It's very easy to be suspicious of Mark Ronson. Never mind the family connections, the fame garnered from helming albums by Lily Allen and Amy Winehouse-- artists charismatic enough to give any producer a cushy job-- or the dubious entity called the Business Int'l. The real cause for all those cocked eyebrows and dubious looks has been the diminishing-returns appropriation of old soul tropes in service of neo-soul radio hits, which actually sounded great on Back to Black but much less compelling-- almost comically crass-- on Ronson's own cashgrab 2007 album, Version. Full of payback cameos by Winehouse, Allen, ODB, and Robbie Williams, Version was a covers album that tried to position Ronson as a trendsetter, but proved dead-end rather than innovative and fresh.
Ronson's moment may have passed, but he actually seems relieved. Record Collection, his follow-up, succeeds at leaving his signature sound in the past and rolling out some new, often impressive tricks. Mercifully, there are no Daptone horns on here (no slam on that group, but they sound better when paired with Daptone artists), and Ronson expands his range beyond Stax, Philly, and Motown to reach into the 1970s and especially the 80s for inspiration. "You Gave Me Nothing" rollerskates on glittery disco beats, "Lose It All (In the End)" mimics the orchestral pomp of 60s crooner pop, and both "The Colour of Crumar" and "Circuit Breaker" soundtrack lost Atari games ca. 1986. The result is a grab-bag of an album: scattered, frantic, distracted, overeager, yet occasionally engaging nevertheless.
While that title may suggest a navel-gazing bedroom-auteur beatshop, Record Collection proves a surprisingly gregarious album, varying up the sounds and styles and making better use of cameos by his famous friends. Unlike Handsome Boy Modeling School and N.A.S.A., Ronson doesn't pair up his guests in stunt combinations. Rather, he's more interested in how they complement each other and the songs; he's after chemistry. "Somebody to Love Me" pairs Boy George with long-time Ronson associate Andrew Wyatt, and the former's gritty delivery makes him a nice foil for the latter's youthful falsetto. It's one of the most dramatic moments on the album, especially when Boy George pleads for someone to "see the boy I once was in my life."
Ghostface is the consummate professional, Spank Rock goes twee, and the album's runaway star is former Pipette Rose Elinor Dougall. She gets three songs that show new range, playing ABBA's Agnetha on "You Gave Me Nothing", Dusty Springfield on closer "The Night Last Night", and Debbie Harry in "Hey Boy". Her easy presence on these songs only hints at what a full-length collaboration between Dougall and Ronson might sound like. Alongside such naturally charismatic personalities, however, guests like Kyle Falconer from the View (the band, not the TV show) and Planet's Andy Greenwald fade into the mix, so overshadowed as to be absent.
Through almost every song, Ronson rides a shuffling drumkit beat, stitching the album and the guests together sonically. It's a bit too clipped and choppy to be especially funky, but it does keep things fleet and agile as Ronson introduces and develops new ideas, revealing a musical curiosity that Version seemed to preclude. His mission here is modest: As Simon LeBon sings on the title track, "I just want to be in your record collection." That's easy for him to say, since Duran Duran is in just about everybody's record collection. But Record Collection is a small step in that direction for Ronson. It sounds more curious and less intrinsically bound to any particular trend, which ultimately gives it a good chance of not embarrassing him in three years
