Billie Eilish, Happier Than Ever

Or more likely the title's just one big snarky troll. Her repertoire has expanded and the breathy-girl vocals mellowed and refined (with the intentionally ironic exception of "Male Fantasy") and it goes well with the slinkier, smoother initial tracks, even the harshy "I Didn't Change My Number." (Stand-out: "Billie Bossa Nova." Yes, literally. You can almost imagine the stage show.) The slower, more introspective moments show real maturity ("my future" and "Halley's Comet" in particular), even if "Getting Older" doesn't quite wash with her age ("NDA"'s interesting power reversal reads more like it), and a little bit of grit doesn't harm "OverHeated" or at least doesn't harm "Therefore I Am" fatally. Still, "Oxytocin" is annoying and even a little thuggish, "GOLDWING" doesn't have enough of a hook to overcome the weak writing and the half-hearted angsty R&B in "Lost Cause" comes off even worse. The accuracy of the title notwithstanding she's still got growing up to do and the bad habits of her prior art die hard, but this album shows growth for sure, and those unmoved by her earlier efforts might find more to like in this one. (Content: F- and S-bombs, adult themes.)

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The Veronicas, GODZILLA

Certainly other electropop acts could learn a thing or two from these ladies. While it's still got the faux annoying grit that says I'm only dangerous in a studio, and their dynamic range varies exactly from tortuous to inaudible with nothing inbetween, the autotune isn't obvious (if it's there, it's judiciously applied), the melodies are more thoughtful and the arrangements and production more sophisticated than this genre's usual fare. And hey, no problem double-tracking the vocals, right? The title track has a harsh grunge vibe that grows on you, the vocals weep especially authentically in "Silent," and I was pretty impressed by the well-realised retro strut in "Stealing Cars." That said, it's still very much an album of its type: "101" has nice backing but recycled sentiment, "In It To Win It" is the same post-modern pep rally you've heard a thousand times and "In My Blood" has possibly the worst metaphor for anatomy and turntables I've ever encountered in pop music. (I've also sincerely got my doubts they themselves remember arcade machines or Atari ("High Score").) On the other hand, the cliché breathy little girl voice is my only major quibble with "Kaleidoscope" and "Catch Fire" could easily be an over-credits theme from the next Hollywood blockbuster. Although it remains irredeemably embedded in a genre not noted for breaking molds, it doesn't take a lot of innovation to stand out either. (Content: adult themes, an S-bomb.)

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Bob James, 12

Another smooth, sinuous and unspectacular outing from the king of unchallenging jazz, though I'm not actually dissing him here, because too many in this genre fail to accomplish even that. Tracks like "Midnight" and "No Pay, No Play" run a little long but hold your attention well enough, as does "Legacy" with its gentle if lengthy guitar, while "Ruby, Ruby, Ruby" and its lead sax roll along superbly like tires on the freshest road. There's no unique verve (compare with "Angela" from Taxi) and no gripping central style, yet it's all so sufficiently consistent you won't much care. The '80s synths and beats (especially in "Moonbop" and "I Need More of You") do sometimes wear a bit dated to modern ears, though the album's ironically at its best when it indulges in it; indeed "Courtship," the ripely rambunctious second track, is undeniably its strongest (and shortest) piece with complex arrangements and a delightfully shifty rhythm. This unambitious outing won't blow your mind or your speakers, but you'll probably find yourself grooving along to it anyway. (Content: pure instrumental.)

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U2, No Line on the Horizon

I know Bono was shooting for "future hymns" but this album sounds an awful lot like previous ones, with some interpolated actual hymns ("White As Snow") thrown in for good measure. There isn't the wildness of Achtung Baby, the experiments of Pop and Zooropa or the punch of How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb; what persists is a throwback feel with that same level of lyrical complexity but a hollower style that varies widely from refreshingly ethereal to vaguely claustrophobic. I like the more contemplative pieces ("Moment of Surrender" and "FEZ-Being Born") but some are just hackneyed ("Unknown Caller" with out-of-place references to passwords and the Macintosh Finder), and "I'll Go Crazy If I Don't Go Crazy Tonight" has their classic verve but still sounds more like a soundcheck than a studio. (Strangely, it's those Steve Lillywhite-produced tracks that are the weakest artistically; you can really tell who had the reins when.) Fortunately they can intermittently find their edge with solid, harder-hitting tracks like the title and the off-kilter Middle Eastern shifts of "Get On Your Boots," and in the end it's still a good album, but it nevertheless comes off as slightly beneath their talent. The iTunes bonus tracks aren't anything to write home about either; the Crookers remix of "Get On Your Boots" in particular merely makes a pleasingly daffy track daft. (Content: S-bomb on "Cedars of Lebanon.")

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Rick James, Come Get It!

Not nearly as nuts as the later Street Songs and its (in)famous standout single "Super Freak," his first solo album and the only one with his Stone City Band is better grounded, more funky and less ridiculous. It's still sassy and it's still got that trademark leering vibe, but the disco elements don't suck (especially "You And I," its best track, and "Be My Lady"), the bass struts right along even if tracks like "Sexy Lady" seem to lose their step a little, and he can deliver a surprisingly authentic level of emotion when he wants to ("Hollywood"). Of course, it wouldn't be a Rick James album without drugs (the eye-rollingly transparent "Mary Jane") and smarmy sex (the tiresome intro of "Dream Maker," though the R&B that follows isn't too bad), but unlike what followed there's more here than just startling the blue hair brigade. The 2014 reissues add longer versions of "You And I" which don't add much musically but they're still more of a good thing. (Content: adult themes, drug references.)

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Judy Collins, Wildflowers

Willowy, waiflike and insubstantial, a vocal portrait of its singer, it's still got its charms even if the hoity-toity folksiness comes off as more condescending now and then than quaint. The Joni Mitchell tracks ("Michael from Mountains" and of course "Both Sides Now") are the best, with baroque flair and strings like a chamber trio in the summer sun and Collins' voice suggesting the very flowers you know are woven through her hair. Her own tracks are more morose and melancholic, however (though "Since You Asked" is nicely arranged, at least the verses), and the three Leonard Cohen selections ("Hey, That's No Way To Say Goodbye" in particular) just go breezily nowhere. The oddest conceit is the actual baroque Middle Ages fifth track, which apparently topped the Billboard charts in the 14th century. I suspect she aspired to high art; I suppose there are worse things than ending up high-falutin' instead. The Elektra reissue pairs it with the immediately following "Who Knows Where The Time Goes" which is itself hardly perfect, but maintains all the best musical attributes of this album while managing to be better produced and better written besides. (Content: no concerns.)

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David Gilmour

A not-bad first-solo effort by Pink Floyd's guitarist during the interregnum between Animals and The Wall, which would be a good description of the style as well. The album photograph comes off particularly low-effort for Hipgnosis, however, and the gatefold spread of personal snaps feels like a party you weren't invited to. For that matter Gilmour was never much of a lyricist either; the tedious "So Far Away" in particular sprawls thematically for the better part of six minutes. But even "So Far Away" has good musicship going for it and not just guitar — he also appears on piano and organ, with a couple session mercenaries in for drum and bass, and as befit the prog rock fashion of the day there are also several instrumentals, all strong (though "Mihalis" and "Deafinitely" are the standouts). Of the vocal tracks, "There's No Way Out Of Here" (which he didn't write) and "I Can't Breathe Anymore" (which he did) are good, solid, pensive rock and the others at least please melodically. If he wanted just to see if he could do it, I've heard worse. The 2008 remaster lengthens most of the tracks, a blessed improvement over the usual practise of including alternate takes, but the differences will be too subtle for most to appreciate. (Content: no concerns.)

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Brass Construction IV

The last of this funk band's Roman numerals (though not their last numeric album: that would be Brass Construction 6), it's not as nakedly idealistic nor high quality as their first two, but the shift in conventionality is hardly fatal. While the aspirational messaging remains a thing here and there ("Perception (What's The Right Direction)" and "Help Yourself" in particular), there's also more typical funk ("Get Up") and a bit of disco ("Night Chaser"), and although the latter bunch of tracks might not be as sophisticated they're still a lot of fun. My favourite track, however, is the wistful procastination of self-improvement in "Starting Tomorrow," sung to smooth '70s style R-and-B with an almost Zappaesque doo-wop bridge, and one of the band's best tracks yet to appear on any of their collections. The weakest part of this album, besides the pedestrian mating ritual of "One To One," is that it's just too short. EMI tried to get you covered here by pairing the reissue with the inferior Brass Construction III, more of the vulgar and less of the clever, but my CD-R (made to order) has a screwed up first track and weird artifacts on IV's "Sweet As Sugar." Heaven forbid they should do their back catalogue any favours. (Content: mild adult themes on "One To One.")

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Mumford and Sons, Sigh No More

Is the title true? This album's strict folk aesthetic, broken up occasionally by ornamental piano and the odd organ and brass, could be one big sigh, really. It's very well executed ("After The Storm" the artistic peak) and the guitar and string instrument work in particular is really super ("Roll Away Your Stone" and "Timshel" especially). But its indefatigable minimalism is its greatest conceit and its gravest flaw: largely bereft of percussion, and barely a rhythm section to speak of, it never gets going much and it mostly ends up sounding the same. The lyrics are also a mixed bag, running hot and cold over romance and religion, as determinedly unresolvable as the style. Their Celtic bluegrass fetish is relentless, but I like their technical skill and I like the flourishes, and I salute their truculence in defence of their ambiguity. For me it ends up an album for the quiet evenings when I need something murmuring on that I don't have to pay attention to. So, sigh, but only a little bit. (Content: F-bombs on "Little Lion Man.")

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The Edgar Winter Group, They Only Come Out At Night

Let's skip the so-glam-it's-creepy cover in which a shirtless Edgar Winter mugs in lipstick, sideburns and a rhinestone necklace and turn to the music, shall we? Despite that and the androgynous band photo, we have some pretty solid blues rock like the classics "Hangin' Around" and "Free Ride," plus the Latin-flavoured "Alta Mira" and the album's lightest track "Autumn," whose turn is still sweet even if the lyrics ring saccharine. The harder tracks like "When It Comes," "Undercover Man" and "Rock 'N' Roll Boogie Woogie Blues" have an unwelcome samey feel to them, and "Round & Round"'s changeling love story is hackneyed, but even if they're nothing special you'll still leave them playing. That said, the best track on the album is the closing instrumental "Frankenstein," a classic prog rock monster whose structured formalism feels almost out of place with the more freeform remainder, but nevertheless stands as this lineup's strongest work ever. In fact, it's probably the single greatest reason to have this disc in your collection. It's just that good. (Content: no concerns.)

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The White Stripes, Elephant

A power trio with two members, this alleged sibling duo continues the inexorable evolution of their lo-fi aesthetic. Unapologetically quirky, the stripped-down feel is as raw as ever yet even tenser and more tantalizing. I dig the super riffs in "Black Math," "The Hardest Button to Button," the satisfyingly heavy "Little Acorns" and the instant classic ersatz bassline of "Seven Nation Army," though the lyrics meander from noodly to creepy ("You've Got Her In Your Pocket") to incomprehensible ("Girl, You Have No Faith in Medicine"), and when it gets slower it gets sloppier: "Well It's True That We Love One Another" is bizarre, "I Just Don't Know What To Do With Myself" is aptly named, and "Balls and Biscuit" has some tasty blues but runs on way too long. But Jack White's tight-pant Robert Plant vocals suck you in and the jams makes you groove, and the formula would probably ring much less authentic if it were much more polished. (Content: mild adult themes.)

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Muse, Black Holes and Revelations

Radiohead were the most obvious spearheads of the late 2000s push towards electronica-flavoured art rock, but this album has a noteworthy genre exposition all its own. The ethereal arpeggios (and political venom) of "Take A Bow" give way to meaty crashing guitars and percussion, I hear shades of Depeche Mode's "Enjoy the Silence" in "Map of the Problematique" and I dig the headbang in "Assassin." Unfortunately the originality is intermittent: "Starlight" got its share of airplay, and deservedly so, but it's a pop single and nowhere near the artistic level of the album's best (ditto for "Supermassive Black Hole"); similarly, "Invincible" is pretty but forgettable, though "Soldier's Poem" mostly escapes the ordinary with thoughtfully tart lyrics and some ironically rich harmony. Likewise, the western flavour of the closer tracks ("Hoodoo" and "Knights of Cydonia") comes more across as a stunt than stylistic innovation. But the menacing vibe is compelling and they get points for trying something different when they do, because when it works it really does. (Content: no concerns.)

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Jeff Lynne's ELO, Alone In The Universe

It's a solo album in all but name and thus nowhere near as expansive (to its detriment) nor sprawling (to its credit) as ELO's traditional output. But Lynne was always the group's prime mover, and if anyone could construct a reasonable facsimile in their sumptuously appointed home studio (even depicted in the liner notes) it'd be him. The songs are too short and get a little samey ("When I Was A Boy"), the obvious drum machine is obvious, and the throwback songs ("One Step At A Time" but "Dirty To The Bone" particularly) come across as atavistic and retrograde rather than nostalgic. But it's well-produced and engineered with the same trademark harmonies the fans expect ("Ain't It A Drag"), and regardless of the hokum in the lyrics, at its best it still manages the same level of musical sophistication of the glory days ("The Sun Will Shine On You" and the best track, "Alone In The Universe"). It's not really an ELO album no matter what it says on the cover, but you'd be hard-pressed to tell the difference, and that's certainly more than many bands past their prime will achieve. The deluxe version adds three supplemental tracks of similar quality but similarly wanting length; like the main album, it should delight the fans but offers little added value to the casual interest. (Content: mild adult themes in "Dirty To The Bone," S-bomb in "Ain't It A Drag.")

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Trooper, Hot Shots

World famous in Canada! The stench of Randy Bachman's production is all over this group but all the songs you thought American bands did and actually didn't are here, right down to the classic "Raise A Little Hell" which I've even heard variously attributed to Kiss and Twisted Sister. (Eh.) This compilation needs a better engineer — they solved the tape hiss warning on the back of the CD by apparently mastering it at half-volume — but there are solid choices such as "General Hand Grenade," "We're Here For A Good Time (Not A Long Time)" and a slightly altered "The Boys In The Bright White Sports Car," and what's not standout is still enjoyable even if it's not always distinguished. In fact, the choices are so solid it pretty much eliminates any need to buy any of their other albums, making it a wonderful greatest hits collection and a disastrously poor business choice all at the same time. Hosers! (Content: no concerns.)

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The Beatles, Let It Be

Stop it with the gauzy historical revisionism: Abbey Road was truly their last album, and this is just the flotsam that washed up after. Lennon was gone by then and the remnant, coasting on their own formidable narcissism (including George Martin), finished up a batch of half-hearted live noodles and jams and dumped it all on Phil Spector to deal with. So he got out the Wall of Sound, and for his controversial efforts polishing their turds into sequins, he was excoriated by three of the four (Lennon, ironically, the only one to get the joke) and half of all the record critics across the universe. For my money, it's still the same pretentious crap it was in the bootlegs, it just sounds better (which Let It Be... Naked, McCartney's ill-advised anti-production remix, likewise misunderstood). Now, being the Beatles, it's still a good album and stands the test of time, and I still love the schmaltz. But don't you dare think for a minute I'd tolerate this kind of laziness from anyone else. (Content: no concerns.)

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The Greatest of Pleasure

Even (or perhaps particularly) obscure bands resurrect; Pleasure's original keyboardist, now a prosecuting attorney, brought back a new incarnation of this Portland soul-funk group in 2019 after disbanding 38 years prior. Fans trying to turn back the clock, however, will find a lot of flaws in this retrospective collection: their 1975 début and 1982 swan song are completely ignored, the Afrofuturist "Future Now" comes across as me-too and helplessly dated, cookie-cutter later singles "Yearnin' Burnin'" and "Take A Chance" don't impress and while "Glide" was indisputably their biggest hit we certainly didn't need three versions of it (not least leading off with a limp rap remix overdubbed by Psycho). Fortunately the good singles made it here too including sublimely rich "Ghettos of the Mind" and the insistent sax solos on the superfunky "Joyous," but the best outings are the sensually lyric "Sassafras Girl" (with its softly hooting primal intro yielding a gauzy tropical feel) and my favourite track, "Get to the Feeling," mixing husky vocals, infectious beat, strong horns and an unerring baseline that's never off point. (So funky, in fact, that they basically ripped it off for "The Real Thing" and nearly as good, so we'll forgive it.) Add on the boisterous "Let's Dance" and "Foxy Lady" and you've got a real party. We wish their revival luck because they'll have some big shoes to fill: while this album proves their discography wasn't always distinguished, more often than not it still delighted. (Content: no concerns.)

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Oingo Boingo, Nothing To Fear

In retrospect, Only A Lad's frenetic energy level was probably unsustainable. Although the manic funk headbanger "Insects" is every bit as crazy as you'd hope, and the oddly sweet "Wild Sex (In The Working Class)" may be more laidback but no less exuberant, the rest of the album perplexingly doesn't quite reach those heights. "Nothing To Fear (But Fear Itself)" does have some of the same old transgressive zip and "Reptiles and Samurai" is inexplicable but fun, but then there's the (ironically) brainless "Grey Matter," the (likewise) sluggish "Running On A Treadmill," and the disagreeably preachy "Why'd We Come" which squares badly with the group's then-dominant nihilism. The remainder (particularly "Private Life") are solid, and largely even good, but not anywhere near as punchy. You'll still get a mostly decent album, but if you were looking for another refreshing slap in the face you won't get it here. (Content: adult themes on "Wild Sex" and "Nothing To Fear.")

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REM, Document

The end of the I.R.S. era for R.E.M., Document is as transitional as its position in their discography would indicate, and even the professional shedding of their college rock roots doesn't quite even its irregularities. There are genius tracks like the (deservedly) heavily rotated "It's The End of the World As I Know It (And I Feel Fine)," and the old jangle pop still yields refreshment in tracks like "The One I Love" and to a lesser extent the harder-charging "Fireplace," but Michael Stipe's more prominent vocals amidst the more competent production only serve to throw this outing's relatively underdeveloped concepts into sharper relief (the bizarre "Lightnin' Hopkins" comes to mind but "Exhuming McCarthy" in particular, a limp criticism of the Reagan era that's more repetitious than auspicious). "Finest Worksong" is a great example: the production is excellent, the mix is high quality, but the feel — starting from the very title, even — always evoked images of Soviet realism in my mind and its commentary on the American work ethic correspondingly comes off as hamfisted and obvious. A taste of yet to come bubbles up from the richly textured "King of Birds" where a double-tracked Stipe sings to and over himself, but the grim and grungy closer "Oddfellows Local 151," like a Reconstruction cast-off, ends up more retrograde than innovative. Green's release the following year was a clear departure from their earlier style; perhaps this album is evidence it had run its course even if it rewards on balance more than it perplexes. The reissue adds a B-side, several tiresome live tracks and two alternate mixes of "Finest Worksong" which aren't any better. (Content: no concerns.)

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Best of Brick

The most accessible means today of hearing this jazz-funk fusion band is probably this inexpensive compilation disc as many of their LPs are long out of print. All their big singles are here, notably "Dazz" (their term for disco-jazz, although the disco influence is mercifully reduced in favour of the funk), "Music Matic," "Dusic" and "All The Way," and pretty much everything's got a groove, but with their greatest commercial success coming very early in their career the tracklist almost completely dwells on the samey feel of those first few albums. Indeed, virtually nothing dates after 1980 despite the inclusion of some rather deserving non-singles and B-sides such as "Don't Ever Lose Your Love" and the irrepressible "Happy." This overreliance on early hits makes the disc an inherently poor survey of their work, but on the other hand in retrospect it's a much more approachable one as well. (Content: no concerns.)

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Tom Tom Club

Given the apparent strictures of Talking Heads' musical oeuvre, probably as much a result of personality as preference, several solo projects emerged including this perfectly adequate proto-grrrl band captained by Tina Weymouth and husband Chris Frantz. As proof, if it weren't for the people behind it, it probably wouldn't have stood out. There are some legitimate gems on this, particularly the wacky literate white girl monotone of "Wordy Rappinghood," the inexplicably entertaining "Genius Of Love" (which asks the singer that all-important question, "whatcha gonna do when you get out of jail?") and the boisterously francophile "L'Éléphant." On the other hand, however, both "Lorelei" and "As Above, So Below" are lyrically interesting but musically overstay their welcome, and the interminably stupid "Booming And Zooming"'s attempt at satire with its Kentucky Fried Sexist aviator likely set back military feminism by at least a decade. Overall this initial effort has its moments but is best described as an influential curiosity rather than a solid album in its own right. The first CD reissue adds their (rather good, admittedly) cover of "Under The Boardwalk" which replaced "Booming and Zooming" in overseas pressings, plus extended mixes of "Lorelei," "Wordy Rappinghood" and "Genius of Love." This first makes a overly long song even less tolerable, but the other two are excellent 12" mixes of the two best songs on the album. As a result, that's the version to look for; the most recent reissue has a slightly different version of "On, On, On, On..." and "Elephant," and lapses to shorter singles otherwise. (Content: no concerns.)

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