Gents are now dressed for a night on the town

Maroon 5

“It Won’t Be Soon Before Long”

(A&M;/Octone)

***

For a band that sold more than 4 million copies of its first album, Maroon 5 sure gets called “irritating” a lot. The rep is partly because of singer Adam Levine’s busy, successful pursuit of L.A.’s most visible young blonds, but it’s also because the band deploys its Wild Cherry-flavored dance hits with such sweat-free competence that rooting for them feels superfluous.

At least that 2002 debut has a few raggedy moments; now Maroon 5 has suited up in formal wear and gone in for the kill. “It Won’t Be Soon Before Long,” the band’s sophomore outing (in stores today), is an icy-hot blend of electro-funk and blue-eyed soul that works its cruel streak with the confidence of Daniel Craig’s James Bond.

Even after 50-plus years of mixed-up musical legacies, any white artist who takes on rhythm and blues has to figure out an angle that proves he or she is not just another thief. Being a sexy creep is a good one, turning musical appropriation into just one aspect of a lifestyle that’s all about sophistication and moral compromise. This pose is more sustainable than Jamiroquai’s one-love cheerfulness, which ends up seeming naive, or Justin Timberlake’s chocolate-beneath-the-skin insiderness, which is hard to sustain.

The Daryl Hall of “Maneater” is a sexy creep; so is Roxy Music’s Bryan Ferry, Police-era Sting and, of course, Mick Jagger, as was Michael Hutchence of INXS. Levine finds his own way into this role by doing away with the treacly tendencies that marred Maroon 5’s earlier work and reveling in the seamy, bitter, obsessive side of romance.

He’s taken his band with him down this coolly lit corridor. On aggravatingly danceable tracks such as “A Little of Your Time” and the single “Makes Me Wonder,” guitarist James Valentine and bassist Mickey Madden reinvestigate the moment when New Wave rock got the funk, spewing out lines that mix the former’s edgy concision with the latter’s joint-popping rhythmic genius. New drummer Matt Flynn keeps everything crisp and organized, and keyboardist Jesse Carmichael has a grin playing Trivial Pursuit with Prince and Michael Jackson lifts.

“Can’t Stop” might be the best Michael Jackson simulacrum ever, not only because it emulates the fallen master’s fetishes -- rock guitar, hyper-tense rhythms, little melodic flourishes that simulate loss of control -- but because the lyric, about the physical experience of sexual thrall, careens into the kind of self-exposure that made “Billie Jean” and “In the Closet” fascinating. “Kiwi” is derivative of Prince, but one can’t help wondering if the title is an homage to Hutchence, because it has that predatory feel that made the Australian singer a top-notch nightcrawler.

Of course, there are ballads, also catchy but even more thematically unnerving, because they’re all about the sentimental frisson of breaking up or getting caught doing wrong. (This is where the band gets its Sting on, referencing “Every Breath You Take” repeatedly.)

Will girls swoon to this stuff? Not if they’re wise. But many are not. By mastering musical and emotional ruthlessness, Maroon 5 has made a deal with the devil, and its powers will be hard to resist.

-- Ann Powers

Ozzy Osbourne

“Black Rain”

(Epic)

* * *

Sobriety, injury and family headaches have not blunted the Ozzy edge. Aside from a pair of bloated ballads wherein lifelong basket case Osbourne unconvincingly proffers himself as a pillar of strength, “Black Rain” is largely worth the six-year wait for new originals.

True, only two songs kill, and they’re the only ones Ozzy and co-producer Kevin Churko wrote without guitarist Zakk Wylde: “God Bless the Almighty Dollar” stomps like a giant robot crashing through riff thickets, an eerie piano interlude and a sarcastic chorus melody; and the album pitches to a heart-pounding conclusion with the muscular effrontery, punching-bag rhythm shifts and ear-biting tunefulness of “Trap Door.”

But even if the rest lacks the same dynamism, it rocks ruthlessly thanks to Wylde’s warhead guitar riffs and squirming-weasel solos, and the atmosphere slogs armpit-deep in sepulchral reverberations, sick-ax textures and nagging Bombay drones. Ozzy’s doomy complaint of a voice, suspect in recent years, sounds supple, even gymnastic.

The lyrics? Ozzy’s been watching TV and fears we’re spiraling down the sewer -- news it ain’t. At 58, though he’s felt he was dying for decades, he sings that he’s still “not going away.”

“Black Rain” can’t be compared with Ozzy’s early-’80s work, falls just below the mark of 1991’s “No More Tears,” and floats close to the level of his other major statements over the last two decades -- all different, all unbalanced, all good.

-- Greg Burk

Calle 13

“Residente o Visitante”

(Sony)

* * * 1/2

The second album by this hot Puerto Rican duo should be rated X for extremist. As in extreme sexuality, social rage, vulgarity and violent imagery.

Nothing so raw and outrageous has ever been heard -- or allowed -- in mainstream Latin music. Explicit is a weak warning for this album’s foul-mouthed, subversive, scatological and sexually perverse lyrics. Yet somehow, it’s both extremely repulsive and compelling.

The duo’s work would be a lot less shocking if it had remained within Puerto Rico’s underground rap scene, where Calle 13 started as a collaboration of half brothers, Rene Perez and Eduardo Cabra, aliases Residente and Visitante, respectively. But when the new CD debuted recently at No. 1 on the Billboard Latin chart, it was like the rabble invading the palace.

The saving graces are Residente’s agile rhymes and satirical humor, elevated by Visitante’s pan-American musical vision that shatters reggaeton’s narrow parameters. Musically, they’ve grown far beyond their island confines, collaborating with acclaimed Latin music figures such as Oscar-winning producer Gustavo Santaolalla, Spain’s La Mala Rodriguez, Cuba’s Orishas and Argentina’s Vicentico.

From the start, the duo has been a heat-seeking missile of controversy. When a radical pro-independence leader was killed in Puerto Rico during an FBI raid in 2005, Calle 13 responded with an enraged Internet single, “Querido FBI” (Dear FBI), vowing to kill 10 Marines in revenge. The following year, Calle 13 was the toast of the industry with three Latin Grammys, including best new artist, for its debut album, with the devilish hit single, “Atrevete-te-te” (Da-da-dare), that turns sexual seduction into a weapon of class and race warfare.

The duo was emboldened by its success. Now, its political outrage is even more violent (“Llegale a Mi Guarida”), its sexuality more depraved (“Mala Suerte con El 13”), its satire more biting (“Tango del Pecado”).

In the end, it’s like watching a well-made horror movie. We succumb because we like being shocked.

-- Agustin Gurza

Albums are reviewed on a scale of four stars (excellent), three stars (good), two star (fair) and one star (poor). Albums reviewed have been released except as indicated.