If we’re to believe the hyperbole-laden advance press about Lily Allen’s debut record, Alright, Still, the spunky British singer’s rise to stardom is inevitable. Blender has named Allen the #1 reason to “Love 2007,” and even the notoriously cranky folks at Pitchfork have given the album a relatively unheard-of 8.3 rating. Knowing this going in, I was prepared to categorically despise Alright, Still. And while it has nothing resembling substance, and its range of emotions goes a little something like this—cheeky song, brassy song, smart-ass song, cheeky song—I’m a fan. Allen succeeds by understanding her role as the sassy, sarcastic, nonconformist girl, somewhere in between Lady Sovereign and No Doubt-era Gwen Stefani. She rarely takes herself too seriously and lets her album’s excellent grooves do most of the talking. It’s a smart strategy, because the music is all airy and addictive, a mix of second-wave ska, dance hall, light hip-hop and new wave that’s littered with great hooks. “LDN” is a 21st-century re-imagining of Blondie’s “The Tide Is High,” with Allen’s friendly sing-speak vocal rounding out the carefree mood. “Shame for You” combines dramatic, big-band horns with Allen’s cutesy/threatening lyrics (i.e. “When you ask if we can still be lovers/I’ll have to introduce my brothers”). “Alfie” is definitive proof that Allen is more than your run-of-the-mill pop star. A swirling, carnival/polka/pop tune about a pot-smoking, video-game-addicted younger brother who ironically shares a name with Michael Caine’s famed Lothario, the track is an endearingly bizarre, totally original confection. Still, the album is by no means a masterpiece. Its moments of supreme catchiness are undercut by Allen’s reliance on hippie high school guidance counselor sentiments, especially on “Take What You Take,” which features the lines, “Say what you say/Do what you do/Feel what you feel/As long as it’s real.” (Going by this logic, it’s okay to feel what you feel if you’re a sociopath, or if you enjoy sexual congress with animals. As long as it’s real, right?) Regardless, Allen’s formula works more often than not, and when she truly shines—like on the awesomely catchy single “Smile”—she’s a great example of what unthreatening, unabashedly fluffy pop music can accomplish.

The Stars of Track & Field come from Portland, Oregon, they take their name from a Belle and Sebastian song (a track from 1996’s If You’re Feeling Sinister), in photographs they gaze off with existential expressions on their sunglassed faces and they wax poetic about love and war—among other things. In a nutshell, these are the poster boys for a certain genre (yes, emo), and one that’s been as much maligned in recent years as it has been mimicked and marketed. But even some of the most jaded emo-haters get misty-eyed when, say, the Postal Service is playing, and the Stars of Track & Field achieve a similar effect with Centuries Before Love and War. Expanding on what began with their debut EP, You Came Here for the Sunset This Year, the trio has drawn comparisons to Death Cab for Cutie and the Shins, and even to Michelle Branch (pre-Wreckers days) thanks to the pitch-perfect pop that is sweetly delivered without the trademark hint of saccharine that’s giving the genre a bad name. The album starts out sounding somewhat anthemic, culminating in the plaintive melancholy of “Movies of Antarctica,” a sweeping but somewhat uninteresting drama. But by track four, “Lullabye for a G.I./Don’t Close Your Eyes,” the album hits its stride and stays with it: “You light on fire/I’ll be outside/Last one to notice/Run for your life” are lyrics delivered in a cryptic sing-song, a little bit creepy, a little bit comforting and really, really catchy. True to form, there are also the requisite lyrics about robots and romance, and about trees, and about being confused…Oh and if we’re mining Belle and Sebastian for band names, I like “Catastrophe Waitress.”