“Happiness hit her like a train on a track, coming towards her stuck still no turning back,” Florence Welch whispers above the lulling ukulele of “Dog Days Are Over,” the opening track off of her first full-length release. And before anyone can say much of anything, the ropes have been let loose, the horses are in full gait, and Welch’s wild shouts and yelps lead the raging pack’s charge until there’s no turning back: “Leave all your loving, your loving behind / You cant carry it with you if you want to survive.”

July 6 marks the official release of Lungs, the aptly-titled debut of a fresh, exciting troupe from England known as Florence & The Machine, fronted by a witchy chanteuse that coos much sweeter and cries out much louder than the vast landscape of dull, auto-tuned drones currently on the scene.

Florence Welch is a voice to be reckoned with; the she-beast of “Howl” and the lion-hearted girl of “Rabbit Heart (Raise It Up).” She tears through octaves and rips into full-throated shouts without ever drawing a breath. She is of her own brand stylistically, although armed with a quirky quivering reminiscent of Kate Bush, the bounding howl of Björk, and perhaps most glaringly, the uncompromising female rock-chic edge of legends including Grace Slick of Jefferson Airplane.

Lucky for us, the triple-punch production behind this album proves to be rooted in equally diverse sounds: There’s James Ford of Simian Mobile Disco, Paul Epworth of Sam Sparro and Kate Nash fame, and UK musician Steve Mackey, responsible for tracks off of M.I.A. and Marianne Faithfull‘s albums.

It’s surprising then that a cast and crew of such diverse sounds could produce an album like Lungs. After all–and let’s prepare for the possible punny outcome here–Lungs is fluid. It’s an incredibly cohesive production as a whole, sounding like one long session recorded from the dingy confines of a medieval dungeon.

If there’s anything that comes to mind in thinking about this album, it’s texture. Each track is carefully constructed from top to bottom with pounding instruments, layered vocals, and fiery spirit and emotion. It is, as Florence might say, a beast.

While the singles have all been good, the album tracks are arguably even better. “Howl,” bursts forth with the kind of animalistic energy you’d expect from a song titled as such, while “Girl With One Eye” merges a confident guitar swagger with vindictive lyricism; a combination so murderous it ought to have Quentin Tarantino giddily jumping up and down like a schoolboy before shoving it into the soundtrack of his next gore-fest.

But “Girl With One Eye” isn’t the only song dripping blood from the speakers. In fact, basically every track does: “Kiss With A Fist” morphs the act of domestic abuse into a balls-to-the-wall garage rock ode, “My Boy Builds Coffins” reeks of ill-willed premonitions, and “I’m Not Calling You A Liar” sees an ex-flame in the form of a scorned ghostly apparition. Even the album’s soaring ballad “Cosmic Love” revels in a kind of Tim Burton-esque embrace of romantic macabre: “A falling star fell from your heart and landed in my eyes / I screamed aloud, as it tore through them, and now it’s left me blind.”

In a recent post discussing the story behind each track off the album, Welch had this to say regarding “Dog Days Are Over”:

A lot of people have said they think it’s about the Apocalypse. Or freedom. And someone said it was about the recession. But to me it just signifies being free, in that I’d made music in a way I’d never made it before.

Swamped in a sea of press releases frorm labels boldly proclaiming their artists to be the next Depeche Mode-meets-Madonna-meets-Queen
(who always ends up sounding like Cascada in one way or another), it’s beyond refreshing to hear an artist who couldn’t be further from being considered an imitation act. Florence & The Machine’s Lungs is honest music making, real music made through creative innovation for the new age.

Bottom Line: Macabre, magical, and anything but predictable. The album to beat for 2009, and an artist to watch for years to come. Florence & The Machine is the future. Are you prepared?

Make sure to click here to read Florence’s discussion of each track off of Lungs.

Please enjoy the Leo Zero mix of Florence’s latest single, “Rabbit Heart (Raise It Up),” courtesy of the Neon Gold Records blog.

DL: Florence & The Machine – Rabbit Heart (Raise It Up) (Leo Zero Remix)

For US Muusers, click below to preview and purchase Lungs.

For UK Muusers, click below to preview and purchase Lungs.

Today is the official release of Moby‘s ninth studio album, Wait For Me. You can pick up a 12″ or a physical CD at Moby’s store.

I don’t know if I’ll get around to ‘properly’ reviewing it, so just in case:

It is good–I’ve just not managed to listen the whole way through without falling asleep. Not a criticism–just a heavy sedative of an album. The title track, “Wait For Me,” is pretty stunning in its own right, however.

Click below to preview and purchase Wait For Me.

Emerging pop duo La Roux have been making waves in the UK for little over a year now, propelled by a torrent of grandiose predictions for pop music in 2009 and an imaginary feud pitting the duo against Ms. Victoria Little Boots Hesketh; an invisible tangle concocted entirely by the media. Prior to their debut, the duo forged a fast friendship with NME Magazine and won the loyalty of many a member of the “indie crowd” for lead singer Eleanor Jackson‘s off-color candor regarding fellow pop stars, the industry, and mostly everything else in the world. And so, the stage was set for La Roux.

The album is constructed with a hearty nod to the influences behind the recording process–namely Human League, Heaven 17, and Blancmange–whether Jackson would like to acknowledge it or not.

And now for the deal breaker: Elly Jackson’s voice is shrill and unpleasant; a tinny, dry falsetto with all the obnoxious flutter of a mosquito trapped in the ear. As a result, I found myself unable to warm to the duo ‘s shriek-heavy first single, “Quicksand” and its equally unpleasant follow-up “In For The Kill,” both of which I found almost as abrasive as their lead’s personality.

With “Bulletproof,” however, that my feelings began to change. As it turned out, Jackson’s delivery isn’t always so unpleasant. In fact, it’s Jackson’s digestible middle register that commands most the album’s more memorable tracks: “Tigerlily” meshes smooth, The Knife-friendly steel drum melodica with a crunch of classic New Wave, “As If By Magic” calms with a bossa-electro swagger, while “Bulletproof,” arguably the greatest of the bunch, revels in its unflinching ode to an era of shoulder pads and big, big hair.

“Colourless Color” is another favorite, a slow burn of vaguely familiar electronica beats and the catchiest of choruses: “Early ’90′s decor / It was a day for / We wanted to play /But we had nothing left to play for.” I’ve no idea what the hell that even means, but I’ll be damned if it doesn’t sound good sprinkled on top of some synthesizers. It’s only on the sweetly sung and ever-so-slightly bizarre “Cover My Eyes” that Jackson’s high-pitched coos truly work here; a vulnerability that translates into a believable, tangible hurt. Once “Fascination” comes around, I’ve again lost interest–too turned off by Jackson’s impossibly troublesome delivery to fully engage.

Though the lady doth protest, this record is entirely ’80′s-inspired and imitated. I mean, come on…when I listen to soon-to-be fourth single, “I’m Not Your Toy,” visions of Speak & Spells and Rubik’s Cubes dance ’round merrily in my mind.

Still, it’s very much a solid, hard-hitting effort–one of smarter pop proportions, and one that should not be ignored. I wouldn’t be too surprised to find La Roux cropping up within your favorite blogs’ “Best Of” lists later this year.

UK readers can click below to preview & purchase La Roux’s self-titled debut album,

while US readers can click below to hear more from La Roux.

Well, this review ought to divide my readers.

Electrik Red are like the bitter castoffs booted from a pre-fame Destiny’s Child (one of them is named Binkie!) that decided to team up, have a massive orgy with The-Dream, and then cook up the most ghettolicious, glorious heap of scrap tracks from Ciara‘s latest album and called it How To Be A Lady: Volume 1.

Now, if there’s anything that I love in this world, it’s a girl with a potty mouth. Make that four girls with potty mouths! I’m talking ’bout some trash-talkin’, y’all-don’t-know-me type of shit–that’s why I listen to Khia for motivation and spiritual guidance.

Really then, it will be no surprise for anyone to learn that within the first few seconds of the opening track off of the Reds’ debut that I quickly learned to love: “And I’m the shit wit the shit shawty / I’m the shit wit the shit / I know what I’m doin’ with this shit / ‘Cause I’m the shit with this shit, shawty.” Concise, yet mind-blowing. Yes… ’twas love at first “Muah.”

Later on, my emotions were only further confirmed with the delicious bluntness of “W.F.Y.”, the squeaky, “Maneater”-friendly stomps of “Kill Bill,” and “P Is For Power,” the defiant “Single Ladies” addendum that plays like the schoolyard chant I never had growing up: “You ain’t gettin’ no P…nope, nope.” Any guesses on what it stands for? Me either.

But even if the uptempos aren’t your thing, the slow jams just may be. Take for instance the supple, grind-ready “9 To 5″ that clocks in just around the proper baby-making BPM. You’ll want to watch for some small glimmers of the Janet Jackson of yesteryear that one, as well as within the irresistibly catchy single, “So Good.”

Lets keep it real here: If you’re looking for originality, talent, or anything of any substantial cultural or musical value, this may not in fact be your cup of bubbly. But if you’re the type of person who finds solace in Kelis‘ “Fuck Them Bitches,” Ciara‘s “G Is For Girl (A-Z),” or anything off of Danity Kane‘s (RIP) last two albums, you’re going to have some fun.

DL: Electrik Red – W.F.Y.

Click below to hear more from Electrik Red.

Anticipation can be a terrible thing.

After the BBC, various ‘zines, and blogs proclaimed rising space-pop starlet Little Boots as The One To Watch for 2009 way back in December (guilty as charged!), the hype cloud hovering over poor Boots was muddying up her debut with impossible expectations long before its release.

First was the announcement of “New In Town” as the first single–a simple ditty with a predictable verse-chorus pop confection nowhere near the trance throbs of breakout track, “Stuck On Repeat,” causing some fans to cry “too commercial” from the start. Following that was a larger offense–the video; a misguided attempt at keeping it “cool,” featuring a deer-in-the-headlights Boots wandering in between break-dancing homeless citizens and horned-up teens performing fellatio in rhythm. It was unearthly–and not in the Little Boots kind of way.

But looking past the hyper-criticism of the campaign, Boots continued on her own path to debut. On June 8, the space cadet will have finally, officially landed in the UK. And her offering to the public? Why, her Hands, of course!

It’s funny, but reviewing this album felt a lot like working with last year’s The Fame–this however being a less pretentious, far superior rendition of Gaga’s own. Ushering in the album with her lead single “New In Town,” Boots hits hard at the offset of Hands: The strong, summer pulsations of “Earthquake” blend seamlessly with the surprisingly acceptable three-minute cut of “Stuck On Repeat.” (Even still, the 7-minute original may well go down as the unappreciated “I Feel Love” for the 21st century.) Further on, the sexy minimal pulsations of “Click” prepare the way for the hands-in-the-air scorcher “Remedy,” perhaps akin to comparison to Gaga’s own celebration, “Just Dance”: “No more poison killing my emotion / I will not be frozen / Dancing is my remedy, remedy.”

However, much like Gaga’s triple dunk of samey production (“Just Dance” is to “Poker Face” as is to “Money Honey”), Boots also seems to be digging through her musical recycling bin from time to time (“Meddle” sounds a lot like “Mathematics,” as does the slower counterpart, “Ghost”). It’s not as obvious as the aforementioned trio, but the songs do seem to blur into one large pop confection about two-thirds of the way into the album.

The last third diverges in a brilliant fashion, offering three soft spoken mid-tempos, including the sugary-sweet ’80′s drop of color, “Tune Into My Heart,” and the acoustic title track, “Hands.” The stripped down piano pop finish sounds a lot like the singer’s weekly homemade YouTube song covers, proving Boots is more than just an intergalactic dancefloor sweetheart.

Though each song is superior in its own right, standouts include (obviously) “Stuck On Repeat,” the mysteriously jazzy “Hearts Collide,” and the chilly duet with The Human League’s Phil Oakley on “Symmetry” : “Love me in perfect symmetry, be my everything. If you just love me in perfect symmetry, only you can make me feel complete,” the two croon on the Kylie-esque joyride through futuristic electro lines and spacey synths. (Speaking of which, does anyone else see this as the perfect companion piece for Minogue’s X album?)

So in the end, what are we left with? Hands is an accessible, immediate, and instantly re-playable body of work combining modern bass lines, smart lyrics, and space-age zings, zaps, and plops. Does it hold against the hype surrounding it? Not really. There’s nothing groundbreaking or revolutionary hidden here–just a solid, unwavering collection of pop. Don’t get me wrong, however: A pop album with all killer, no filler is very difficult to properly create, and for that, Boots deserves all the credit in the world. Had she debuted with little to no fanfare behind her, this might have well been heralded as the Second Coming of Pop.

For fans who have been following since the beginning of Boots’ journey, some may be feeling a bit cheated by the album’s commercial vibe and lack of unheard material, but fear not–I think she’s got plenty more gems stored away in her spaceship for us in the not-so-distant future.

Rating:

You can either click here to purchase the physical album, or, if you’re from the UK, click below to preview & purchase Little Boots’ Hands now.

Miike Snow is the collaborative project formed by Christian Karlsson, Pontus Winnberg, and American producer Andrew Wyatt–the former two perhaps better known as Swedish production team, Bloodshy & Avant.

Having sculpted some of the most career defining tracks for Queen B (“Toxic”, “Unusual You”, “Piece Of Me”) as well as countless tracks for more MuuMuse favorites (Madonna, Kylie Minogue, Sugababes, BoA), it’s almost too obvious that this ambitious solo project should follow in step with the excellence we’ve come to expect from the producers.

And yet, it does and doesn’t. If you’re looking to find a compilation of some of the most sizzling electro-pop stompers you’ve never heard, you’re sadly mistaken–they’re not here. Is that a bad thing? No. Because this is still a release from some of the finest musicians in the game, and as a result, this is still a quality piece of work.

Complex drum rhythms, lilted piano melodies, and an afterthought of sprightly synthesizers fill out the contrasting sounds of “Animal” and “Burial,” the lead tracks off of Miike Snow’s eponymous debut. The lyrics here alternate between humility and reprimand, eventually leading to the stinging, contemptuous chorus of “Burial”: “No I, I don’t want to get thrown in your ocean. Don’t try, you know that already we know it…it’s over. At your own burial, don’t forget to cry.” Ouch.

As skilled producers, the members of Miike Snow demonstrate the ability to explore less traveled paths in their music while still manging to reel themselves back to familiar territory within seconds. “Black & Blue” jitters and slides between Prince-like crooning and Darren Hayes‘-like electro-crunchiness, while “A Horse Is Not A Home” dances the line between glam rock (Adam Lambert, take note), alt-electronica, and balladry without ever settling. As with much of the album, it’s simply a sound undefinable.

“Plastic Jungle” is perhaps the poppiest part of the album, playing like a kind of lo-fi parody of Kylie’s mindless mega-smash “Can’t Get You Out Of My Head.” Further on, Miike Snow prove that the most exciting producers in Pop can do a much more than a simple verse-chorus-verse-chorus progression: “Sans Soleil” offers cool drips of electronica atop the rooftops of a French chateau, mixing solitary piano riffs with choral coos and glittering bells, while “Silvia” gorgeously unravels to the tune of scattering synthesizers of all shapes and sizes and a vocal performance soaring beyond human proportions.

I didn’t (and still don’t) know quite what to make of Miike Snow. They’re a curious creature, a force as shrouded in mystery as their borrowed mascot–the elusive jackalope. With a release as peculiarly scattered and layered, you’re bound to catch something new with every listen. Different moods and times invite different emotions, and no track seems to sound as it did the time before. At least one thing’s certain about this release–I can’t stop listening.

Miike Snow is currently streaming their entire album at their MySpace.

Click below to preview & purchase Miike Snow’s self-titled debut NOW!

Everyone loves an underdog. Everyone loves a superstar. But almost no one’s got love for an underdog superstar.

That’s about how I’d describe Ciara, the 23-year-old R&B sensation responsible for eight top ten singles and roughly ten million albums sold in just five years. Still, despite an impressive chart record and a lasting presence in the industry, the songstress continues to face the crippling blow of the shadow–that dreaded, overbearing presence brought upon by enough comparisons to her contemporaries to recall the bubble-gum blonde diva duels of the ’90′s (Willa Ford, you will be missed). And while her latest outing, Fantasy Ride, will likely provide no help in separating CiCi from RiRi (and I dare say, from Beysus), it’s worthy enough to merit attention in its own right.

On paper alone, the album already reads like a smash: From Missy Elliot to Darkchild, Dr. Luke to Danja, Ludacris to T-Pain, The Clutch and Chris Brown (gasp, boo, hiss, etc.), the girl’s simply got it written in the stars (well, by the stars, for that matter). But as you might have expected from such an expansive guest list, the music gets a bit messy sometimes. In fact, the only thing keeping this Ride from complete lift-off is the noisy overproduction on almost every track.

Still, much of the album’s got the grit to inspire more than just a little sweat: The Missy Misdemeanor-fueled “Work” and the super swagged “Pucker Up” are the purest definitions of club bangers, while “G Is For Girl (A-Z)” promises to be C’s best attempt at ‘tude yet: “N is for nothing, boy I do this in my sleep / O is for original, cause I’mma O.G.” She’s not nearly “gangsta” enough for me to buy the act, but with that crunchy clang-a-lang beat, I don’t really care if she’s as hood as Asher Roth.

As we’ve gathered from the excellence that was “The Promise” off her last album, C knows how to command a ballad. Well. With an Aaliyah-like disjointedness, she tip-toes along “Like A Surgeon,” floats all over the lush mid-tempo chill of “Keep Dancin’ On Me,” and swoons atop the fluttery “Lover’s Thing”–all while making sure to obey the restrictions of her vocal capacity.

The momentum doesn’t entirely hold: Though the general public may disagree, the insipidity of current smash “Love, Sex, & Magic” fails to inspire any joy on my end, while the sleepy “Never Ever” (which samples 1972 Harold Melvin & the Blue Notes hit “If You Don’t Know Me By Now”) quickly stalls after the chorus fades for the first time.

Fantasy Ride isn’t quite the stuff of fantasies, nor is smooth sailing throughout. But with a hot string of floor burners and some truly killer baby makin’ grinders, it’s probably one of the better trips I’ve taken this year.

PS: Make sure you’re getting the deluxe editions when you order–”Echo” and “I’m On” are highlights, and leaving them off of the original tracklisting was a criminal decision!

Ciara’s Fantasy Ride was released on Jive Records on May 5. Click below to preview and purchase NOW!

Peaches, Peaches, Peaches…check out your Chrissy behind now.

On her fifth studio album, I Feel Cream, the Queen of Electrocrap has decided to let her hair down (wayyy down if you’ve seen the video for “Talk To Me”) and invited some super cool collaborators into the creamery. Among them? A slew of the most exciting movers and shakers of alt-electronica, including Soulwax, Digitalism, Drums of Death, and most extensively, Simian Mobile Disco‘s James Ford. As a result, most of the album offers a wealth of complex electro-encrusted gems never before encountered by the likes of Peaches. Don’t worry, though–she’s got this.

As with all of Peaches back catalog, the album is mostly lined with skittish, electro-stung up-tempos, including the sugary-sweet bounce of “Trick Or Treat,” the noisy build-up of “More,” and the faithfully minimal opener “Serpentine” (2009′s contemplative response piece to 2003′s “I Don’t Give A…”). Then there’s the self-described “electro-soul” first single, “Talk To Me,” which features a strut-fest of swagger that simply begs to be delivered live on her upcoming tour.

“Never mind my age, it’s like I’m breaking out of a cage,” she moans in the middle of the foot-stomping chaos of “Show Stopper.” While the album is rife with allusions to Ms. Nisker’s age (having just turned forty in November), Peaches keeps her Teaches as sexified as ever, urging her listeners to suck that fat and lick her crow’s feet. “Almost as old school as me…I’m gonna send you back to school,” she taunts atop the series of grinding, industrial synths in “Mommy Complex.” Did I forget to mention Peaches was an elementary teacher once? Too real.

But perhaps the greatest surprise hidden within Cream are the numerous mid-tempos including “Lose You,” the best song Annie never recorded. “I Feel Cream” is another stunning highlight, a gritty, winding re-interpretation of Donna Summer‘s signature “I Feel Love” suited with one of the slickest bridges (about two and a half minutes in) that I’ve heard in a long time: “Let’s get suspect, let’s get ripped, every little defect gets respect” she coos across a high-wire of jagged synths.

It’s only with the plodding “Billionaire” that the artist seems to get a bit too mired in the super-slick production from her buddies, sounding more like a Peaches song slowly deflating atop uneven electro slaps.

Though the album’s production value is at an all time maximum, the Queen of Nazzty holds her own against the torrent of hard synths and buckets of drippy electronica. While I’ll always know Peaches best for her most minimal of work, it’s nice to see that she’s expanded her repertoire with Cream. It’s not the greatest album she’s ever done, but unlike some of the other reigning Queens of the music industry (including, I dare say, Pop), the songstress keeps it legitimate with this undeniably Peaches affair.

Click below to hear more from Peaches and pre-order her new album, I Feel Cream!