Now in her seventies, Asha Bhosle, Bollywood legend, refuses to rest on her laurels. Following her acclaimed collaboration with the Kronos Quartet, Love Supreme sees her teaming up with Pandit Somesh Mathur to perform eight classic ghazels with 'modern' arrangements. What is most striking is how powerful Bhosle's voice remains, a thing of suppleness and subtlety, perhaps weathered slightly with age but still with astounding technical range, and, to fall back on that old cliché, great purity.

It is shame then that Pt. Somesh Mathur rarely conjures up music worthy of this great talent. As he explains in his amusingly precise (and grammatically dubious) notes, 'the songs are produced n [sic] various styles of contemporary music, ranging from Lounge, Pop and Pop-Rock, to Funk and Jazz Rock.' There are plenty of interesting ideas, and at times it is reminiscent of Nitin Sawhney's work, but overall this effort is far too bland and inoffensive for its own good. I imagine it could have been a hit in India as good day-time radio material (you can watch the cheesy promo videos for two of the songs), but with such a vast oeuvre it is hard to imagine Love Supreme becoming known as anything other than a diversion in Bhosle's career.

In almost direct contrast is the bonus disc, Bhosle's selection of her favourite romantic duets from her career. Whilst the main album is tiresomely familiar, much of this bonus is stunningly otherworldly to these Western ears. Energised, impassioned and wonderfully eccentric, it makes clear how Bollywood became such a youth sensation. Bhosle's own sleevenotes give a fascinating insight into each piece, explaining how R. D. Burman's 'trademark gruffy tone' started as a gimmick and how the chemistry on 'Achchha Ji Main Hari' was achieved by Bhosle accidentally angering her duettist Mohammed Rafi. Swap the CDs round in order of prominence and Love Supreme suddenly becomes a much more appealing prospect.