Out of the many thousands — surely tens of thousands — of albums I’ve listened to in my time, I can’t recall one that had me on the edge of my seat from the first moments to the last on first listen the way Lily Allen ’s new “West End Girl” did, almost as if it were a suspense movie. The tension doesn’t come in wondering about where the record’s narrative is ultimately headed; as you may have heard, this is a divorce record with a capital D. My inability to sit back in my chair came from just savoring every confessional line and wondering what the hell she was going to tell us in the next one to top it. It’s the pleasure of listening to a master storyteller who makes your jaw drop by seeming to have spilled all the tea almost at the outset, and then the tea just keeps on coming. Not sinc

See Full Page