CD reviews 5/10: Jennifer Lopez and Beastie Boys

J.Lo the brand is hot. "American Idol" has resurrected her moribund music career and this dance-oriented disc is timed to cash in on the new buzz. Too bad it's mostly numbingly familiar party music.

The successful, albeit generic, first single, "On the Floor," sets the tone for what is to come. Lopez, 41, seems like she's chasing the sound of her younger peers instead of furthering her own vision. There's very little Latin flavor in the set and it's replaced by de rigueur swaths of keyboards and galloping beats to buttress the singer's thin vocals. In the block party rump-shaker "Papi," she descends into a "throw your hands in the air" hook and "Good Hit" updates "Don't Cha" without the stripper pole camp. The "Idol" vocal judge's voice is often severely tweaked by her all-star producers, especially on "Take Care," and she doesn't convince on the emotional ballad "Until It Beats No More." If the fine "Hypnotico" sounds like a Lady Gaga leftover, it's because it was written by Gaga. After all the processed cheese, though, you're left wondering: What's love got to do with it?

The Beastie Boys were once unlikely innovators, whether taking the art of sampling to previously unimagined heights with the Dust Brothers on "Paul's Boutique" (1989) or fusing punk and funk with rap on "Check Your Head" (1992). Now they traffic in affable, danceable, self-deprecating '80s nostalgia. The notoriously bratty trio has hung on long enough to embrace what once would've been considered a contradiction: hip-hop elder statesmen. This is the group's first album in seven years.

The Beasties do not try to keep up with current trends. There are no Nicki Minaj, Lil Wayne or T-Pain cameos. There is an unironic cowbell fill; dated phrases such as "be kind, rewind" abound; retro cultural references to Kenny Rogers, Bob Dylan's "Subterranean Homesick Blues" and Ted Danson are everywhere. So are grimy keyboards, grimier vocals and sparse beats that sound like they belong on a demo rather than a major-label release. This CD sounds like a crusty mix tape you might pick up from a hooded dealer on a Brooklyn street corner.

That's not a bad thing. On the contrary, it's a refreshingly understated return to long-ago form by one of hip-hop's most venerated groups. Money Mark's vintage keyboards spread grease over the hard-hitting if uncomplicated beats. The B-Boys focus on old-school hip-hop that wouldn't have sounded out of place on a mid-'80s single, and also touch on hard-core punk ("Lee Majors Come Again") and reggae ("Don't Play No Game That I Can't Win"). The Beasties fling boasts and nonsense with verve: MCA's raspy brio, Mike D's fine whine, Ad-Rock's comical incisiveness. All heritage acts should age with this much humor.