Oxygen

The cover of "You're No Good" opens in wicked giggling, proceeds to a pledge of mutual naughtiness Betty Everett might have forgotten but Linda Ronstadt never knew, and tastes the five syllables of "intellectual" as the tartest of forbidden fruit. The cover of "Our Lips Are Sealed" opens in mock-orchestral fade-in; proceeds to a saucy, bouncy admission of "we got a secret/but our lips are sealed"; and between the bass synth growling like a bowel and the now-coy, now-wailing schism of vocal delivery, just might be harder to parse than Fun Boy Three's version. Of the originals, "Be Mine" rides a tickling lick and a juicy chorus, and "Tic Toc" answers the question of what if adventurous high school white chicks reassembled "Red Light Special" on their own terms? Everything else glides smoothly out of the speakers, between the ears, and onto the floor.