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CDs of the week
09.10.09
Shakira
Dionne Bromfield
Flaming Lips
Editors
Mike Stern
Pop
Shakira
She Wolf
(RCA)
****
Of all pop's current divas, none march to the beat of their own drum as determinedly as Colombia's delightfully eccentric Shakira Ripoll, a woman who has been engaged to be married for the past eight years and habitually wears so few clothes that you fear the poor lamb will catch her death of cold even in the heat of summer.
She Wolf, her third (mostly) English language album, is a lyrical treasure trove. She announces that “California is a place that I respect” on Men in This Town before admitting that “Matt Damon's not meant for me”. She has a did-she-really-say-that? moment on Gypsy: “I'm a gypsy, I might steal your clothes and wear them if they fit me.” She bares a whopping pair of fangs on the terrifying Mon Amour, where she wishes her ex and his new love a memorable vacation in Paris (“I hope you get bitten by French fleas and the toilet doesn't flush”), before she starts impersonating airline boarding staff. Assisted for the most part by The Neptunes, she's afraid of nothing musically, whether clattering onto the dance floor on the Spanish Loba, duetting with Wyclef on the chirpy Spy, out-Airing Air on the verses of the gloriously unhinged title track (which introduces the word “lycanthropy” to popular music) or embracing Middle Eastern percussion on Why Wait.
Yet for all its genre-hopping, hurricane Shakira provides backbone and continuity and She Wolf is exactly the sort of endearingly bonkers, hugely likeable, often brilliant record all superstars should be making.
Dionne Bromfield
Introducing
(Island/Lioness)
***
As those who do not turn their back on current affairs already know, Dionne Bromfield is the 13-year-old god-daughter of Amy Winehouse, who has been instrumental in the release of this album on her new label, Lioness. It consists entirely of covers from the Sixties, the time of pop's youthful innocence. On the plus side, Dionne has a sweet and supple voice which holds the notes in a surprisingly strong grip. The arrangements and playing are solidly professional. On the down side, it seems a strange decision to pit the young girl against the likes of Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell (Ain't No Mountain High Enough), The Chiffons (He's So Fine) or even Milly (My Boy Lollipop). A baffling exercise.
The Flaming Lips
Embryonic
(Warner Bros)
**
Since 1983, Oklahoma's Flaming Lips have veered between being a little weird and a lot weird. Normality is unthinkable. A belated incursion into the mainstream came with their last three albums, a stage that saw them putting on gigs that resembled children's birthday parties. Since then, though, there's been the bleak randomness of their Christmas on Mars film, and now Embryonic, weird in the manner of something you might find under a rock. Eighteen tracks, 70 minutes, heavy on distorted drums and guitars and light on tunes, it's tough going. Infrequent moments of beauty such as the shimmer of Evil are worth plucking from the moody morass but the party seems to be over.
Editors
In This Light and on This Evening
(Sony Music)
**
After two albums of gloomy guitar-rock, Editors have mixed things up for their third effort. The band, who have left Birmingham to take up residencies in London and New York, have swapped guitars for synths. Amid such upheaval, the misery of frontman Tom Smith is admirably intact. Whether booming about a godless world on Papillion or bemoaning a violent society on ballad The Boxer, his worldview is as dark as his band's wardrobe. The album, though, is let down by lazy lyrics. “You ran with the dead today, through the cemeteries where ghosts still play,” deadpans Smith on You Don't Know Love. You half expect a miniature Stonehenge to descend from the ceiling.
RICK PEARSON
Jazz
Mike Stern
Big Neighbourhood
(HeadsUp)
****
Mike Stern is a players' player, a star who loves jamming with whoever the hottest new gun may be. Let him choose his own guest-list and the results will be spectacular. The title track, a guitar duel with whammy-bar wizard Steve Vai, is a real post-Hendrix headbanger. When he turns to jazz, trumpet ace Randy Brecker, hip keyboarder Jim Beard and two inspiring bassist-vocalists, Richard Bona and Esperanza Spalding, soon help our hirsute hero achieve lift-off. Reach, a fast samba, produces a superb guitar solo and Coupe de Ville, with drummer Teri Lyne Carrington, is a neo-bop treat. Hats off to HeadsUp for a varied album by the world's pre‑eminent jazz-rock guitarist.
