CD reviews: Ke$ha, Lloyd Banks

Ke$ha, "Cannibal" (RCA/Kemosabe)

Ke$ha isn't just cashing in for a holiday money grab with this companion release to her multi-platinum debut "Animal." She's offering a score of insanely infectious new songs and establishing herself as a reliable, if improbable, hitmaker.

"We R Who We R," the CD's first single, debuted at No. 1 on the Billboard charts, undoubtedly eliciting sniffs of derision from detractors critical of her heavily processed vocals and full-tilt, 100 percent unnatural electro-dancepop sound. Unlike most other 100 percent unnatural electro-dancepop songs, Ke$ha's have charisma. Plus she delivers a distinct (some might say irritating) vocal: a lilting rap/sing style that makes her sound drunk, gleeful and sarcastic.

"We R Who We R" is a club-banger true in spirit and form to her previous work. Yet "Cannibal" does better. Ke$ha flies through the tight title track. "Blow" is likewise a dance-floor track packing more explosive energy than earlier Ke$ha songs. The best track is "Sleazy," a delicious slice of defiant hedonism built on hard beat treatments that marry M.I.A. to "Hollaback Girl."

Most important, her humor is intact, whether she's emasculating a crybaby man on the pun-titled "Grow a Pear" or channeling Lily Allen for a sweet, girl-group kiss off on a track titled with a wry saying whose acronym is unprintable here. Ke$ha, the hard-partying, tongue-in-cheek underdog, has stepped up her game. So get over it, haters.

CHUCK CAMPBELL, SCRIPPS HOWARD NEWS SERVICE

Lloyd Banks, "H.F.M. 2 (Hunger for More 2)" (G Unit)

"H.F.M. 2," technically his third solo album, is perhaps an unintended celebration of that mode, with Banks going mano a mano against some of rap's top formalists: a sneering Pusha T on "Home Sweet Home"; a breezy Fabolous on "Start It Up"; even the aerated Juelz Santana on "Beamer, Benz, or Bentley." Mostly, though, he comes up short, delivering rhymes that on paper are clever and punchy, but on record are congested and monotone.

His dour mood matches the sound here, which is largely the pro forma gangster-rap tectonics of later G Unit records. Occasionally the album comes up for air, typically during another sort of Banks face-off, with male R&B singers: a blithe Ryan Leslie on "So Forgetful," the willowy Lloyd on "Any Girl." But here too, while his guests indulge to the point of whimsy, Banks sounds comparably miserable, a stoic more in love with his rhymes than anything else.