelley Harland and Coury Palermo.

“In The Air,” the album’s opening track, lead single and namesake, also happens to be Page’s first #1 on the Billboard Hot Dance Airplay Chart–and rightfully so, as it’s one of the best songs of 2011: Co-produced by BT, Sultan and Ned Shepard and featuring the vocals of frequent Telepopmusik collaborator Angela McCluskey, the crisp, chill-inducing powerhouse dance anthem was perfectly timed along with the changing season when it topped the chart in October: “I’m feeling a change in the air,” McCluskey hauntingly croons above the song’s pulsing beat.

The album’s second single on the other hand, “Body Work,” finds the EDM maestro working up a sweat with Canadian sister act Tegan & Sara. After the pounding club mix of the song was unleashed in late 2011, Page unveiled the album version back in February 2012; a slightly more pensive take on the track, underscoring the tender (if not slightly awkward) tone of the Canadian duo’s sexually-charged club thumper. “You do your body work/I feel my pulse working overtime/I get shy in these lights/I feel your body doing overtime,” the twins anxiously warble.

Beyond the album’s two massive singles, there’s plenty of highlights packed into the eclectic (yet cohesive) record, including “Where Did You Go?” with Jonathan Mendelsohn and Greg Laswell’s stunning album closer “Addicted,” which finds the singer achingly recounting the details of his troubled relationship atop a gorgeous, piano-tinged melody. “I might be addicted to how you always get the best of me,” Laswell sorrowfully croons above the soaring chorus.

Two of my favorite voices also make an appearance: There’s the tranced-out “Carry Me” starring omnipresent dance floor queen Nadia Ali and her distinctively melodic vocals, as well as “Gimme Plenty,” which features nu-jazz troupe Bitter:Sweet‘s Shana Halligan. (A very unexpected and happy surprise!) The songs sees the songstress singing lush Britney-like commands across the sultry, bouncing chorus: “Gimme more, gimme love, gimme plenty,” she coos.

In The Air is an absolute treat from start to finish, featuring solid production value that trumps Morgan’s previous record and plenty of soul-searching lyricism that go beyond the oft-basic themes of so many dance tunes on heavy rotation in the clubs. Every song’s a smash, filled with emotion and pulsating energy–the best qualities that EDM has to offer.

Check out a sample mega-mix of the album below…

Madonna‘s ascent to the throne as the Queen of Pop (which began roughly 20 years ago give or take, depending on which articles you read), happened as a result of her ability to reinvent herself as an artist, challenging taboos regarding gender and sexuality via the appropriation of underground cultural phenomenons and entertaining the world over with her extraordinary talent as a live performer. She also knocked out a decent song or two.

The reality, though, is that her latest studio album MDNA–the twelfth of her career overall–is not about reinvention: It’s about reclamation.

After just under three years spent behind the director’s camera of W.E.–her take on the romance between Wallis Simpson and King Edward VIII–the Queen of Pop found herself going stir crazy, having spent months researching, writing and splicing pieces of her movie together in the editing room. (Or more likely, bossing around some poor schlub to carry out her demands.)

Coupled with a highly publicized divorce after 8 years from director Guy Ritchie in late 2008–a (somewhat) surprisingly still-raw subject that largely weaves itself throughout her latest record–Madonna’s current mantra du jour is best captured in her new album’s most defining lyric: “I need to dance.”

Yes, Madonna’s in a rapturous state of mind in 2012, and in more ways than one: A bulk of her latest album, an incredible, varied collection of pounding club cuts, bloody revenge odes and swinging, psychedelic ’60′s-tinged anthems, seems to be tripping out on acid–or, more accurately, ecstasy. After all, the euphoria-inducing club drug (MDMA, formally speaking) is largely responsible for the cheeky, initial-inspired album title, MDNA.

But there’s a second way to interpret the album’s title, as perhaps hinted at on album’s test tube-like kaleidoscopic cover, which might be even more befitting: Madonna DNA. Sure, she refuses to step back in time (how many times has she said “I don’t like to repeat myself”?), and she might have just released her latest greatest hits compilation Celebration back in 2009, but Madonna’s latest studio album, oddly enough, often feels more like a career retrospective–played in hyper-speed, anyway.

Lyrically, there’s countless nods for fans to find from her back catalog: “When I hear your voice/Something happens to me and I have no choice” she sings in the bridge of “I’m Addicted,” channeling “Like A Prayer.” From “Express Yourself” in “Some Girls” (“I’m not like all the rest, put your loving to the test”) to the “Je suis désolée” and “Forgive me!” from Confessions‘ “Sorry” in “I Fucked Up” and “Girl Gone Wild” to “Into The Groove” in “Superstar” (“John Travolta, get into your groove!”), it should become clear to those hungrily searching for any instances of any copycat work that the only artist Madonna consistently keeps swiping from on this record is…Madonna.

And when it’s not a lyric, it’s a vibe: “Gang Bang,” one of the album’s brightest highlights (and, ironically, its darkest moment), finds the wronged heroine of Erotica‘s “Thief of Hearts” up for another round of merciless revenge, while “I Don’t Give A” provides a modern day update to the social angst and #MiddleAgeSingleMomCelebrityProblems expounded upon on “American Life.” “I’m A Sinner” swings with the same trippy ’60′s psychedelic touch of 1999′s Austin Powers theme, “Beautiful Stranger.” On “Superstar,” Madonna delights in a dozen or more of her favorite male pop culture figures in history, a la the timeless name-dropping bridge of “Vogue.”

Plus, there’s the religious aspect–a signature characteristic in the Madonna catalog. This time however, it’s back to Sunday School: Gone is Ester, Kabbalah-centric songstress present in the earthier cuts of Ray of Light and the Hebrew-soaked mysticism of tracks like Confessions‘ “Isaac.” No, Madonna Ciccone has us returning “Like A Prayer” territory on MDNA, down on our knees and grasping at our rosaries for forgiveness. “Hail Mary, full of Grace” she declares on”I’m A Sinner,” later rattling through a half-dozen biblical figures. “I forgot to say my prayers/Baby Jesus on the stairs!” she inexplicably howls on the boisterous “I Don’t Give A.” In the first few seconds of “Girl Gone Wild, she recites the Act of Contrition (a prayer that first made its way into Madonna’s back catalog on 1989′s Like A Prayer.)

Forget the bible: Everything one ever needed to know about Catholicism can be found in MDNA.

Like her classic 1989 release, MDNA is a post-divorce record. Unlike Like A Prayer, which was released only a few months after her divorce from Sean Penn, MDNA comes almost four years after the fact. Since then, new love has already sprung.

As a result, there’s contrasting moods at play: MDNA is an incredible, explosively defiant record–full of both euphoric club cuts and swoon-filled swinging ’60′s pop anthems, yes–but also unexpectedly raw, introspective balladry, all of which showcasing far more vulnerability than one might have concluded from the album’s two lead singles.

Launching with “Give Me All Your Luvin” back in January, the chant-heavy cheerleading anthem which already leaked in mostly finished form 3 months prior (and should, for all intents and purposes, be considered nothing more than a promo single for the Super Bowl) was the campaign’s first misstep. While the song itself is a breezy moment of self-congratulatory revelry (“L-U-V, Madonna!”), it’s also one of the album’s least interesting moments overall, and the verses tacked on by both of its heavyweight pop star features–M.I.A. and Nicki Minaj–are cheap, phoned-in and completely unrelated to the song. Sure, it was all in cheeky fun–pom-poms and all–but for a first impression, there was little to cheer about.

“Girl Gone Wild,” the second single from the campaign, did her no favors in the public eye either: That Madonna was singing about getting drunk off of Tanqueray in the club while bumping up against a beat that’s been served up and reheated twice over already (it’s very similar to Benassi’s remix of Madonna’s own “Celebration” from back in 2010) didn’t particularly champion the argument that Madonna was providing anything that wasn’t already on the radio–especially when, only weeks prior, she was sipping tea and referring to Lady Gaga’s “Born This Way” as “reductive.” (To Madonna’s credit, it still is.)

Hearing the album in full, it’s hard to believe that those were the singles selected from the record–especially considering MDNA is one of her better albums in years.

“I’m Addicted” for instance–the namesake of the record–surges forth with the euphoria of “Ray of Light” and the dark, hypnotic trance of Confessions‘ “Get Together.” As incredible as the song’s pulsing House beat is however (co-crafted by the Benassi Bros. and The Demolition Crew), the unexpectedly poetic lyrics are even more magical: “All of the letters push to the front of my mouth/And saying your name is somewhere between a prayer and a shout/And I can’t get it out,” Madonna cries. (What is this, “Bedtime Story”?!) Between the skittering synthesizers, stuttering vocals, pounding beats and endless chanting of “M-D-N-A” in the song’s final explosive minute, nothing comes closer to aural Ecstasy.

“Gang Bang” is another highlight–not only the record, but of her entire career. Over a dark, brooding electronic pulse, Madonna–now Dita out of order from Erotica–stalks her ex-lover in a bloody, blissfully grim tale. “I need you to die for me, baby!” she purrs above a grinding dubstep breakdown, echoing Britney‘s 2011 dub-pop masterpiece “Hold It Against Me.” As the song comes to its thrilling conclusion, the Queen comes unhinged: “Drive, bitch! And while you’re at it, die bitch!” she shrieks with delight. Add in a relentless round of guns firing, cartridges loading and bullet shells dropping the ground and you’ve got a Quentin Tarantino film in sonic form. (And a pretty solid case for a restraining order in the case of Guy Ritchie.)

The bitter taste left in Madonna’s mouth following the divorce makes its way into several of the album tracks, but is no better represented than in “I Don’t Give A.” Tripping on top of a ballsy electronic hip-hop beat, Madonna lays down the business: “You were so mad at me/Who’s got custody?,” she speak-sings. The rap in “American Life” was hard to swallow, even for the most devout Madonna fans. (“The room is full of hot-tays“? I try to forget.) Here, however, she makes it work: Nothing feels quite as personal as this track as she rattles through several dozen very Madonna-specific problems (“Ride my horse, break some bones”), eventually leading to Nicki’s most ferocious features in ages.”There’s only one Queen, and that’s Madonna…bitch!” she growls. Damn straight.

Between the seismic-sized synthesizers, theatrical delusions of grandeur and bossy, mile-a-minute fuck-off tracks, you get the sense that Madonna is quite literally blasting away the pain and cranking up the bass: “There’s some things you don’t need to know…just turn up the radio!” she demands on euphoric Martin Solveig-produced “Turn Up The Radio” before quickly drowning in a sea of arena-sized synthesizers.

That’s where William Orbit comes into play–her trusty collaborator from Ray of Light and Music–returns to draw out some vulnerability yet again. The album’s Orbit-produced closing moments, including “Falling Free” and the Golden Globe-winning “Masterpiece” from W.E., are stunning exercises in quiet introspection, colored by gorgeous orchestral production and vocals that haven’t sounded so pure in well over a decade.

Speaking of, the vocals throughout MDNA have been run thoroughly through the ringer–from being stretched too thin on processed bangers like “Girl Gone Wild,” to the Auto-Tune overload of “Some Girls,” to a kind of regal, fluttery over-enunciation on “Falling Free”. It’s all very strange, but in most places, it works.

“Love Spent,” however, is arguably Orbit’s greatest triumph on the record: Like seventeen electronica songs and a plucky banjo all shoved into one, the thrilling electro-ballad (well, not really a ballad) finds Madonna woefully recounting a relationship in financial and emotional turmoil: “If we opened up a joint account/Would it put an end to all your doubt?” Madonna earnestly ponders. And then out of nowhere, the track explodes: The structure shifts (a brief moment of “Hung Up” synthesizers flaring up in the background!), and the song literally catapults into space.”I want you to hold me like you hold your money/Hold me in your arms until there’s nothing left,” she croons with an icy Auto-Tune flair, a four-to-the-floor storming underneath while an 8-bit electronica beat twinkling above.

It’s an instantly classic Madonna ballad (well, still not really a ballad), down to the song’s devastating opening line: “You had all of me…you wanted more.”

“I Fucked Up,” which has been unfairly subjected to bonus track status on the deluxe edition of MDNA, finds Madonna slowly recounting all the ways it could have worked with her former beau above a drippy, slow-staggering (shockingly produced by Solveig, not Orbit.) “I fucked up, I made a mistake/Nobody does it better than myself,” she lightly croons. For a woman whose lyrics are so often spelled out in the form of a defiant middle finger (“I’m not your bitch!”), it’s a rather rare admission of blame.

Not everything is doused in anguish and acid: Despite many of the darker, angrier and more introspective moments, Madonna mostly sounds like she’s never been happier in parts of the record. There’s a kind of warmth we haven’t heard from Madonna in a while: Call it newfound freedom or call it Brahim Zaibat, but Madonna’s definitely feeling the love again.

In fact, she’s downright slap-happy half the time: Along with the insipid jubilee of “Gimme All Your Luvin,” there’s “Superstar,” which sees the icon lovingly cooing her way (“Ooh, la la, you’re my superstar!”) though a non-stop swoon fest in reverence of her new beau. The song’s a real family affair, incorporating eldest daughter and rising style icon Lourdes for a pretty harmony in the background.

“Beautiful Killer”–another track that really should have made the standard edition–continues the love affair across a striding ’60′s midtempo pulse reminiscent of a Girls Aloud production (specifically “Singapore”). “You are a beautiful killer,” she whispers excitedly, a la American Life‘s “Love Profusion” (“I got you under my skin”). There might be talk of gun-slinging and deadly intention on this gorgeous ode to French film star Alain Delon, but it sounds like she’s smiling in the booth the entire time.

So where does MDNA lie in the greater scheme of all things Madonna? Well, it’s somewhere in between 1989′s Like A Prayer, 1998′s spiritual masterpiece Ray Of Light (though not as revolutionary) and her dark and throbby 2005 triumph Confessions On A Dance Floor (though not as cohesive). MDNA is miles more daring than her less inspired 2008 album Hard Candy, which too often felt crippled by pangs of relevancy-seeking atop recycled Timbaland beats 4 years past their prime. It’s Madonna’s most joyful record since True Blue, or even the one that started it all back in 1983: Madonna.

MDNA won’t help to reassert Madonna’s position on the throne as the Queen because of forward-thinking production or a particularly relentless promotional campaign. Instead, it serves as a reminder of what Madonna has always represented (and what most other modern pop stars fail to truly grasp): Fun.

It’s sonic euphoria, chock full of dramatics, attitude and surging dance-pop productions that only grow better with each replay. It’s infectious and propulsive. One might even call it addictive…like MDMA. (And that’s okay!)

Those turned off by the thought of Madonna being “too old” likely won’t be swayed otherwise when they listen to this record. While the album’s slower moments offer “of age” introspection, her aggressive (and often sexually charged) attitude on most the album cuts is even less muted than it has been in over a decade: Between the devious howls of “Drive, bitch!” in “Gang Bang,” the slagging off of girls with “fake tits and a nasty mood” on “Some Girls” and the not-so-subtle euphemism on “Beautiful Killer” (“Can’t really talk with a gun in my mouth!”), Madonna’s clearly just begun having her fun being naughty. (This is, after all, the woman who once purred “Next time you want pussy, just look in the mirror baby” on Erotica‘s “Waiting” almost 20 years ago.)

The older Madonna becomes, the more the public will push back at for behaving just like the pop star she was in the ’80′s and ’90′s (which is not to say that she hasn’t always been criticized every step of her career regardless). Could she change? Throw on a gown and sing some slower tunes about life lived and love lost? Yes. But why would she?

Face it, she’s Madonna: Just as she refused to be told what she can and can’t do as a woman in music 20 years ago, she’s not going to be told what she can or can’t do as an older woman in music today: The critics might scowl and dismiss her as a grandma for wearing a leotard and singing about sex, but she’ll only push back harder by doing a cartwheel on bleachers in high heels while performing at the Super Bowl live in front of a billion viewers with a smile on her face–something most every girl in this industry couldn’t do now at half her age. As she declares on “I Don’t Give A”: “I’m gonna be okay/I don’t care what the people say.”

She’s going to go down swinging (and likely while straddling the head of a dude from LMFAO.)

“I think my nature is to fight back, to fight those demons that want to bring me down. I have this motor inside of me that says, No, I will not go down, I feel it pulling at me, and sometimes it’s stronger than at other times…and that’s why I work so hard, because obviously I must have a lot of demons I’m fighting,” she told Becky Johnston 23 years ago in the May 1989 feature for Interview Magazine.

That’s why we she became the Queen then. That’s why she remains the Queen now.

A less rambly track-by-track version of this review appears on MTV Buzzworthy.

MDNA was released on March 26. (iTunes)

Everyone’s got something to say about Lana Del Rey.

In Late June, the cut-and-paste clip for the singer’s “Video Games”–then just a buzz track–dropped with a thud onto YouTube. Spliced between old movie sequences, paparazzi clips and fuzzy home videos, we watched as a husky-voiced, otherworldly chanteuse pouted and cooed a dreary, vintage-sounding ode to her beloved: “It’s you, it’s you/It’s all for you, everything I do,” she begs. The song’s haunting melody, coupled with Del Rey’s bombshell looks and curious mannerisms, drew adoration and anticipation from countless bloggers worldwide, including myself.

Only weeks after the clip premiered, the overnight Internet sensation came under fire, as dissenters were quick to point out what Google already knew for months: Lana Del Rey, born Lizzy Grant, was raised by her father, a real-estate entrepreneur, and her mother, an advertising account executive in Lake Placid. After a stalled launch two years prior, the singer had since been signed to Interscope in March of 2011, paired off with top UK writers and hip-hop producers, and thrust quietly into the world (again) as Lana Del Rey.

Critics scoffed at her stories in interviews of living in a trailer park (despite this fairly telling interview from back in 2008 in…a trailer park), as though an artist’s legitimacy is earned only by being born into hardship. Her image changed, too, including an unquestionably fuller set of lips (“They’re fake!”, they cried), as though the emotional value of a song is determined by a single Restylane injection.

In short, haters continued to hate: Internet campaigns–spearheaded by the ever-sarcastic Hipster Runoff–effectively began a Del Rey witch hunt, tearing apart her music lyric by lyric, her videos frame by frame, and over-analyzing every word she’s ever uttered in an interview to an obsessive degree.

It didn’t help that Del Rey’s star skyrocketed too quickly: When the singer took to the stage of Saturday Night Live in early January for a jittery performance of her double A-side debut, the world–largely unaware of her particular brand of deep-voiced, slow-spoken artistry to begin with–pounced: ABC news anchors, musicians and all began eagerly participating in the most bizarrely overwrought public skewering, labeling it “the worst performance in SNL history.” (It wasn’t.)

To this day, the persecution continues with sexist headlines (“Lana Del Rey shows off some upskirt on some magazine cover!”) and nasty blog comments, as Indie absolutists hungrily seek any opportunity to “out” Del Rey with a quivering, condemning point of the finger shouting “FRAUD!”

In reaction to a recent interview in which Del Rey discussed drinking underage to deal with her own troubles, Hipster Runoff posted a mocking meme of Del Rey, the words “My daddy only cared about hoarding dot-coms: Confessions of a Teen Drinker” written across the picture.

If there were ever a case to be made about cyber-bullying, Lana Del Rey’s e-burning at the stake would be the shining example.

It’s like I told you, honey…

Early into the campaign, Del Rey’s management described her sound as “gangsta Nancy Sinatra”–a term she personally disapproves of, despite the fact that it remains the most astute characterization of Born To Die: It’s as though Sinatra’s “Bang, Bang (My Baby Shot Me Down),” in all of its swagger and seriousness, were stretched across a tripping hip-hop beat for 15 tracks. The result is a blend of youthful nostalgia and noir, capturing the very essence of summertime sadness (which, conveniently enough, is one of the song titles) on a tear-stained Polaroid from a summer decades ago. Sound a little melodramatic? So does this album–and yet, it works.

Largely produced by hip-hop producer Emile Haynie (Kid Cudi), Born To Die is an incredibly cohesive effort, as each song on the record is characterized by recurring noises: Lonesome plucks of a surf guitar, a distant male yelp in the distance, cinematic strings. Along with Haynie, Del Rey worked with several other talented songwriters and producers, including Jeff Bhasker (Kanye West), Rick Nowels (Lykke Li) and Chris Braide (The Saturdays, Diana Vickers).

Although the tradition of storytelling continues to die a slow death in today’s pop music (unless tales of getting down in the club are considered storytelling–to that, we have a great surplus), Del Rey has crafted evocative, colorful narratives, relying on Americana symbolism and Old Hollywood glamour of yesteryear to tell her tales: Stories of wild love affairs, girls gone wild, reckless abandon, and partners in crime riding off into the sunset.

“Born To Die,” the album’s defining anthem, sees Del Rey riding out the rest of her days with her bad boy in tow. And even if it marches forward with all the heavy-heartedness of a funereal procession sonically, the song’s overarching ride-or-die outlook remains endlessly romantic: “Let me kiss you hard in the pouring rain/You like your girls insane/Choose your last words/This is the last time/’Cause you and I, we were born to die,” she declares.

“The concept of almost every song on the record is a dark love story seen through hopeful eyes,” Del Rey told Flush The Fashion almost a year before her debut was released. Throughout the record, Del Rey toes the line gently in between death and romance, happily swooning about love while hinting at something much murkier working underneath: “I’m feeling electric tonight/Cruising down the coast, goin’ ’bout 99,” Del Rey declares defiantly above the marching beat of “Summertime Sadness,” “Got my bad baby by my heavenly side/I know if I go, I’ll die happy tonight.”

On “National Anthem,” Lana revels underneath bursting fireworks with her man, painting an idyllic scene of Bugatti whips and mansions in the Hamptons. “He loves to romance ‘em/Reckless abandon/Hold me for ransom/Upper echelon,” Del Rey dreamily purrs. It’s one of the album’s most evocative moments lyrically, as the songstress breathlessly indulges in the extravagance and grandeur of the American Dream, a la The Great Gatsby: “Money is the anthem/God, you’re so handsome,” Del Rey chants endlessly.

Tragically, the album version of the song–which trots along on a dark, spooky beat–utterly pales in comparison to the demo version that leaked weeks ago, which shines infinitely brighter above a gritty electric guitar and a punchier beat that pays proper justice to the kaleidoscopic grandeur of the song. It’s not that bad in the end–just a major missed opportunity.

When Lana’s heart isn’t being pumped full of delight, it’s crashing down in misery: One of the album’s standout moments, “Dark Paradise,” finds Lana mourning the loss of a love at sea: “There’s no remedy for memory/Your face is like a melody, it won’t leave my head,” Del Rey bellows out into the night. Yet beneath the song’s gothic exterior lies an deeply romantic sentiment, suggesting that love trumps all circumstances–even death: “No one compares to you/I’m scared that you won’t be waiting on the other side,” she confesses above the brooding beat.

Elsewhere, as on the bleak, slow-swaggering “Million Dollar Man”–another one of the album’s finest moments–Del Rey plays a broken-hearted songstress in a smoke-filled jazz bar, flexing her supreme songwriting skills alongside co-writer Chris Braide: “I don’t know how you get over, get over/Someone as dangerous, tainted and flawed as you,” Del Rey sorrowfully croons, her voice quivering with all the conviction of Fiona Apple at her finest.

“I heard that you like the bad girls honey, is that true?”

Being a bad girl certainly seems to be one of the most recurring themes in Born To Die: Look no further than the album cover itself, as a stony-faced Del Rey stands tall against the bright blue sky in a button-up white blouse, looking like a well-to-do Catholic school girl. It’s a perfectly stark photograph, sans one scandalous detail: That bright red bra visibly peeking out underneath the fabric.

When she’s not mournfully wailing on anthems like “Video Games” and “Born To Die,” Del Rey is getting downright flirty, promising sweetly-sung love affairs full of lavishness, laughter and so, so, so many kisses–in the pouring rain and otherwise.

“Off To The Races,” one of the tracks co-penned alongside Tim Larcombe (Girls Aloud, Sugababes) comes to life with vivid imagery and brag-like excess, as though Lana was putting the lyrics to a classic rap track to song: Bacardi chasers, glimmering swimming pools, bikini tops, red nail polish, gold coins, cocaine hearts. Except, of course, Lana Del Rey isn’t playing the boss: “I’m your little scarlet, starlet, singing in the garden/Kiss me on my open mouth,” Del Rey girlishly hiccups.

Indeed, Del Rey’s throwback persona dictates her lyrics in the most traditional sense, pitting the indie-pop princess with all the helplessness and unwavering loyalty of Tammy Wynette‘s “Stand By Your Man.”

During the anthemic “This Is What Makes Us Girls,” Lana and a group of trouble-making friends that play hard, love harder and raise Hell at sixteen years old: “We were skippin’ school and drinking on the job…with the boss,” Del Rey deadpans. It’s one of the album’s most instantly catchy cuts, even if the overarching message raises a feminist eyebrow raise or two: “This is what makes us girls, we don’t stick together ’cause we put our love first,” she croons. Erm…girl power?

At a point, the ‘I’ve been a bad girl, daddy’ shtick can prove somewhat troubling at times, especially as she navigates into territory like “Lolita,” in which Del Rey invokes her inner Betty Boop, raising her voice to a nearly childish high as she jumps from the bellowing of “Video Games” to coquettish tease: “I want my cake and I want to eat it too/I want to have fun and be in love with you,” she playfully teases.

Yet if we are to embrace Lana Del Rey as a “throwback,” we accept the outdated ideologies and notions about gender that come with the persona. There’s something very knowing–or perhaps just scandalously alluring, about Del Rey’s girlish teases throughout. True, there’s nothing too empowering about her music (I don’t think “Born To Die” will become the theme of the “It Gets Better” Movement any time soon), yet the neediness and fragility of songs like “Without You” are ultimately just as valid as any other emotion–even if they’re not particularly “good” kind.

Frankly, Born To Die is likely a more accurate depiction of our thoughts than some listeners would ever care to admit.

“Not even they can stop me now…”

With all the dialogue that Lana Del Rey has, intentionally or otherwise, generated–about authenticity, image, gender roles and everything in between, it’s difficult to fully appreciate this body of work at hand amidst both endless hate speech and intelligent, well-researched analysis (and yes, I’m self-aware enough to realize that I’m yet another voice in the mix).

It’s only when both the naysayers and Lana absolutists are reduced to a buzz in the background that the beauty in the darkness of Born To Die reveals itself: It’s a well-produced record–incredibly so, and even if the somewhat depressing, world-weary tone throughout the album weighs heavily (and a bit redundant) all in one go, Born To Die is still one of the most intriguing debut efforts in years.

In fact, not since Florence + The Machine‘s 2009 debut, Lungs, has there been such a masterful, well-crafted debut–nor with such a defining sound. Despite who or whatever she was prior to becoming Lana Del Rey, the rich, romantic stories and sweeping melodies that pour out each gorgeous track off of Born To Die will outlast any hateful headline that ever comes her way.

Born To Die was released on January 31. (iTunes)

In September of 2010, the world (well, the UK) watched as a jittery Worcestershire-born girl named Cher Lloyd strolled across the stage–suited in a a fitted black jacket and shredded white jeans–to audition for the X Factor. After a brief grilling by the judges regarding her name and age (“You look more!” Louis Walsh exclaimed after learning she was only 16 years old), Lloyd announced she’d be performing (Keri Hilson‘s cover of) Soulja Boy‘s “Turn My Swag On.”

And then she opened her mouth to sing.

The audition was electric: A mixture of vulnerable warbling and smooth-talking rap skills, Lloyd’s brilliantly crooned rendition of Soulja Boy’s song sent stunned ripples throughout the entire arena. The judges all stared, seemingly bewildered. When she finally finished, the crowd exploded into a long, uproarious cheer. Cher’s audition video almost immediately went viral, watched by millions worldwide fascinated by the young ‘swagga’-fied singer. As her soon-to-be mentor Cheryl Cole would happily proclaim following the audition: “You are right up my street!”

Even after all the incredible performances she’d deliver later on in the competition, it was exactly that first moment which would ultimately remain her most memorable, show-stopping performance of the season.

And so, she progressed onto the competition. Between her melodic vocal skills and ample on-stage cockiness, the swag-pop singer captivated (and sharply divided) X Factor viewers with her love-it-or-hate-it youthful brattitude. Cheryl Cole saw something. Will.I.Am saw something. And many, myself included, remained obsessed week after week.

Following her departure from the series (ultimately clocking in at fourth place behind soulful big belter Rebecca Ferguson, tween boy band One Direction and eventual ‘guitar-pop’ winner Matt Cardle), Lloyd was instantly signed with Simon Cowell‘s Sony Music imprint, Syco Music.

Cowell clearly saw Lloyd’s potential beyond her final X Factor performance, immediately thrusting her into the studio with dozens of drool-worthy A-list pop producers, including RedOne, Toby Gad, Max Martin and Shellback.

By mid-August of 2011, Lloyd released her debut The Runners-produced single: “Swagger Jagger”–an in-your-face hater anthem largely prompted by the backlash Lloyd received during (and after) her appearance on X Factor by detractors. “You can’t stop clickin ’bout me, writin’ ’bout me, tweeting ’bout me,” she taunts above the song’s dizzying beat–a noisy cross between a Black Eyed Peas-esque club banger and the mind-numbing irritation of a Crazy Frog ringtone. If Cher wasn’t enough of a divisive figure in pop culture already, she was now with “Swagger Jagger”–the very definition of a polarizing pop track.

And although the song thinly teetered between brilliance and club trash (or likely because of it), it worked: A week later, Lloyd secured her first #1 single in the UK.

A few months later, the singer returned to the scene with a refreshing new change in sound–or at least a slower BPM: “With Ur Love,” the RiRi-lite (if not ultimately safe) mid-tempo jam featuring silky-smooth pop crooner, Mike Posner. Perfectly timed for the back-to-school swoon-y season, the cutesy pop ditty brought home a second smash for the singer, landing at #4 on the UK Singles Chart.)

On November 7, a little over one year after stepping out onto the X Factor stage for the very first time, Lloyd released her debut record: Sticks + Stones, a 10-track collection of vibrant, jaunty electro-pop, hooky melodies, gritty dubstep influences and, of course, Lloyd’s signature brand of swag-pop.

From the very first second, it’s clear that Sticks + Stones is a distinctly ‘young’ album. After all, Cher Lloyd is only 18 years old (17 during most of the recording for the record) and the album smartly reflects thate-from the cheeky sing-song of “Swagger Jagger” and “Over The Moon,” to the silly studio ad-libbing at the end of “Want U Back” (“Do I sound like a helicopter? Brrrr!”) to the playful Gaga reference in “Playa Boi” (“He need to rock all the sickest brands and give me love, not a bad romance!”–all the more amusing given that both songs were crafted by RedOne.)

There’s no better representation of the album’s youthful flair as with album opener “Grow Up,” featuring a reliably amazing mile-a-minute verse by industry vet, Busta Rhymes. Alternating between deceptively sweet and sarcastic croonage (a la Alright, Still-era Lily Allen) and a ferocious flow (a la Nicki Minaj, growls and all), Cher merrily leads the charge against maturity on the manic mixture of reggae noises and pinball machine bleeps and bloops: “We ain’t ever gonna grow up, we just wanna get down/Show everybody who runs this town!”

“Want U Back”

Later on, Lloyd flaunts a little funny bone on the regret-filled “Want U Back.” Kicking off with a deliciously angry grunt that plays on loop (UHH!!!) the Shellback-produced track finds Lloyd ruing the day she ever stepped out on her man…who’s now being made all the happier by some other chick: “Remember all the things that you and I did first? And now you’re doing them with her?!” Lloyd sings incredulously on the bouncing electro-pop beat, dissing the chick’s jeans and denying all charges of jealousy in the process.

Sure, it borders on near stalker territory (just how do you know where they’re going ’round town, Cher?), but…oh, it’s just so endearing! “Want U Back” is one of the album’s catchiest, cutest moments–even if Lloyd’s gritting her teeth and clenching her fists with rage. If this isn’t a surefire candidate for Single #3…UHH!!!

“Playa Boi”–another strong single candidate–relies on a thick slice of late ’80′s/early ’90′s-encrusted synth-pop, along with an interpolation lifted directly from Neneh Cherry‘s international smash, “Buffalo Stance.” “No playa boi can win my love/It’s sweetness that I’m thinkin’ of,” Lloyd chants, adding an ever-so-slightly 21st century spin on the lyrics to Cherry’s 1988 classic. With its big, bossy chants (“Listen up! Turn it up!”) and funky fresh beats, “Playa Boi” serves up enough heat to have Paula Abdul fastening her wig (back in 1988, anyway.)

And while “Want U Back” and “Playa Boi” are two personal highlights, “Superhero” is likely the album’s single most genius moment in songcraft.

Produced by Jukebox (he of Willow Smith “Whip My Hair” fame) and co-penned by R&B-pop songwriting sensation Priscilla Renea (Rihanna, Cheryl Cole), the bouncy break-up story finds the young singer getting Marvel-minded above sharp stabs of strings and kicking drums while illustrating the story of a relationship gone wrong–comic book style: “Went to sleep a superhero and he woke up a villain, killing and killing my love/Oh, what happened?” Lloyd mourns.

“Superhero” isn’t just a catchy tune–it’s literally a non-stop assault of hooks and melodies. From the lyrics (“You said you could save me/I’m doing the saving”) to the live instrumentation to the wildly warbling hooks that Lloyd effortlessly nails (“I-I-I don’t wear no ti-i-ights!”), “Superhero” is truly a stunning victory for all parties involved.

Elsewhere, Lloyd takes the opportunity to wax autobiographical about her fast path to stardom: “When Simon told me I was trouble/All I said is ‘okay’/Now let me turn my swag on/And step up to the plate,” she raps during the opening of “Over The Moon.” Half gritty dubstep affair, half sing-songy ’40′s ditty that nearly brings Nicola Roberts‘ own debut to mind, the zany stormer is probably the best representation of Lloyd’s girly-gone-gangsta persona.

Yet of all her swagga-filled moments, “Dub On The Track” is by far her swaggiest moment yet.

After a meh version of the song originally leaked back in the summer, the song has since undergone a major facelift in its finished form. The newly polished–err, filthier track includes even more relentlessly grinding, winding dubstep synths and a fierce fist-pumper of a chant (“Work hard, party harder!”), as well as some cred-building assists by UK grime rappers Mic Righteous, Dot Rotten and Ghetts.

And while dubstep often has all the appeal of chewing on glass, Lloyd’s free-flowing melodies and rhymes keep the track mostly in check: “I’m hard to swallow, but a spoonful of sugar might make it go down more easily,” she sagely advises.

And while a bulk of the album is filled with bossy brags, heavy beats and sugary-sweet teenage dreamin’, it’s “Beautiful People”–the album’s devastating ballad co-produced by Max Martin and Shellback–that allows Lloyd to shine as a singer: “It’s beautiful people like you who get whatever they want/And it’s beautiful people like you who suck the life right out of my heart,” Lloyd sadly croons on top of the chilling piano melody and acoustic guitar strum, later joined by Carolina Liar.

As PopJustice rightfully pointed out, Lloyd’s fragility makes the track seem the most genuine–a little more of this kind of vulnerability and emotional honesty on the rest of the record would have been greatly appreciated.

Still, she’s excused for not wanting to dive too deep on her first go-around: This is Cher’s debut effort, and she’s made it clear that she’s (mostly) here to have fun. While the collection could have definitely benefited from at least another 2 or 3 songs, Sticks + Stones is still an impressive debut: It’s cute, it’s swagga-riffic, and it’s likely a stronger set than anyone would have probably anticipated from the young entertainer.

As with her appearance on X Factor–from her first earth-shattering audition to her tear-soaked take on Shakespears Sister‘s “Stay”–we should know better than to doubt the Almighty Lloyd.

After all, she’s the kind of girl to put dub on the track.

Sticks + Stones was released on November 7. (iTunes)

Kelly Clarkson‘s come a long way in just under a decade.

After becoming the first (and let’s be real, still easily the best) winner of American Idol in 2002, the singer first made her official mark with 2003′s Thankful, a debut collection complete with safe-yet-amazing post-Idol balladry (“Anytime”), soulful R&B-pop offerings (“Just Missed The Train”) and slightly rambunctious, attitude heavy pop-rock anthems, including “Miss Independent” and “Low.”

The runaway success of the latter two singles quickly helped to sculpt the sound of what would become Clarkson’s grand opus in 2004: Breakaway, one of the most defining pop records of the ’00′s–a pristine collection of electrifying pop-rock anthems produced by Max Martin, Dr. Luke and Ben Moody including “Behind These Hazel Eyes” and “Since U Been Gone” that officially shed the singer’s Idol image and quickly made Clarkson’s name synonymous to any and all things angst-pop.

Following the record-breaking success of Breakaway came My December in 2007. Generally dubbed as Clarkson’s “rebel moment,” Kelly opted to breakaway (pun!) from the familiar pop mold of her past and go a slightly less radio-friendly route, penning tougher, darker, and more revealing rock tracks than ever before. The album’s development led to a very heated, very public head-to-head power struggle between Clarkson and Sony BMG label head Clive Davis, who very openly professed his lack of faith in Clarkson’s upcoming release. And while My December–which spawned “Never Again” and the devastating power ballad “Sober”–was by no means a failure (in fact, it was generally received more favorably by critics than Breakaway), its performance was ultimately underwhelming.

In 2009, Clarkson returned once more with her fourth studio album, All I Ever Wanted. It was another strong release (as with every Clarkson album) and a smash hit, although marked with a certain by-the-numbers familiarity, including safe, radio-friendly anthems (“My Life Would Suck Without You”) and Katy Perry album rejects (“I Do Not Hook Up”). The album’s own cover painted the album’s narrative perfectly, featuring an uncomfortable Clarkson forced to half-smile against a schlocky, candy-coated Photoshop background. It was, in effect, a quiet acknowledgement that Davis had won this round.

Two more years have passed since then, leading to Clarkson’s fifth studio release: Stronger–the most perfect representation of harmony achieved.

Combining the power-pop anthems and radio friendly accessibility of Breakaway with the darker confessional appeal of My December, Stronger plays like the perfect marriage between artistic intent and label demand. It’s an effortless combination–counterbalancing the threat of overindulgence by an artist gone unchecked and the “sell-out” sound of a label with too many hands in the cookie jar–resulting in one of the strongest, most triumphant and wholly satisfying records of the year.

To craft Stronger, Clarkson and her team enlisted a solid collection of tried-and-true songwriters (Bonnie McKee, Ester Dean, Busbee) and incredible pop producers, including Toby Gad, Oligee and Greg Kurstin–the man responsible for the album’s three most major moments: “What Doesn’t Kill You (Stronger),” “Dark Side” and “Honestly,” which isn’t just an album highlight, but one of the most haunting songs Clarkson’s ever recorded.

“Could you love somebody like that?/Could you attract someone like that?” Clarkson slowly croons above a chilly, swirling electronic undercurrent, all complimented by a teary-eyed piano-led bridge, chilling howls in the background and some of Clarkson’s most devastating vocal delivery to date. It’s an utterly awe-inspiring number, the album’s greatest departure musically, and a particular highlight on the record.

“Dark Side” is another instant favorite: From the ingeniously twisted toy box introduction to the almighty crashing chorus (“Everybody’s got a dark side/Do you love me?/Will you love mine?”), the Kurstin-produced track is the very definition of a Breakaway-meets-My December brand of brilliance.

More than ever before in Clarkson’s discography, Stronger relies heavily on live instrumentation and unpolished vocals to emulate the concert experience. Similar to what Beyonce hoped to achieve with 4 earlier this year, Clarkson made it clear that her new album would include plenty of live instruments and forgo excessive Auto-Tune and vocoders in order to, in Clarkson’s own words, avoid the “compressed” sound of some of her older hits from a mixing standpoint. “I wanted this record to sound like my live vocals,” she told Metro.

Countless moments throughout–the jam session flow of “Hello,” the unrestrained emotion-wrought yelps of “Honestly,” the furiously storming bridge of “You Can’t Win”–surge with the same kind of raw energy you’d expect to hear at any Clarkson concert.

Interestingly, the album’s Brian Kennedy-produced lead single “Mr. Know It All” is probably one of the album’s riskiest single selections (and truthfully, one of its weaker moments). Like “Breakaway,” the song is breezier than the rest of the accompanying album’s contents, floating along a delicate melody recalling Bruno Mars “Just The Way You Are.” The song is thoroughly gorgeous, but despite my initial thoughts about the song, it’s admittedly nothing that would ever inspire much enthusiasm outside of Clarkson’s devoted fan base.

But if “Mr. Know It All” is Stronger‘s “Breakaway,” then “What Doesn’t Kill You (Stronger)” is the album’s “Since U Been Gone”: Set above a cool stream of synthesizers, Stronger‘s title track is easily the album’s most instantaneous, explosive anthem: “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, stand a little taller, doesn’t mean I’m lonely when I’m alone,” the singer yelps as the song lurches into its massive, fist-pumping chorus. “Stronger” is Stronger‘s strongest, most empowering moment–a fitting focal point, no doubt.

And while Stronger‘s brand of empowerment isn’t so much in the sense of embracing yourself as it is about, say, about dusting yourself victoriously after a broken heart, there’s still one incredibly satisfying number included that does directly address that flaws-and-all attitude: “You Can’t Win,” an anthem that more than a few of today’s pop stars probably wish they could write.

Instead of patronizing listeners with trite “feel good”-isms, Clarkson cleverly goes in from the opposite end: “If you’re straight, why aren’t you married yet?/If you’re gay, why aren’t you waving a flag?/You can’t win,” the singer angrily recounts. It’s the same message with a refreshing spin: People won’t just judge you for being you, but for not being you enough. You’ll never win, so just do you!

“Let Me Down” is yet another incredible moment; a sauntering explosion of crashing drums and guitars that remains as unbelievably listenable as it did back when it leaked back in early July. “You’re only gonna let me down/When it counts, you count down,” Clarkson unleashes with an earth-shattering roar during the chorus as her frustration mounts.

Then there’s “You Love Me,” one of the album’s most anticipated tracks after Clarkson first declared it to be her favorite song she’s ever recoded during a live stream Q&A with fans earlier this summer.

Set on top of a strumming beat that brings both The Police‘s “Every Breath You Take” and The Sugababes greatest non-single of all time “Ace Reject” to mind, Clarkson spouts out against the guy that’s done her wrong for almost a decade and counting: “You said you love me, but that I’m not good enough,” she bitterly barks as she spills her heart out on top of the ’80′s-esque beat. And while it’s not my favorite of all time (yet, anyway), it’s certainly an incredible song that finds Clarkson exploring new musical ground–all the more impressive given that she apparently wrote the song in 15 minutes.

Further into the album, Clarkson sinks her teeth into ballad territory. And while the album’s true highlights are the uptempo tracks, its the gorgeous comedowns in between–including the stunning “Standing In Front Of You” with its nearly Imogen Heap-like chorus and the Country-tinged album closer “Breaking Your Own Heart”–that prevent Clarkson’s mighty flame from burning too quickly.

If Stronger ever really falters, it’s lyrically–as with “Einstein,” which suffers from a bout of mathematical metaphor overload (“Simple math, our love divided by the square root of pride”) and a particularly cringe-worthy chorus (“Dumb plus dumb equals you”). While the song’s soulful swagger (which brings Thankful‘s “You Thought Wrong” to mind) is completely spot-on, the lyrics are slightly too juvenile in comparison to the rest of the record. And I know Kelly ain’t Shakespeare, but silly metaphor plus silly metaphor equals…well, kind of hard to take seriously.

The occasional lyrical misstep aside, Stronger remains an absolute victory, and the powerhouse singer still sounds just as flawless as she ever did before. Clarkson’s rich, melodic vocals continue to prove why she stands several rungs above every other modern female pop star, ranking her amongst the very greatest singers of our time, including Whitney Houston, Celine Dion and Mariah Carey, but without a trace of ego: She is, essentially, the ultimate non-diva diva.

In today’s climate “It Gets Better”-style pop, music has come to feel more like a trendy marketing ploy than a genuine outpouring of concern. Yet Stronger stands a cut above the rest within today’s of-the-moment anthems, holding true to the same self-empowerment Clarkson’s harnessed since the early ’00′s–from the confident sass of “Mr. Know It All” to the soldiering “The War Is Over,” in which she defiantly declares: “All I have to say is you don’t deserve me.”

Despite the bumps and bruises along the way, Stronger wholeheartedly lives up to its title.

Stronger was released on October 24. (iTunes)

Nicola Roberts is a different kind of pop star.

There’s just no getting around it, really: Ever since her name was called as one-fifth of the band that went on to become Girls Aloud during the finale of the 2002 reality series Pop Stars: The Rivals, the Lincolnshire-born redhead with porcelain skin stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the pristine pop quintet. There was something special about Nicola, something different–dare say “alternative” about the then 17-year-old songstress.

Roberts made her mark in the Aloud as the quiet, quirky vocalist responsible for some of the band’s most memorable moments–the opening seconds of “Untouchable,” the second verse of “Whole Lotta History,” the show-stopping bridge of “Call The Shots.” More often than not, it was Roberts’ shaky, vulnerable vocals that placed an ice-coated cherry on top of some of the Aloud’s finest work.

But being “different” can often be problematic, and for Nicola, induction into the Almighty Aloud was nearly a curse: From the get go, Roberts was relentlessly teased and bullied in the British tabloids for her appearance, as well as an apparent bad attitude: “Ginger.” “Pale.” “Ugly.” In 2003, Busted‘s Matt Willis pronounced her a “rude ginger bitch,” a nickname that the press fondly appropriated for years. And despite the best efforts made by her fellow bandmates to protect her against seeing the stories, Roberts was still well aware of the continuous public mockery, leading to several years of excessive drinking and an unhealthy obsession with tanning.

Lest anyone be confused and think she simply stood there and dealt with the criticism however, it’s simply not true: Nicola Roberts has always found ways to fight back.

During a performance at G-A-Y in London in 2003 for instance, the quiet crooner took a cheeky stab at Matt Willis’ attack by donning a black skirt with the words “RUDE GINGER BITCH…BOTHERD?!” painted on the back. Later on in her career, as Roberts slowly grew confident in her natural appearance, she would tackle her tanorexia head-on in an eye-opening BBC special, Nicola Roberts: The Truth About Tanning.

Now, with the release of debut record out on September 26, Cinderella’s Eyes, Roberts has gone one step further and turned the tables on her detractors completely with one loud, defiant rallying call: “TEAM GINGE.”

When Roberts’ solo campaign became public knowledge broke in early 2011, fellow Alouders Cheryl Cole and Nadine Coyle had already released their own solo efforts: Cheryl supplied the radio-friendly R&B-pop with smashes like “Fight For This Love” and “Promise This” with producers like Wayne Wilkins and Will.I.Am at the helm, while Nadine lent her tried-and-true diva pipes to Toby Gad and Guy Chambers-penned torch ballads and powerful pop tracks like “Insatiable.”

Roberts, as the running theme of her personal narrative goes, had something a little different in mind. Reports soon indicated that the singer was heading into the studio with indie-approved acts like Diplo, Dimitri Tikovoi, Metronomy, Dragonette and The Invisible Men, generating (accurate) predictions from the get-go that this particular Aloud member’s solo career would be the most ambitious, forward-thinking Aloud offering yet. “I didn’t want to play it safe and I didn’t want to make a record that was a guaranteed commercial success,” she told The Guardian back in June.

Out burst lead single “Beat Of My Drum” in May, an all-out assault of Diplo-produced jittery video game bleeps and blips, nonsensical electronica noise and a major cheerleader-approved chorus that found Roberts shouting–truly yelping–from the top of her lungs: “L! O! V! E! Dance to the beat of my drum!”

Every inch of the song was symbolic; the blossoming from the quiet, meek girl group member to a full-blown solo star of her own accord. From the lyrics (“Graduation, take a bow/See how strong you’ve made me now”) to the video, which featured an initially nervous Nicola taking to the stage and slowly taking over a gymnasium with a group of zany dancers and a ceaseless amount of booty bounces and cocky hair flips–put Roberts firmly in control of her career with her own brand of crazy, sexy, cool.

Even the vocals took most fans by surprise: Far from the gorgeously crooned, disco-friendly vocals we’d come to expect from Roberts while in Aloud, here was the same girl now utterly belting out a number with an odd, erratic mixture of Broadway-ready vibrato and ’40′s-era doo-wop wailing.

Roberts’ voice was even further highlighted in follow-up single “Lucky Day,” a sparkling, sing-songy track produced by Dragonette that found Roberts riffing up and down with all her might–nearly to the point of parody–against a backing track of glittery electronica and pounding beats.

Finally, on September 26, Roberts released her long-awaited solo debut, Cinderella’s Eyes, a collection of smartly crafted, endlessly cool electro-pop tunes.

Even the album’s gorgeous, Juergen Teller-esque campaign shots are as tasty as its contents. Decked out in ornate stilettos and brilliant designer threads filled with loud splashes of color, Nicola is pictured in a variety of brilliant poses: Sitting atop a kitchen sink cluttered with dirty dishes, walking a pony on a leash, scandalously holding a jar of dumdums between her legs, lying rigid against a hardwood floor–the perfect mixture of silly, chic and sophisticated.

Cinderella’s Eyes is largely an exercise in self-empowerment and self-discovery (though not without its fair share of self-doubt.) Unlike the all-too-assured “it gets better” anthems manufactured by hit-making machines like Katy Perry (“Firework”), Roberts’ record shines with a solid footing in reality: It’s not so much “It gets better,” it’s “It gets better…if you do something about it,” a rare shred of honesty that simply doesn’t exist in modern pop these days, and the kind of music that feels more inspiring and motivational than most other mainstream feel-good anthems today.

“Little girl, you got to do it for yourself / In a world where cards are so randomly dealt,” Roberts sagely advises on the album’s title track, one of the many moments of Roberts’ grand reclamation of her own destiny. Bouncing along an ’80′s synth beat, Roberts offers her well-intentioned advice through infectious hooks and melodies. “No more pretending there’s happy endings, you got to make one, make one,” she continues.

Fittingly, it’s The Invisible Men–the same producers behind one of the Aloud’s most forward thinking, game-changing smashes, 2004′s “The Show”–that claim responsibility to two of Cinderella’s Eyes‘ most thundering tracks: “Say It Out Loud” and “Take A Bite.”

Featuring deliciously rich vocal stuttering and layers upon layers of gorgeous electronica, “Say It Out Loud” is a euphoric moment of synth-pop, reminiscent of something Ellie Goulding might produce. “‘Cause the only medication / For a heart that knows it’s breaking / Is to get it out now, say it out loud…WOAH!” she shouts aloud on behalf of all broken hearts.

“Take A Bite,” meanwhile, grinds and grooves with along a rollicking drum ‘n’ bass beat that evokes an early Aloud brattitude…and even a rap to boot! “Called me a rude ginger bitch and say I bought bigger tits / They’re gonna eat all their words, they’re talking absolute shit,” she merrily sing-songs, taking one last jab at the nickname that’s haunted her for years.

Even the album’s lone cover, “Everybody’s Got To Learn Sometime,” a cover of The Korgis, is a no-brainer addition to the collection. Crooning on top of a slow-sizzling electronic groove, Roberts’ rendition converts the 1980 hit into a throbbing slow jam that fits in effortlessly with the rest of the production as she croons one of the album’s key themes: “Change your heart…it will astound you.”

But it’s when Nicola breaks away from the positivity on a few tracks however that the record becomes even more real–and to a degree, somewhat flawed. “i” is undoubtedly Nicola’s most unhinged moment, a Kate Bush-evoking slow jam that finds the songstress issuing out a laundry list of daily worries and aspirations on top of a hazy beat and groovy guitar strum straight out a post-LCD Beatles songbook. “I’m scared of dying and not trying, scared of getting old / I’m scared of telling lies, [in] case karma comes and eats me whole,” she warbles off-key. “I don’t like the people that leave comments on the Internet / They preach they’re perfect while they’re fucking you with intellect.” It’s both the best and the worst representation of the album–the most irritating moment vocally in some ways, but also her most vulnerable outpouring of insecurities.

Fittingly, it’s worth noting upon hearing “i” that Cinderella’s Eyes simply isn’t perfect: While the production and lyricism easily makes the album one of the best of the year, it’s Roberts’ newly discovered new pipes that occasionally throw off the record, often jumping from pleasant crooning to grating yelps in a matter of seconds. The shrill shrieks can often be cringe-worthy and–at certain points–nearly unbearable.

Even some of the album’s more uptempo cuts threaten to burst at the seams with their combination of Nicola’s vibrato-heavy vocals and big pop production. “Gladiator,” for instance, bounces along with the same happy-go-lucky pop energy as Sky Ferreira‘s “99 Tears.” But unlike Ferreira’s too-cool-for-school air that works so well with “99 Tears,” Roberts’ chirpy, Liza-like delivery comes across as downright annoying, making the unexpectedly naughty lyricism (“I got some KY, time to open wide!”) feel all the more…err, grating.

Vocal limitations aside, Cinderella’s Eyes still largely flourishes as a whole. And when Roberts isn’t busy bettering herself, she’s wearily ruminating on relationships gone bad.

“Yo-Yo,” a chilly mid-tempo, captures the essence of what made Girls Aloud so legendary while still remaining true to Roberts’ own personally narrative as she goes back and forth in a relationship gone south. “You come around, stop messing around / If you wanna be my baby please tell me now,” the singer pleads. And while you’re at it, prepare for the album’s most lush moment during the bridge–a full minute of shiver-inducing, Aloud-esque icy disco crooning: “You got me wrapped right around your finger / And I can’t let go, and I can’t let go,” she agonizes.

“Fish Out Of Water,” Metronomy’s other production aside from “i”–is perhaps the album’s most understated moment. Riding along a weird, warbling wave of ambient noise, Roberts tenderly ponders the loss of her first love. Of course, there’s also the song unbelievably gorgeous finish, as Nicola purrs in her (way underutilized) lower register: “Even if I have to go alone, I’d rather that then let you go, so I’ll face the road unknown.” It’s a chilling moment that surely would have been another one of Nicola’s show-stopping lines in an Aloud offering.

Yet while all the electro-encrusted gems dispersed throughout the record represent Nicola’s quirky personality, nothing quite epitomizes Cinderella’s Eyes like its final moment: “sticks + stones.”

Floating along a sad, haunting melody, the album’s closer is a fearless, be-all end-all account of Roberts’ experience as a member of the Aloud, featuring a bridge that might as well be a page ripped directly from her diary during the mid ’00′s:

Too young to buy my own bottle of vodka
So I’d beg the driver please I need another
How funny that I was too young for so many things
Yet you thought I’d cope with being told I’m ugly
Over and over I’d read it, believe it
Said no to the shrink I can fix me I think
I got friends in my head they’ve got me on the mend
I am pretty in my mirror, easy to pretend
17 and thought that I’d won the jackpot
Seems I didn’t read between the lines of this one
I can’t think why I could of made you so, so angry
Your bullets I don’t feel them come on and fire at me

In the same vein as Christina Aguilera‘s legendary “Beautiful” (albeit with a more personal touch), as Roberts reassures once and for all: You’re not alone–a touching way to signal the end of her debut.

“With all their mean words, they’re ugly / Starting to see I’m lucky, and that’s enough,” Roberts tenderly concludes at one point. If that isn’t one of the most powerful pop lyrics to be uttered in years, I honestly don’t know what is.

Cinderella’s Eyes would certainly be considered a solid attempt for any debut artist–let alone a girl group member-turned-solo star (a category from which the end results are so rarely satisfying.)

Yet while Roberts has successfully made the transition from the shadows of the Aloud into the spotlight as an act in her own right, her debut is often weakened due to a delivery gone unrestrained; the result being a series of shrieks and yelps (which is perhaps to make up for nearly a decade of being subjected to quiet crooning in the background) that isn’t always the easiest to endure.

Still, thanks to her emotional honesty, charming wit, and ability to avoid any and all pandering (i.e. no club cuts or cliche love songs), Nicola has forged her own unique musical identity as a solo act while taking a stand once and for all against the bullies. There’s a kind of solace in Cinderella’s Eyes–it’s real, it’s relatable, and it’s one of the best offerings of 2011.

By all accounts, Team Ginge has won the war.

It was right after she first began posting demos on her MySpace–songs like 2007′s spacey “Surveillance” (which remains as next level today as it did the day she unleashed it upon the world), that I first took notice of Wynter Gordon, the 23-year-old underdog with a superstar’s worth of potential waiting to be unleashed each time she lays a pen to paper.

Just a few years after graduating from LaGuardia’s High School for the Performing Arts (alma mater of such notable acts as Kelis and Nicki Minaj), the young songstress had already notched herself a major writing credit with “Gonna Breakthrough,” a song from Mary J. Blige‘s Grammy Award-winning seventh studio album, The Breakthrough.

Ever since then, the co-writes and features (and unfortunately, the myriad leaks) only kept flowing for Wynter securing a spot on Danity Kane‘s 2008 sophomore record, Welcome To The Dollhouse (“2 Of You”), penning the impossibly catchy chorus of Flo-Rida‘s chart-topping 2009 radio smash “Sugar” and David Guetta‘s “Toyfriend,” joining The Freemasons on their essential 2010 summer jam “Believer” and, most recently, scribing three tracks off of Jennifer Lopez‘s stellar 2011 comeback record LOVE? including title track, “(What Is) Love?”

But despite all of her success as a writer, the song that truly launched Wynter as an artist in her own right was 2010′s “Dirty Talk,” a filthy-mouthed foray into kinky taunts and raunchy references to S&M above a dark disco beat that debuted nearly a year before Rihanna ever started crooning about her enthusiasm for chains and whips.

The song not only notched the singer’s first-ever #1 on the Billboard Hot Dance/Club Play stateside, but kept her straddling Australia’s ARIA Chart at #1 for three weeks in January (and the duration of Australia’s summer season).

Now, nearly four years since she first started making ripples across the blogosphere and beyond, the Queens-born singer/songwriter has finally released her long-awaited, much delayed debut: The fabulously titled With The Music I Die.

With The Music I Die is the album of Summer 2011, as well as one of the best records of the year–a flavorful collection of sparkling dance floor gems packed with hypnotic rhythms, pulsating beats, ruthlessly catchy hooks and an unwavering attitude.

Released exclusively in Australia (with worldwide release planned for later this year), every song on the record is a genuine hit–from the sauntering “Drunk On Your Love” courtesy of the brilliant Nervo twins, to the hazy ’80′s beats of the Nick Littlemore (Empire of the Sun)-produced “Still Getting Younger,” to “Rumba (feat. Kevin McCall),” a lusciously hypnotic Latin-tinged banger (and the best thing she never serviced to J-Lo.)

Looking to repeat the smashing success of “Dirty Talk,” the album’s opener and second single (and namesake!) “Til Death” bursts with an explosive chorus and a searing throb courtesy of Denzal Park. “Til death do we party, with the music I die!” Wynter declares. Between the awesomely defiant lyricism (“Wearing all black like a brand new bride”) and the carefully crafted hooks, it’s hard to describe “Til Death” as anything less than slay-worthy.

Still, there’s plenty of potential candidates for follow-up singles, including the edgy, temptation-riddled “Don’t Stop Me.” “You’re giving me the look, you want it / Uh! You’ve done it now,” Gordon groans above the dark, throbbing beat. The attitude doth overflow on this bossy little club shaker: It’s a little RiRi, some Celebration-era Madge, a wee bit of Britney‘s “Trouble” all rolled into one sensational aural orgasm.

Then there’s the gorgeous “All My Life,” the album’s most straightforward club cut: “I can’t eat / I can’t sleep / I can’t dance ’til you’re with me!” Wynter sweetly pleads across the song’s surging, trance-tastic beats. Trip to Ibiza, anyone?

But just as with “Dirty Talk,” Wynter’s at her best when she’s being a cheeky brat, including the sparkling “Buy My Love.” The summery uptempo finds the flirty chanteuse dusting off the age-old “Diamonds Are A Girl’s Best Friend” mantra and giving it a modern twist: “There’s a million ways to show your devotion / So many ways to sway my emotions / Don’t you hesitate to buy my love!” she merrily crrons above bouncy beats and electro-steel drum rhythms.

One of Wynter’s greatest strengths is her effortlessly melodic, urgent vocal styling. Accordingly, “Back To You”–the album’s spine-tingling mid-tempo (and only actual “ballad”)–might be the best representation of both Gordon’s sharp-witted writing skills and flawless vocal delivery: “I’m a fabulous example of an exhausted wanderer,” she croons above the chilly whisper of a beat. “I can walk all day and smile and say that this here is success / But it don’t mean shit unless you’re here, and you’re not, and I’m a mess.” The song is the very definition of too real (in the best way possible), and one of the many indicators that Gordon is far more than a run-of-the-mill dance floor diva.

But it’s in the album’s incredible final moment, “In The Morning (feat. Robbie Rivera)”, that Gordon burns brightest. Like the sad disco sound that Swedish pop queen Robyn has crafted as her own, “In The Morning” bumps with an undeniable tears-on-the-dance-floor throb. “I am going home alone tonight / You are with your friends. and that’s alright / ‘Cause they all hit on me when you’re not looking,” Gordon half-snickers, half-sighs before a cascade of bright synthesizers comes crashing into the speakers. It’s sorrowful and celebratory all at once–the mark of a perfect dance song.

Although I would have loved to hear her flexing the R&B-pop muscle she’s been building up over the past few years, the album’s strictly dance floor-only status doesn’t limit Wynter to filling a drink up in her cup or getting bodied in the club. Amidst all the fun and flirtation, there’s also sadness, anger, resignation and angst. It’s a much more emotionally complex record than the beats might imply, proving what dance aficionados have always known to be true: Dance music doesn’t have to be dumb.

Now, as “Til Death” continues to rise on Australia’s ARIA Singles Chart and the temperature begins to drop down under, one thing remains certain: Australia is in for a long, long Wynter.

With The Music I Die was released on June 17 in Australia. (iTunes Australia)
The With The Music I Die EP was released on June 28 in America. The full album will be released later this year. (iTunes)

If you’re looking for Sasha Fierce, don’t bother: She’s gone.

Well, not entirely–she’s certainly still there twerking her hips above the militant beat of “Run The World (Girls)” and the frenzied horn-filled club bounce of “Countdown,” but for the most part, the divalicious alter ego of one of the world’s greatest entertainers has (temporarily?) stepped a stiletto to the side for the majority of her fourth studio album, 4–allowing the record to remain a decidedly Beyoncé experience.

Trouble came quickly for Beyoncé this year when a demo of the lead single from 4, “Run The World (Girls),” sprung an early leak.

The bouncy Diplo & Switch-produced club banger, which relies (a bit too heavily) on an extended sample of Major Lazer‘s “Pon De Floor” was instantly panned by a number critics and fans alike. Supporters of the 2009 Major Lazer hit were quick to dismiss the singer as a bold-faced song swiper. Others said the song “misses the mark big time.” Driving home from work on the day of the song’s premiere, I heard the DJ announce live on radio: “We’ve got the new Beyoncé single…and it’s TERRIBLE.” Reception was lukewarm, to say the absolute least.

Despite high-profile performances on both Oprah‘s final show celebration and the 2011 Billboard Awards, the song stalled at #29 on the Billboard Hot 100 charts.

She fared no better with the soft iTunes release of “1+1,” the Prince-tinged album opener she performed live on American Idol finale, which barely clawed its way to #57 on the charts.

Around the same time, news broke that she and her father ended their professional partnership, and Mathew Knowles stepped down as her manager prior to the release of 4. Rumors swirled regarding Columbia’s confidence in the album–from rumored album release push-backs to supposed re-recording sessions. Backlash started flying after it was revealed that the Billboard Awards performance was more or less a direct copy of a performance from Italian pop star, Lorella Cuccerini. Then, the album’s promotional photos soon came pouring in–a confusing clutter of both ’70′s-inspired glamour and misguided high fashion fetishism, doing nothing to clarify any real direction for the record. (Is that a Clifford the Big Red Dog draped over her shoulders?)

Yet astonishingly, regardless of whatever truth the rumors hold, it seems as though Beyoncé simply doesn’t care about commercial success right now.

What the casual listener may not have already seen or read (by no fault of their own, as she’s has done a staggeringly minimal amount of promotion thus far) is that 4 is the product of the singer’s first break away from the music industry. Taking off more than a year since she first started in the industry well over 15 years ago with Destiny’s Child, Beyoncé spent her time broadening her musical horizons, attending concerts (Rage Against The Machine!) and generally experiencing life (however normal that may be for a larger-than-life superstar.)

She spoke candidly about her experience to Billboard two months ago:

I took more than a year off: I traveled around, spent time with my husband, woke up in my own bed, ate whatever I wanted, went to museums and Broadway plays, watched documentaries, and just had life experiences. I never get to go to concerts because I’m usually performing, so I saw so many shows – great bands, like Muse and Rage Against the Machine, that also inspired the album. There were a lot of artists I’d never been exposed to: I’m like a sponge and soak everything up, and I learned so much from watching these great performers. Having time to grow as a human being was really inspiring, and gave me a lot to pull from. I’m excited about growing: I can just have fun, and the artistic freedom to do whatever I want. At this point, I really know who I am, and don’t feel like I have to put myself in a box. I’m not afraid of taking risks – no one can define me.

And it seems she’s truly taken her artistic freedom to heart, as the album veers sharply from the chart-ready club banger pattern of her back catalog. Instead, she’s returned with live soul sessions and aching, nostalgic power ballads that drip with the intent of pure artistic fulfillment. But as a result, there’s not a single radio hit to be found on 4.

4 is meant to be enjoyed as a complete album experience. There are no radio-friendly singles on this album (barring “Run The World,” which proves even more jarring than it already is as the follow-up to the emotionally devastating “I Was Here”). This is actual musicianship, marked by gorgeous live instrumentation and raw, stripped vocals.

While speaking with Billboard about the wide range of influences behind her new record, Beyoncé named Afrobeat founder Fela Kuti as a main source of inspiration, along with an incredibly eclectic array of other acts: “I also found a lot of inspiration in ’90s R&B: Earth, Wind & Fire, DeBarge, Lionel Richie, Teena Marie… I listened to a lot of Jackson 5 and New Edition, but also Adele, Florence + the Machine, and Prince,” she told the magazine.

To help channel such a wide array of influences, Beyoncé’s team enlisted a full-on production powerhouse for 4, featuring contributions by Tricky Stewart, The-Dream, Kanye West and Diplo & Switch.

Yet more of the album has been crafted by fresher faces such as Shea Taylor, whose production credits have up until now extended to one or two tracks off of megawatt albums, including Rihanna‘s Good Girl Gone Bad (“Question Existing”) and Janet Jackson‘s Discipline (“Discipline). Here, Taylor co-commands no less than seven, including “Countdown,” “Love On Top” and a personal highlight, “I Miss You.”

The minimal ballad, which drifts atop of a chilly, drippy beat and weird, warped ambient sound, isn’t merely a ballad–it’s the perfect encapsulation of loneliness on record. “It hurts my pride to tell you how I feel, but I still need you,” she sadly pleads; her voice eerily echoed and distant. It’s easily one of the most haunting songs I’ve heard in recent time–an instant favorite.

Even with long-standing collaborators like Ryan Tedder, it’s clear that Beyoncé’s stepped up her game: While “Halo” was a surefire radio smash from the I Am…Sasha Fierce sessions, 4‘s Diane Warren-penned “I Was Here” stands as an utter triumph in songcraft.

“When I leave this world, I’ll leave no regrets / Leave something to remember, so they won’t forget,” she declares during the all-or-nothing ballad. “I was here / I lived, I loved,” Beyonce continues to cry out with sobering finality, as though delivering the very epithet that will one day appear on her grave. “I Was Here” is one of the most defining statement of purposes she’s ever delivered, and arguably one of the finest records she’s ever crafted.

Devastation aside, there’s also a fair share of anger to go around. “I Care,” a similarly minimal, desolate power ballad, finds Beyoncé bitterly biting back against a less-interested lover about her own feelings. “I know you don’t care too much, but I still care,” she angrily tears into the chorus. “Boy, maybe if you cared enough / I wouldn’t have to care so much.”

The album’s second single, “Best Thing I Never Had,” is also steeped in shade. Much like fellow DC3 member Michelle Williams‘ “Thank U,” the charging power ballad throws a curve ball by allowing Beyoncé to sarcastically thank her former flame for being the worst. “I bet it sucks to be you right now!” she fumes above the chugging piano-and-strings melody. The song is an absolute smash, save for one lyric: “You showed your ass, and I saw the real you.” While it’s fairly obvious that she’s trying out another way to say something to the effect of “You showed your true colors,” the line will never not sound like the song could just be about mooning someone. Troubling, no matter how many times it’s sung.

Most of the time though, Beyonce is relishing in that loving feeling: The horn-heavy, Kanye-produced “Party (feat. Andre 3000)” is a throwback exercise in feel-good music making, while “Love On Top” relishes in a ’70′s sheen of funky rhythms and guitar grooves. This is food for the soul!

“Countdown,” the album’s only other uptempo club track, comes blaring into the speakers with Afrobeat horns and pounding drums hoisted on high like a crazed marching band, as Bey cleverly counts down to the chorus (“My baby is a (Ten!) / We dressing to the (Nine!)”). As far as the Sasha Fierce sympathizers is concerned, this is the closest she comes to delivering the album’s weave-patting, hip-grinding club anthem. But is it on par with past offerings like “Diva” or “Sweet Dreams”? Not quite.

Frustratingly, it’s the album’s deluxe edition tracks that give 4 a much needed boost in BPM that the standard edition could have truly benefited from, including the unbelievably good “Schoolin’ Life.”

The jaw-droppingly solid, Whitney-esque moment of jubilation celebrates Bey’s need to unleash her inner freak (“Mom and Dad tried to hide the boys, I swear that just made them want me even more / At 14 they asked me what I want to be, I said ‘Baby 21, so I can get me a drink!”). It’s the most fun a girl can have while listening to 4–a sorely missed inclusion in the original tracklisting.

Other cuts include the soul-warming Stargate-penned “Lay Up Under Me” (another “Love On Top”-like flair of classic ’70′s soul) and “Dance For You,” a seductive slow grind that sizzles atop a slow grind cooked up by The-Dream. The song is not entirely unlike cuts like “9 to 5″ and “So Good,” two cuts off of (the deeply under-appreciated and largely overlooked) debut of The-Dream side project, Electrik Red.

Apart from being overloaded with a steady stream of slower tunes–a pacing that will do nothing for radio-friendly ears or dance-ready feet (and one that could have easily remedied with the inclusion of the deluxe edition tunes)–4 is a gorgeous, solid album experience that pays proper tribute to a slice of music history without artificially recreating any one artist’s signature sound.

While the album is nearly guaranteed to go down as the first major misfire in Beyoncé’s otherwise unshakable career track record–the dreaded “artistic attempt”–it’s as much of a guarantee that future listeners will re-visit this record in time to discover that it is, in fact, a gem.

4 was released on June 28. (iTunes)