Seventeen years passed between Blondieโ€™s sixth and seventh albums. The eighth has taken a mere four. Even so, its protracted gestation involved record company calamities and lost tapes, hence the tongue-in-cheek title. Standard practice for the New York nonpareils, whose work with long-time cohort Craig Leon here is, despite everything, a pop masterclass from raunch-rock to reggae to boho jazz. The opener, โ€œShakedownโ€, with Harry rapping of New Jersey roots and witches in ditches, is so powerful and beguiling?โ€signed: donโ€™t forget me, lots of love from Adrenalinโ€?that the tideโ€™s high the minute you dip your toe in. โ€œGood Boysโ€ and โ€œUndoneโ€ are inch-perfect and sky-large. The whole thing tingles: youโ€™re in the presence of diamond-hard greatness. They make it sound easy.