So what’s really the point of Omarion and Bow Wow releasing a joint album together? I mean, the idea didn’t really work when their respective idols R. Kelly and Jay Z attempted it (and they had two chances!!). If Omarion was smart, he would’ve quickly released another album to keep up some of the momentum stirred up from the surprisingly solid 21, or at least hooked up with another artist with equal promise. Forget Bow Wow, who was far more entertaining as a snotty-nosed tyke with the adorable Mickey Mouse bling and impressively agile kiddie-flow. Now, a duet LP with fellow young crooner Chris Brown? That could prove to be something truly beneficial to both parties.
Case in point, the club-friendly “Slam” in which Chris, O and Bow share track space for some predictable lady ogling. It’s the kind of crunk-y, Southern rap-styled cut Bow should rule over, but instead he feels like the annoying hanger-on (he’s emerged into a lame grown-up rapper), disrupting the white-hot chemistry between his R&B buddies. The singers’ fluid tenors melt into the cut’s snaky synth lines and finger snap minimalism, throwing in exciting melodic twists and turns and a seductive male swagger that overpowers the lyrics’ misogynistic senselessness. Brown, the better singer, really seems to light some fire under the vocally limited Omarion who adopts a Kelly-inspired faux-reggae tone that gives “Slam” some late oomph.
Bow Wow, meanwhile, seems to have run out of doggy tricks, settling for a go-nowhere verse with decades-old metaphors (“Just like Keith/ I make the girls Sweat”) and that same ol’ self-assured cockiness that’s felt ill-tasting since he reached voting age. We get it Bow: you’re young, rich and the ladies love you. At least pump some clever rhymes schemes into your tired shtick.
While Bow seems to have already shown us all he could do (and he isn’t even really an adult yet!), the futures of Omarion (still earning critical kudos for the 2007 highlight “IceBox”) and Chris Brown (the hottest teen idol in the marketplace) feel wide open with potential. O, Bow Wow might be your best bud and all, but Chris Brown is the ideal album partner if you really want to keep your on-the-rise career on track. Check with your manager, they would most likely agree.
“I’m not in love/ I just wanna be touched,” Kate Nash sings oh-so-matter-of-factly on her latest UK single “Pumpkin Soup”, another shot of quirkiness from the Brit sensation’s loopy pen.
Unwilling to see her heart crushed again, Kate wants to be the user this time around, doing her best to keep her distance within her current “relationship” by making it all about sex. The hook repeatedly brags “I just want your kiss boy” (though you do begin to wonder if she really feels that way, or if she’s trying to convince herself that she does), but a wrench is thrown in her devious plan when he starts falling too hard. Caught off guard by his growing feelings (“Whoops, I think I’ve got too close”), Kate, sensing a loss of control over the rules she had set, breaks the truth to him the only way she seems to know how to do anything: cutely. “I’m not saying you’re not on my mind/ I hope that you don’t think I’m unkind,” she coos perkily, before batting her lashes a thousand times.
Her delivery might try to mask her inner-bitchiness, but the bold production relishes in it, matching the vampy chorus with a cartoon-y, big band bounce (think “London Bridge”, but a lot more White) that’s miles from Nash’s usual style. Repping for female pimps everywhere and bolstered by a change of tempo, “Pumpkin Soup” props up yet another likable ditty from the the sly-tongued singer-songwriter. Now let’s see if she can match her success Stateside when her album drops in the US in early ’08.
On “911″, Jean and Blige’s previous duet, the two beautifully played out a ghetto romance tale complete with police evasions and bullets taking the place of Cupid’s arrows. He comes up with another original vignette on their newest collaboration, “What About The Baby”, which follows an estranged family in the process of reconciliation.
The song opens with Jean speaking on the phone to his young daughter after a lengthy separation. When she asks of his whereabouts while she and her mother struggled to make ends meet, he stammers through a series of valid excuses (Mama kept him at bay with restraining orders; he wasn’t mature enough) but in the inside the innocent query has him falling apart (“A grown man ain’t supposed to cry/ So why does water fill my eyes?/ When I hear your voice,” he sniffs). In the mother role, Blige has her own issues to deal with. Her heart still bruised from his infidelity (“What if she knew you chose another over her mother?”), she still isn’t quite sure if letting them talk is the best idea, yet she cautiously agrees to give him another chance at being a Dad. This all leads to a blanket of impassioned wails as both parents try to make things right for the dual love of their seed. If your corneas don’t sog up following such an emotional apex, odds are, you ain’t human.
Wyclef’s awkward genre mash-ups and questionable guest stars may leave you cold at times, but you can’t deny the man’s talent for constructing timeless gems like this one. Like a Tyler Perry screenplay condensed into a four-minute hip hop-soul nugget with it’s powerful performances, reality-based storyline and hopeful resolution, “What About The Baby” instantly reminds you why Mary J and the oft-under-appreciated Clef were two of the best artists to emerge out of the ’90′s urban landscape. Now, if only he and Lauryn could work through their problems, think of the classics that could be being made…
Jordin Spark’s mature pipes and pageant-y stage presence made her a perfect fit for stiff AC-pop ballads, hinting at a likely boring slant when her debut album finally came around. As if to remind us that she wasn’t forty, though, the cutesy, “girl-next-door” offers a couple surprises on her disc, most notably when she hooks up with “Toxic”-producers Bloodshy & Avant for a surprising detour into electro-R&B.
Downplaying her widescreen vocals into icy, digitally-processed mutterings, Sparks invades Cassie’s robo-chick niche on the album track “Shy Boy”, in which she dismisses the obvious hunks in the club for the mellowed out dude chillin’ in the back. Caught in the trance of the spacey blips and sharp handclaps happening around her, Jordin slowly inches her way to her mysterious target, bypassing the “homeboys” break-dancing on the dancefloor and the fly guys with the blinding bling other girls would be more attracted to. “I’m sick and tired of them bad boys,” the self-proclaimed “tom boy” sleepily sighs.
Jordin is barely recognizable here, but her droning delivery and the track’s swirly galactic beat makes “Shy Boy” one of those cool dance records that are far more appealing because of it’s anonymous, detached vibe. A totally unexpected move from a reality show champion known for her big notes and overall blandness, “Shy Boy” won’t be winning the girl any Grammy’s, but it’s incredibly spot-on clubby allure shows the girl isn’t completely hip-averse.
Michael Jackson’s Thriller-opening blast of anti-gossip rants and senseless tongue chants signaled a pointed obsession of society’s darkest sensibilities that would go on to fuel some of his biggest pop hits. Meanwhile, it’s brisk display of digitized funk/ soul with brief horn charts, swooning synthesizers and manic guitar riffs remains an untested dancefloor favorite still garnering kudos from the pop stars of today. Coinciding with Rihanna’s recent sampling of it on her club thumper “Don’t Stop The Music”, Akon also gives props to the Gloved One number, though this semi-cover is more head-scratcher than inspired tribute.
Less musically crazed, Akon’s subdued re-working throws in some MOR piano underneath the familiar bass groove and excited drum beat while he pens a needlessly new verse about some hooker he meets on the street who entices him into accompanying her to her crib. The rest remains somewhat faithful though the “vegetable” lines and that transcending self-empowering last verse are both oddly omitted. In the end, the cover’s purpose never quite makes itself clear; if you’re going to mess around with a record so beloved, why bother if your interpretation loses most of the original’s appeal? His limited, trumpet-y croon bears none of the flexibility of Jackson’s youthful pipes and the new production carries little of the Quincy Jones’ zest. What you do get is a surreal move that wants to be an event, but fails to emerge into anything really worth listening to.
A pointless curioso, if Akon wants to show some appreciation for the King of Pop, he should just ape the man’s dance moves like every other male R&B dancer/ singer of today.
Furiously rhyming like it’s the first time he’s been able to spit in years, Freeway busts through an earth-shattering symphony of drums and a wailing soul snippet from some old school Gladys Knight (definitely one of the hottest hip hop beats of the year) on “When They Remember”, a stand-out gem from his newest album, Free At Last.
The title feels justified with the bearded emcee’s fiery performance here as Freeway fights the business of it’s backing track with rousing verses to remind folks why he was (and remains) the Roc’s next great hope (“I am comin’ for the title/ Take the best rapper hang him from the street and dry him/ Iron, sheet, clothesline him”). His trademark flow, an unsettling blend of screeches and cries, feels even more desperate and raspy, as he feverishly raps to re-ignite a once-promising career stunted by inter-label drama.
A double-barrel of intensity, “When They Remember” shocks you with it’s impassioned noisiness on first listen. Sounding like you’re caught between stations on the radio dial, there arises a need to tone one element down to fully enjoy the other. But then, the magic of the odd mix would be lost. The combined spirited gusto is far too powerful and magnetic, and once it’s all over, you’ll find yourself reaching for the repeat button, aching for it’s high-volume magnificence to wash over you again and shower you within it’s over-the-top delirium.
Freeway’s always felt like he was on the verge on insanity, too overwhelmed by his love for the streets and the game. This bombarding cut is the rewarding result of all those emotions finally bubbling over.
Back in 1983, the Danish duo of Tim Stahl and John Guldberg (aka Laid Back) had the underground club scene in a frenzy with the relentless, White digi-funk of “White Horse”. Sounding like Prince sucked into a computer mainframe, the track’s awkward angularity, glitch-y texture and cryptic anti-drug rant (“If you wanna ride/…Don’t ride the white horse”) achieved a tribal simplicity that made it impossible to resist. It was the perfect display of what the 1980′s took to be the future, with weird sonics weaving in and out of the squared galloping groove, while indulging in the societal trends of the day (the unapologetic mantra “If you want to be rich/ You got to be a bitch” was a spot-on manifestation of the era’s greedy, nouveau-riche-aspiring attitude). Like the best of disco, the song obliterated any sort of separation of the masses, mixing the rich and poor, Black and White, and gay and straight in celebration of it’s transfixing sound.
As techno and it’s many sub-genres achieved more prominence in the ’90s, “White Horse” remained a dancefloor favorite, scoring a revival of sorts when R&B singer Monifah incorporated it’s familiar thump on her 1998 breakout single “Touch It”. Connecting with the song’s sexual pulse, Monifah purred her way through it’s infectious electro-funk glare, letting her freak flag fly with naughty abandon (“I’m gonna give it to you all night long/ I’m-a show your body what your lips are doing wrong”).
Cut to 2007 and Missy Elliott is the latest to lose all inhibitions to it’s teasing rhythm via the LaidBack-sampling remix to “SexyBack”. Elliott easily steals the show from the blue-eyed funkster reunion happening around her as she finds new ways to flip rhymes about her jiggly waistline and all-around freakness (“Don’t you like the way I make you be my little slave/ Whip you like a kid every time you misbehave”). Too bad “SexyBack” is a far too old for this to get a video, cause Misdemeanor could of really came up with some twisted visuals for this inspired mash-up.
“White Horse”: steadily dropping drawls since 1983.
During a recent appearance on 106th & Park, The-Dream was asked of his favorite song out of all he had penned for other artists. The obvious answer would’ve been proven hits “Umbrella” or “Bed”, but instead he dropped a curveball when he said “Skies of LA”, a song he had written for Celine Dion’s latest project, Taking Chances. Now, Mixtape Maestro may have hummed along to “My Heart Will Go On” a couple of times in his life span or been a bit touched by her epic “It’s All Coming Back To Me Now”, but he wouldn’t consider himself much of a Celine fan. Still, he was curious. Could Celine be sneaking a lil’ hip hop-derived “ay-ay” into her adult contemporary-heavy set?
Regrettably (Cause that would of been kick-ass! Probably horrible, but still kick-ass!), no; at least not wih “Skies of LA”, a never-ending ballad she handles well but doesn’t take many “chances” with. What did get my nipples hard was another track from the album, her arresting cover of Heart’s ’80′s throat-sorer “Alone”.
Dion loves to belt, but most importantly, she knows how to belt. When she opens her throat and goes after that higher-than-high note, her voice never falters, sounding just as crystal clear and full-bodied when she’s singing at a range only dogs could enjoy, so attacking (and triumphing over) “Alone” seems like a piece of cake for the singer.
Adhering perfectly to the song’s slowly upward-moving theatrics, playing out the lyric’s gloom and depression opening with the tenderized nuances. Then it’s time for the fireworks to truly begin and she lets loose with a crazed yelp with the force to demolish any small town. What’s even more astonishing is you get the feeling that the lady is still holding back. Hip hop may be one style she won’t ever win out with, but hook her up with some powerful rock noise and watch the heavens part. Ann Wilson, you still hold a place in this Maestro’s heart, but you’ve definitely found a worthy rival in this Canadian diva!
Ever since Blige decided to put all the tears and broken romance topics to bed, she’s struggled through a love/ hate relationship with the R&B audience. Yeah, it’s nice to hear her finally celebrating life instead of wallowing in it’s misery, but sadly, a large part of the masses would rather hear her moaning about being in love with some dead-beat boyfriend. Her disco-remnant “Just Fine” glowed with upbeat infectiousness, self-adoration testimonial and MJ-biting opening and music video, but it also wasn’t the instant chart-champion comeback it should’ve been, putting some truth behind the notion that people still weren’t really feeling “happy Mary”. Admirably, Blige sticks to her guns, refusing to backpedal into the My Life blues on the equally positive-minded “Work That”.
Though it lacks “Just Fine”‘s jittery buzz, “Work That” continues that song’s banger momentum, utilizing West Coast punch with it’s hard drums and tense keyboard interplay as an accessible front for her inspiring preachings. “Working with what I got/ I got to keep on/ Taking care of myself/ I wanna live long,” she sings with pride, using her ‘risen from the ashes’ back-story to help her fellow ladies out of their own despair. Her words brew with passion (“Let ‘em get mad/ They gon’ hate anyway/ Don’t you get that?”) and pain (“So many of you girls I hear you been running/ From the beautiful queen that you could be becoming”) as she achingly tries to convince them that they too can enjoy the centered bliss she’s found.
You want drama, go elsewhere. The Queen of Hip Hop Soul would rather save someone’s life than waste anymore energy recycling the same self-pitying sob story. As long as she can still sniff out a hot beat and keep her words genuine, she has nothing to worry about; her true fans will stick by her side.
Breaking onto the main Billboard chart for the first time with last year’s acclaimed 9th Wonder collaboration, Murray’s Revenge, Cali underground favorite Murs is now set to cross over onto the majors (he recently signed to Warner Bros.) to see if his everyman perspective can compete against the Fiddy’s and the Hova’s. Early teaser for the ’08 project entitled Murs For President, “Better Than The Rest” finds the man hoping to “put pride back in Black music” with his familiar self-mythologizing aplomb.
Over three verses, Murs continues to proudly emphasize how un-gangsta he is (“We all ain’t murderers, drive-by shooters/ You can kick it on the curb with us”). It’s a respectable perspective, yet after so many albums it threatens to grow as tiresome as the homicide and drug trade themes he balks at. Thankfully, his likable charm, conversational flow and attractive play with words (“I’m shaking babies and I’m kissing hands”) alleviate the preachings, “edu”-taining listeners with plenty of rewind-worthy lines.
His sharp lyricism fueled with a feverish hunger many lose touch with after the first album, Murs mocks trap-rappers (“And on the real/ You still working for the White man/ Even if you is moving that white man,” he spits, ending with a very Jeezy-esque groan), celebrates his squeaky clean record (“I ain’t ever been served/…Not a warrant/ Not even a subpoena/ Not even peanuts in a sold-out arena”) and in one swift move, explains his un-biased taste in female, doles out grammar lessons and boasts for the billionth time why he is so hot (“I never met a girl that I didn’t like ever/ Double negative/ That means I’m positively/ The best rapper that you ever heard obviously”).
Too bad the production couldn’t be as impressively agile. The awkwardly chopped-up sample of “Sugar Pie Honey Bunch” (courtesy of Nottz) never quite finds it’s groove and it distracts much attention away from Murs’ expertly balanced display of intelligence, complexity and wit.
If given the right label push (and dismissal of any more Diplomat-knock-off beats), Murs could shake the rap game up considerably in the new year with the way he trashes his fellow mic-holders. It will be interesting to see which emcee will take offense first.
As nice as it is to get free music, think of how much better your soul would feel if you purchased it the old-fashioned way.
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