It's that time of year when record-labels think it's a great idea to expand previously-issued albums with extra material and bonus tracks in order to sell more copies to what is arguably a gradually shrinking Christmas audience. After trotting through this lot, it's not hard to see why initial purchasers of some of these albums might be feeling a bit short-changed - fans will be fans and they'll end up wanting these updated issues added to their Christmas lists. There are also lots of cynical cash-ins and well-timed compilations to consider. Frankly, it's enough to make you want to punch Santa firmly in the cock.
David Guetta - Listen (Deluxe) - ★☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆
The thought of expanding any Guetta release is enough to bring on a rash and with this 'deluxe' edition of his latest opus (his first in three years), you get the full fist-pumping experience. Recent singles Dangerous (feat Sam Martin) and What I Did For Love (feat Emeli Sande) have probably already glued themselves into your brain like a migraine, while the rest of the album is a slurry of soulless trance-pomp and the sort of piffle you'd hear in any High Street clothes shop on a Saturday afternoon. Every track 'features' someone else on vocals, every tune is a derivative aspirational house anthem that is sure to induce a nervous twitch in any sane person this side of civilization. Hey Mama (featuring Nicky Minaj) might inspire you to crossbow your own eyeballs to a passing train, if it hasn't already - it's like aural Haribo, heroin and helium crammed into three gut-twisting minutes.
Beyonce - Beyonce (Platinum) - ☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆
An extra disc has been added to Mrs Z's self-titled opus, proof that no matter how hard you polish a turd, it'll still be a turd even when upgraded 12 months after its original release. So by now, most diehard devotees will be familiar with Beyonce's sub-soul, post dubstepping approach to music-making these days - Zomby must be wondering where his royalties are after listening to Drunk In Love and No Angel, say no more. As for the vast majority of this risible album, there are no songs to speak of, just suggestive RnB text-speak grind that is as inspiring as a dirty floor. Not surprisingly, Nicki Minaj makes an appearance on one of the bonuses, the remix of Flawless, while hubby Jay-Z and gold-diggin Kanye West 'add' oomph to Drunk In Love in the form of lyrical couplets such as "I know good pussy when I see it, I'm a visionary...". Ho hum. Only the Pharrell Williams rework of album-track Blow resembles anything like a song. 7/11 meanwhile is possibly the worst 3minutes and 34 seconds I've spent in the company of a track for some time. Grim.
Clean Bandit - New Eyes (New Edition) - ★★★☆☆☆☆☆☆☆
Cambridge-based chancers who fuse electronic-pop with classical music with annoying regularity anyone? Well to be fair, Clean Bandit have struck silver with their first proper success in five years of trying - little of New Eyes is worth hating and some of it is actually rather redeeming, even if some of the vocals have been auto-tuned and the beats are straight out of the '90s. There is an element of DIY about the production throughout New Eyes, with the strings being the album's saving grace in places. Without the little violin riff, number one smash Rather Be wouldn't have happened. And once again, without Zomby's dark electronica, the album's title-track wouldn't skitter around searching for a climax. Those strings also play their part on Clean Bandit's passable attempt at revisiting Robin S' Show Me Love - still sounds a bit flat though. A + E sounds a bit like John Talabot or Pantha Du Prince, Real Love gives Jess Glynne another platform from which to trill like every other female pop-singer these days, while the album's extras include several pieces recorded with the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra. I'm not sure anyone is going to remember Clean Bandit in a year from now but it's a passable effort.
Coldplay - Ghost Stories Live - ★★☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆
As if listening to their recent doe-eyed dollop of sad-face stadium-fillers isn't enough, Parlophone have seen fit to milk the Ghost Stories phenomena down to its sorest teats with a cobbled together compilation of songs drawn from their last world tour. Seriously, if you must, stick to the original unless you relish the prospect of listening to leaden live renditions of album-tracks accompanied by squealing audiences around the world. Like a sea of week-old soup, much of Ghost Stories Live is a tasteless, unsatisfying gloop that sounds somewhat laboured and painful, particularly on True Love, which sounds as enthralling as a day out in Dunstable. Midnight teeters on the brink of collapse until the audience adds its voice (this may inspire switching the thing off at this point), while on A Sky Full Of Stars (at the Royal Albert Hall), Chris Martin oo-ee-oos his way through the song as though his life depends on it. Pump up those synths, hands to the lasers etc etc.. The same thing happens on O - oo-ee-oo ad infinitum. Just think, in a short while, Coldplay will be old enough to be playing entire albums at concerts without batting an eyelid. The Mylo Xyloto album in its entirety - crikey bollocks. Let's hope someone decides to mix the bloody thing before unleashing it on a suspecting public, preferably in a trough.
Rick Ross - Hood Billionaire - ☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆
Roger me with a rusty pipe - that same bloody Zomby beat pops up again, this time on Ross's latest misogynist thug-assed war-cry collection. Yo, yo, yo, gonna fuck some bitches, got mo money than you, n***ers this, n***ers that, shooters, drugs white bitch, pussy, bullet-proof - you know what, there's no hope for the human-race if it's hooked on this rancorous style of rapping. And guess what? On this deluxe edition, you can nod your napper to eighteen sorry examples of (c)rap over the course of 78 glorious minutes. Guests include R Kelly, Jay-Z, Snoop Dogg and the like - that's your guarantee of quality right there. Regardless of passing contributors, the beats shuffle past like an injured dog, making Hood Billionaire a drag to sit through in one sitting. And Public Enemy campaigned their arses off to give hip-hop a voice for this? Gah.
Olly Murs - Never Been Better (deluxe) - ★☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆
Christmas wouldn't be Christmas without an Olly Murs expanded edition (or so it feels). Like an advert for insurance, Murs is a sure-fire bet for something very average to happen and indeed it does, constantly. However, add a bit of tinsel into the mix and reserve a release date somewhere towards the end of November and suddenly sales start to soar. On Never Been Better (how apt that title is), our Olly trills his way through the sort of pop-music previously heard on his other albums - in fact if Murs spent forty minutes just bellowing the word 'fuuuuucccckkkk' over a metal riff, it'd probably still sell shit-loads. But it's unlikely to happen - Murs is a wholesome pop-star whose fresh-faced take on the world is either refreshing or downright nauseating, depending on your point of view. Seventeen songs later and I'm as unimpressed with this fourth album as I was the last time I stepped in a knee-deep puddle of cow-shit.
Boyzone - From Dublin To Detroit - ☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆
Aw, please - just fuck right off to the heart of the sun with your insipid treatment of soul standards. What becomes of the broken-hearted? They buy crud like this and kid themselves that this vacuous exercise is authentic.
Shirley Bassey - Hello Like Before (deluxe) - ★★★★★★☆☆☆☆
As I write (somewhat wearily), I note that half of the album-chart is full of easy-listening performers. Have we just stepped back in time or is today's gaggle of dullards really and truly so shit that we're being subjected to Dolly Parton, Daniel O'Donnell and Neil Diamond? Well truth is, Parton, Diamond and the like are consummate professionals who really can sing and really can put an album together without resorting to lowering standards. Joining the club is Tiger Bay's finest, Shirley Bassey, a lady who can stop air-traffic with her lungs and who rarely resorts to including guests on her recordings. Suffice to say, flavour of the decade Paloma Faith should feel just a bit proud to be included on this decent-enough album of standards. Diamonds Are a Girl's Best Friend sees Faith and Bassey play off each other in light-hearted fashion ("I'm going to H Samuels..."), although it's hardly ground-breaking. As for the rest of Hello Like Before, Bassey belies here 70-plus years, particularly on the reflective Here's To Life and title-track - she can still belt them out, even if the whole album sounds like it's been thrown together on a whim. Not her best by a long chalk but superior to some of the downright trash around at the moment.
David Guetta - Listen (Deluxe) - ★☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆
The thought of expanding any Guetta release is enough to bring on a rash and with this 'deluxe' edition of his latest opus (his first in three years), you get the full fist-pumping experience. Recent singles Dangerous (feat Sam Martin) and What I Did For Love (feat Emeli Sande) have probably already glued themselves into your brain like a migraine, while the rest of the album is a slurry of soulless trance-pomp and the sort of piffle you'd hear in any High Street clothes shop on a Saturday afternoon. Every track 'features' someone else on vocals, every tune is a derivative aspirational house anthem that is sure to induce a nervous twitch in any sane person this side of civilization. Hey Mama (featuring Nicky Minaj) might inspire you to crossbow your own eyeballs to a passing train, if it hasn't already - it's like aural Haribo, heroin and helium crammed into three gut-twisting minutes.
Beyonce - Beyonce (Platinum) - ☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆
An extra disc has been added to Mrs Z's self-titled opus, proof that no matter how hard you polish a turd, it'll still be a turd even when upgraded 12 months after its original release. So by now, most diehard devotees will be familiar with Beyonce's sub-soul, post dubstepping approach to music-making these days - Zomby must be wondering where his royalties are after listening to Drunk In Love and No Angel, say no more. As for the vast majority of this risible album, there are no songs to speak of, just suggestive RnB text-speak grind that is as inspiring as a dirty floor. Not surprisingly, Nicki Minaj makes an appearance on one of the bonuses, the remix of Flawless, while hubby Jay-Z and gold-diggin Kanye West 'add' oomph to Drunk In Love in the form of lyrical couplets such as "I know good pussy when I see it, I'm a visionary...". Ho hum. Only the Pharrell Williams rework of album-track Blow resembles anything like a song. 7/11 meanwhile is possibly the worst 3minutes and 34 seconds I've spent in the company of a track for some time. Grim.
Clean Bandit - New Eyes (New Edition) - ★★★☆☆☆☆☆☆☆
Cambridge-based chancers who fuse electronic-pop with classical music with annoying regularity anyone? Well to be fair, Clean Bandit have struck silver with their first proper success in five years of trying - little of New Eyes is worth hating and some of it is actually rather redeeming, even if some of the vocals have been auto-tuned and the beats are straight out of the '90s. There is an element of DIY about the production throughout New Eyes, with the strings being the album's saving grace in places. Without the little violin riff, number one smash Rather Be wouldn't have happened. And once again, without Zomby's dark electronica, the album's title-track wouldn't skitter around searching for a climax. Those strings also play their part on Clean Bandit's passable attempt at revisiting Robin S' Show Me Love - still sounds a bit flat though. A + E sounds a bit like John Talabot or Pantha Du Prince, Real Love gives Jess Glynne another platform from which to trill like every other female pop-singer these days, while the album's extras include several pieces recorded with the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra. I'm not sure anyone is going to remember Clean Bandit in a year from now but it's a passable effort.
Coldplay - Ghost Stories Live - ★★☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆
As if listening to their recent doe-eyed dollop of sad-face stadium-fillers isn't enough, Parlophone have seen fit to milk the Ghost Stories phenomena down to its sorest teats with a cobbled together compilation of songs drawn from their last world tour. Seriously, if you must, stick to the original unless you relish the prospect of listening to leaden live renditions of album-tracks accompanied by squealing audiences around the world. Like a sea of week-old soup, much of Ghost Stories Live is a tasteless, unsatisfying gloop that sounds somewhat laboured and painful, particularly on True Love, which sounds as enthralling as a day out in Dunstable. Midnight teeters on the brink of collapse until the audience adds its voice (this may inspire switching the thing off at this point), while on A Sky Full Of Stars (at the Royal Albert Hall), Chris Martin oo-ee-oos his way through the song as though his life depends on it. Pump up those synths, hands to the lasers etc etc.. The same thing happens on O - oo-ee-oo ad infinitum. Just think, in a short while, Coldplay will be old enough to be playing entire albums at concerts without batting an eyelid. The Mylo Xyloto album in its entirety - crikey bollocks. Let's hope someone decides to mix the bloody thing before unleashing it on a suspecting public, preferably in a trough.
Rick Ross - Hood Billionaire - ☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆
Roger me with a rusty pipe - that same bloody Zomby beat pops up again, this time on Ross's latest misogynist thug-assed war-cry collection. Yo, yo, yo, gonna fuck some bitches, got mo money than you, n***ers this, n***ers that, shooters, drugs white bitch, pussy, bullet-proof - you know what, there's no hope for the human-race if it's hooked on this rancorous style of rapping. And guess what? On this deluxe edition, you can nod your napper to eighteen sorry examples of (c)rap over the course of 78 glorious minutes. Guests include R Kelly, Jay-Z, Snoop Dogg and the like - that's your guarantee of quality right there. Regardless of passing contributors, the beats shuffle past like an injured dog, making Hood Billionaire a drag to sit through in one sitting. And Public Enemy campaigned their arses off to give hip-hop a voice for this? Gah.
Olly Murs - Never Been Better (deluxe) - ★☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆
Christmas wouldn't be Christmas without an Olly Murs expanded edition (or so it feels). Like an advert for insurance, Murs is a sure-fire bet for something very average to happen and indeed it does, constantly. However, add a bit of tinsel into the mix and reserve a release date somewhere towards the end of November and suddenly sales start to soar. On Never Been Better (how apt that title is), our Olly trills his way through the sort of pop-music previously heard on his other albums - in fact if Murs spent forty minutes just bellowing the word 'fuuuuucccckkkk' over a metal riff, it'd probably still sell shit-loads. But it's unlikely to happen - Murs is a wholesome pop-star whose fresh-faced take on the world is either refreshing or downright nauseating, depending on your point of view. Seventeen songs later and I'm as unimpressed with this fourth album as I was the last time I stepped in a knee-deep puddle of cow-shit.
Boyzone - From Dublin To Detroit - ☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆
Aw, please - just fuck right off to the heart of the sun with your insipid treatment of soul standards. What becomes of the broken-hearted? They buy crud like this and kid themselves that this vacuous exercise is authentic.
Shirley Bassey - Hello Like Before (deluxe) - ★★★★★★☆☆☆☆
As I write (somewhat wearily), I note that half of the album-chart is full of easy-listening performers. Have we just stepped back in time or is today's gaggle of dullards really and truly so shit that we're being subjected to Dolly Parton, Daniel O'Donnell and Neil Diamond? Well truth is, Parton, Diamond and the like are consummate professionals who really can sing and really can put an album together without resorting to lowering standards. Joining the club is Tiger Bay's finest, Shirley Bassey, a lady who can stop air-traffic with her lungs and who rarely resorts to including guests on her recordings. Suffice to say, flavour of the decade Paloma Faith should feel just a bit proud to be included on this decent-enough album of standards. Diamonds Are a Girl's Best Friend sees Faith and Bassey play off each other in light-hearted fashion ("I'm going to H Samuels..."), although it's hardly ground-breaking. As for the rest of Hello Like Before, Bassey belies here 70-plus years, particularly on the reflective Here's To Life and title-track - she can still belt them out, even if the whole album sounds like it's been thrown together on a whim. Not her best by a long chalk but superior to some of the downright trash around at the moment.