Deep in their souls

Broken Bells

“Broken Bells”

Sony

* * * 1/2

If Zach Braff ever makes “Garden State 2,” “Vaporize,” the second track from this accomplished collaboration between the Shins’ James Mercer and Brian Burton, a.k.a. Danger Mouse, will be the soundtrack to Natalie Portman widening her doe eyes at our next hapless hero. With dusty strumming and soulful organ, Mercer’s ennui about wasted modern life makes soul mates, at least temporarily, out of anyone listening.

Cinematic, unexpectedly romantic and carefully curated, “Broken Bells” has the same appeal as Postal Service’s 2003 “Give Up” record, another celebrated accord between indie pop and electronica powers, though it skews more toward sparkling but dense folk rock than meticulously minimalist electronica.

A short album of 10 tracks pared from 20 recorded songs, “Broken Bells” is a potent distillation of the strengths of its main players. Mercer’s knack for twisting and turning melodies is impeccably served by Burton, who tempers and fulfills those melodies with laid-back but elaborate scores of synth, piano, organ and sometimes a full string section, the only instruments not played by Burton or Mercer.

Though a par excellence enmeshment, “Broken Bells” doesn’t yield any surprises and might be controlled to a fault. On the last track, the urgent but ruminating “The Mall and Misery,” the two loosen enough to work themselves into a groove that sounds genuinely spontaneous, instead of like a brilliant but distant approximation. It gives the work a thrilling edge -- one that the pair can soar off of for next time.

-- Margaret Wappler If there’s one thing he loves

Ludacris

“Battle of the Sexes”

Def Jam/Disturbing Tha Peace

* * 1/2

Is there any rapper who needs the genre’s recent, rampant vocal-manipulation trend less than Ludacris? Chris Bridges has long been drunk on his own gleefully elastic patois, one of rap’s most distinctive and ever-pleasurable voices.

On “Battle of the Sexes,” his latest, he directs these pleasures toward the Ladies through fizzy pillow talk and respectfully tawdry club fodder. Luda’s always been a lover, not a fighter, and a dip in this particular lyrical Jacuzzi is a good fit.

The spooky “My Chick Bad” might be the first rap song with kind words for Tiger Woods’ club-wielding wife, Elin Nordegren, with a cameo from the ever-delightful Nicki Minaj. “Hey Ho” is a go-girl ode to cheating girlfriends (well, presumably other people’s cheating girlfriends) getting their needs met elsewhere, and “Sex Room” and “Feelin’ So Sexy” are fantasias of loverman absurdity.

Some of the production work feels slapdash, as in the sopping-synth “I Know You Got a Man,” and aside from the undeniable banger “How Low,” it’s hard to hear the next obvious hit on “Battle.” But the album is another welcome occasion to listen to Luda enjoying the real love of his life -- the sound of his own voice.

-- August Brown It’ll take more than star friends

Gorillaz

“Plastic Beach”

Virgin

* 1/2

Damon Albarn formed this heady cartoon-band side project to keep himself entertained while on hiatus from his seminal Britpop act, Blur. Stuffed as they were with electro-pop hooks and globe-tripping grooves, the first two Gorillaz albums never actually felt like side-project material -- especially in the U.S., where left-field hits such as “Clint Eastwood” and “Feel Good Inc” gained more traction on American radio than Blur ever did.

Last year Albarn re-teamed with Blur’s original lineup for a series of rapturously received reunion shows, and though that was great news for Blur fans, you can hear the result of the frontman’s divided attention throughout the third Gorillaz album, “Plastic Beach.”

Too many of these 16 hazy, half-crazy tracks sound like undercooked studio goofs recorded in the wee hours by Albarn and his impressive circle of celebrity pals.

A handful of standouts crop up early on: “White Flag” pairs the clipped rhymes of U.K. rappers Bashy and Kano with hypnotic Middle Eastern strings, while “Stylo,” the album’s disco-fied lead single, makes great use of Bobby Womack’s growly soul vocals.

But the second half of “Plastic Beach” plays like one long, jammy drone, with none of Albarn’s melodic or lyrical gifts on display; not even Mick Jones and Paul Simonon of the Clash are able to rescue the title track from vintage-synth tedium.

-- Mikael Wood