Get Ready
New Order

New Order's lukewarm last album "Republic" sounded like the band was running out of gas, so when nothing more was heard from them for eight years it was assumed that was it from them and they'd all retired to play golf, do some gardening or make solo albums. Well something has put a rocket up their arses because they're back together, sounding younger and more snarly than ever, stripping their sound down to essentials to become a lean, mean, rocking machine. The album rolls up it's sleeves and gets down to business right away with the delirious adrenaline rush of "Crystal" and barely pauses to catch it’s breath as they power through a string of fist-shaking anthems fueled by crashing guitars and Peter Hook's swaggering basslines that are like the pistons pumping beneath the hood of a growling muscle car. God knows how they’ve managed to get so revved up at their age but I want a crate of whatever it is they’ve been drinking.
A Camp
A Camp

A Camp is the strangely-named solo project of The Cardigans lead singer Nina Persson, and while before she sounded like a teenage girl on a sugar high after too many Cherry Cokes, here she’s a grown-up woman sitting in a bar at closing time drowning her sorrows with a bottle of Jack Daniels. The newly-brunette Nina seems to be staking out a spot as a hipster Shania Twain with this stunning album recorded in Woodstock that mixes country music and bluesy rock dressed up with a little electronic embroidery. The twangy ballads will make your heart weep with their melancholy beauty and just so you don’t think Nina’s forgotten her leather-trousered arty Euro roots she throws in a few crunchy rockers loaded with enough noisy feedback to ensure you probably won't be seeing A Camp bumper stickers on the backs of any pick-up trucks just yet. A stupid name but a great, great record. [Official Site]
Songs In A Minor
Alicia Keys

Ms. Keys must be a record company exec's wet dream come true – she's young, beautiful, has a great voice, writes her own material and plays the piano. The PR hype would have you believe that's she's Aretha Franklin with a flat stomach but is she really that good? Well of course she isn't, but when the album hits you with the opening salvo of "How Come U Don't Call Me?" "Girlfriend" and "Fallin'", then wheels out Isaac Hayes to play guitar on "Rock Wit U" (why can't R&B artists spell properly anymore?) you're ready to believe the hype and send off for an "I Love Alicia Keys" t-shirt. But after that blazing start the album dissolves into a dull blur of generic pop-R&B and Alicia goes on singing, playing and producing her little heart out as if she’s trying way too hard to impress us with all the clever things she can do. She gets a gold star for effort but someone should have told her to quit while she was ahead. Still, she clearly has a whole lot of talent so don’t hate her 'cause she's beautiful.

Triple Echo
Birdie

Birdie’s debut album was the sort of record you wanted to hug, such a perfectly-formed gem the rules of rock 'n' roll history dictated that the next step for them should have been breaking up after a backstage brawl. Obviously being far too sensible for that sort of thing – these are people that are married with children – Birdie have stuck around to serve up more languid strolling down Easy Listening Street in stripey jumpers and corduroy jackets. Deborah Wykes’ honeyed voice is still a pleasure akin to curling up your favorite armchair with a hot mug of tea and I could listen to her until the cows come home, but I wish Paul Kelly hadn't left his electric guitar at home as the gentle raindrops-keep-falling-on-my-head grooves could do with a little zing in places. I wondered at first if the world actually needed another Birdie album the same as the last one but then I realized that this would be like getting bored with chocolate biscuits – sure it’s just chocolate stuck on one side of a digestive but often the greatest pleasures in life are the simple ones.

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