RIYL: Eurythmics, Little Boots, Róisín Murphy
Already hugely popular on the other side of the pond, Britain’s La Roux – otherwise known as singer Elly Jackson and her synth-playing partner Ben Langmaid – might sound strongly familiar to pop fans with long memories: with an androgynous red-haired singer and a fondness for icy, clanking beats, they seem – visually, anyway – like the musical offspring of early-period Eurythmics. But where that band drew its heat from the spark generated from the collision of white soul and new wave synthcraft, La Roux stays on the dance floor, nestling Jackson’s thin, fluttery vocals in between a buzzing, whirring electropop army that sounds like it was stolen from the Human League’s synthesizer banks. All that artificial noise can get a little tiresome after a while – new wave did get old, after all – but La Roux walks the fine line between homage and pastiche by serving up a bevy of fresh-sounding, booty-shaking singles that sound equally at home in the clubs or on the Top 40.
The album’s first four tracks – “In for the Kill,” “Tigerlily,” “Quicksand,” and “Bulletproof” – are airtight, flawlessly catchy hits in waiting; in fact, “In for the Kill” and “Bulletproof” have been pretty much inescapable in the UK for months. Whether American audiences will respond is another story (ask La Roux’s Stateside labelmate Robyn about how hard it is to cross over as a dance artist in the U.S.), but however it goes down on the charts, this is an auspicious debut. (Cherry Tree 2009)
We’re admittedly late with this one (this was released in June), but better late than never when discussing the only album that came remotely close to challenging Thriller on the album charts in the early ’80s. Joe Elliott may make fun of Nick Rhodes for playing keyboards with only two fingers on those VH-1 “I Love the ’80s” shows, but as great as Pyromania is, it was Def Leppard’s ability to appeal to the fairer sex – a rarity for metal acts – that launched them into the stratosphere, and much like Rhodes and his mates in Duran Duran, Def Leppard’s music videos went a long way towards making that happen. (Come on, look at those pictures again of Joe Elliott in the sleeveless Union Jack shirt and his perfect hair. Dude’s the world’s first metrosexual.) Guys loved Def Leppard too because, let’s face it, they kicked ass. It was polished, obsessively overproduced ass, but ass just the same. There isn’t a band alive that wouldn’t claim “Photograph,” “Rock of Ages” and “Foolin'” for themselves. The album tracks, namely “Rock! Rock! (Till You Drop),” “Stagefright” and “Too Late for Love,” were just as good. 
Although he first emerged from Christian pop realms, Derek Webb has never found himself constrained by either dogma or dictates, especially as they apply to his own soft rock excursions and those that he pursues with his talented wife, singer/songwriter Sandra McCracken. However, anyone familiar with his music up until now might be somewhat confounded by Webb’s current switch in sound. Webb’s always aimed for accessibility, but here he deviates from that tact, opting instead for an atmospheric motif, some techno trappings and hip-hop beats to maintain his muse. On first listen, it sounds like an attempt to substitute dance club fare for the thoughtful approach that distinguished his previous efforts and indeed, Webb keeps things moving at a kinetic pace. However, while the undulating ambiance sometimes seems distracting, additional listens reveal some subtle nuances. In fact, it’s those moments of mellow respite – the gentle ballads “The State,” “Heaven” and “American Flag Umbrella” in particular – that make Stockholm Syndrome easier to abide. 
