It might seem redundant to describe a boy band's debut as youthful. But The Wanted sounds positively drunken with the blissful, fast-paced joy (and pain) of being young. Like their smash single, "Glad You Came," much of the album sounds like the perfect soundtrack for some elated spinning in circles on the dancefloor: earnest vocals about love and staying up late are housed in airy, skipping, perpetually building dance beats. But even the last third, which takes a dramatic turn into relationship territory with "Gold Forever," sounds crammed full of undaunted, danceable hope and vigor.
Could there be anything more Mrazian than an album all about love? Well, not really. But while he returns to a familiar topic, never straying lyrically far from the beach-wedding (with a bit of bite) fodder he's built his name on, he strikes out in some refreshing musical directions: organ-bedecked blue-eyed funk, a bit of country and, most of all, strings-laden, '70s singer-songwriter rock that lands him somewhere between James Taylor, the Eagles and Barry Manilow. It suits him, especially the country: "I Won't Give Up" might be his best track ever. "5/6" is definitely his most adventurous.
Everyone loves Nicki Minaj: She's a self-described Harajuku girl with a potty mouth and a dementedly theatrical fashion sense to match. But do we love her music? Like her 2010 debut, Pink Friday, the new Roman Reloaded straddles her audience's demands for both face-melting rhymes and pop confections. The former camp gets the "HOV Lane" (as in Jay-Z, aka "Jay Hova") and ciphers with Rick Ross, Cam'Ron and Nas; pop fans get clubby house tracks made by Lady Gaga producer RedOne, including the dance-pop hit "Starships." Blending these two identities into a satisfying whole proves elusive.
Her Madgesty takes a stab at reclaiming her throne in an era of shivery smooth dance-pop that seems readymade for her. At times, MDNA labors to make that stab, shooting a bit too high to achieve badass status on "Gang Bang," and alternating between weirdly anachronistic teeny-bop confessionals and desperate housewives anthems. But mostly, this is a regal demonstration of superiority that effortlessly works in smoke machine beats, but also doesn't shy away from challenges, like the complicated "Love Spent" or the pretty "Falling Free," featuring some of her loveliest, most mature vocals.
There's a fiery, vengeful, frankly pretty awesome Pat Benatar vibe at the onset of Carrie Underwood's fourth album, wherein crap dudes are verbally lambasted ("Good Girl"), sucked up in tornadoes ("Blown Away") and offed by their two-timed wives ("Two Black Cadillacs"). Sweet ballads and generally gentler/countrier fare dominate thereafter -- "Thank God for Hometowns" is humble and lovely -- but still, when the honky-tonk rave-up "Cupid's Got a Shotgun" comes along, she grabs a Kevlar vest, loads up and starts firing back. Hit her with your best shot, but hers is better.
Alex Clare is on the vanguard of EDM-doused dance-pop, thanks to the thunderous, dub-stepping bass of his smash "Too Close" and beats by Major Lazer. But what makes his sound so compelling is that he is, at heart, a jazz-loving, old-soul singer. Everything here is at once coolly chic enough to throb across a club floor and cast a warm, confessional glow. Add to that his very ... Britishness and you get tracks like "Relax, My Beloved," a funeral dirge decked in the strains of a dubby orchestra of synths, and the delicate "Tight Rope," with its barely contained bass threatening to topple it.
If you know "In the Dark," it might feel like you know Dev and what to expect from her debut: that intimate purr; those familiar club themes; those Catarac swoops. And all that stuff's here, just broken up and sprinkled like breadcrumbs down other, stranger paths. Take "In My Trunk," which kind of sounds like "Bass Down Low"'s crunkier cousin before it meanders off on an art poppy bridge to nowhere. See also: off-kilter girl-group hoots, deconstructed electro-pop, fiercely lyrical braggadocio, and piano jam "Getaway." Dev, it's going to be interesting getting to know ya.
With The MF Life, Melanie Fiona threads the needle between R&B trends. There's atmospheric balladry like the hit single "4 a.m." and "I Been That Girl," a little bit of Auto-Tunin' via the T-Pain duet "6 a.m.," he-said-she-said rivalries with rappers such as Nas (who delivers an excellent verse on "Running"), the pop-rock gem "Watch Me Work," and retro-soul such as "Bones." Fiona pulls this diverse collection off with a consistently impressive performance that rivals Keyshia Cole in her heyday. These songs seem less like experiments than shades of a talented and multi-faceted artist.
A spoken introduction by Morgan Freeman, guest vocals from Taylor Swift and Chris Brown, and pop melodies from Dr. Luke and OneRepublic's Ryan Tedder ensure that B.o.B's second album is a major event. Strange Clouds is overloaded, from the echoing choruses of "Castles in the Sky" to the booming dubstep of "Strange Clouds," the 8-bit glitch of "Bombs Away" and the acoustic guitar of "So Hard to Breathe." B.o.B worries how his fans say he's changed since his mixtape days, especially on "Where Are You." However, his familiar Southern vocal twang and earnest lyrics shine through the frippery.
M.I.A.'s hype-girl finally gets her spotlight. If you loved her on Maya's tours, then you'll enjoy "Holla Holla" and "Hotter," songs where she gets to shake and sass over skittering B-more funk. Those tracks are undercut by failed dance-pop like "DNA" (with Young Money B-teamer Porcelain Black). Rye Rye's hyperactive delivery is a poor fit for the EDM fad -- she virtually disappears amid Robyn's chorus on "Never Will Be Mine" -- even if that seems like a surer path to success than the cool, understated melodies of "Sunshine," her collaboration with M.I.A. and Go! Pop! Bang!'s highlight.
Compared to the minimalist All Days Are Night, Rufus's seventh album is a circus. But relative to his flamboyant oeuvre, Out of the Game is thoughtful and restrained. It's Rufus "doing" adulthood, with heartbreaking earnestness and arch theatricality. Rufus and producer Mark Ronson put life and pop on stage and examine them from all angles, with blissful, complicated odes to family life, bits of doo-wop (the epic "Rashida"), '70s gold cut with show-tune panache, and diverse guests like the Dap-Kings and Nels Cline. The melodies (particularly the impressionist "Montauk") will haunt your brain.
If Adam Lambert's last album was a strut down the catwalk at a glam rock fashion show with Lady Gaga in the front row, then Trespassing is a whirl around a discotheque patrolled by Nile Rodgers -- literally, on blue-eyed funk cut "Shady!" His lyrics are light, but Lambert works it on the first half, bolstering his four-on-the-floor with hipster dance beats, MJ-meets-Queen rock sass and shivering club thumps. With building layers and a falsetto verging on Martha Wash, "Kickin' In" is the highlight. Then things turn slightly toward generic pop filler, but Adam sings it so well, you won't care.
The bratty, fizzy coed English duo behind magnificent earworm "That's Not My Name" is back with even brattier, fizzier sullen-outsider jock jams. The gleefully schizo Sounds From Nowheresville revels in everything from M83 electro triumphalism to Santigold-style reggae pop to tart party-rap taunts to angst-y ballads, all shot through with a brisk air of absurdism. Try "Guggenheim," a bad-romance fable that vaguely evokes Dusty Springfield before launching into an enormous, bewildering, cowbell-wielding chorus of "I'm gonna play my bass at the Guggenheim." Yeah, go ahead.
Karmin's debut title is not just the kind of cutesy thing we'd expect from these wide-eyed internet phenoms. It also introduces Amy Heidemann and Nick Noonan as legit pop stars, not just campy cover artists. Everything here is candy-coated in sugary beats and irresistible hooks, as if they've attacked the YouTube cover artist conundrum with a cotton candy blow torch. Heidemann's Minaj-ian, sassy-stoopid spitting and pop belt make even silly tracks like girls-night anthem "Too Many Fish" delectable. But without a little more substance, anything more than an EP might result in a tummy ache.
