Still obsessed with kick-starting a solo career that no one really cares to hear, head Pussycat Doll Nicole Scherzinger‘s latest singular career move sees her popping up on the “official” remix to Pitbull‘s party rap, infidelity-anthem “Hotel Room Service”…because what we all really needed was a verse-long female perspective on a song in which Pitbull gleefully explains where on his multiple sex partners’ bodies he would like to plant his “egg whites”.
Pitbull is nice enough to keep this new uni-sex version clean though, penning up a brand new, far less titillating verse where all that ejaculation talk is omitted. But Nicole’s breathless contribution in which she mostly focuses on the perks of the room (“Penthouse, top-floor/ Suite, presidential/ Overlook the whole city/ Standing from my window”) feels like a waste of opportunity.
All that time spent leading the “Blow-Up” Dolls, and she can’t give us at least a smigden of Lil’ Kim, circa ’96, lady raunch? Shame shame, Nicole. If was up to us, we would have completely bypassed her and just hired up one of those cruelly under-appreciated background Dolls she so yearns to distance herself from. They’re so desperate to break out from the shadows that we bet one of them would have brought the nasty stuff this kind of track begs for (complete with expert hoochie ballet choreography for the accompanying video clip).
Aren’t we all more than a little embarrassed for front Pussycat Nicole Scherzinger? Even with ubiquitous top-of-the-chart names like Timbaland and will.i.am handling her production duties and tongue-wagging music videos that made our televisions and computer screens sweat they emitted such heat, poor Nicole’s solo excursion was pre-deemed such a flop, the album never even made it into stores. Damn, even Paris Hilton was able to nab an album release and get one Hot 100 single!! (We blame Nicole’s last name!)
With her tail tucked between her legs, Miss Scher-Zippity-Do-Dah re-joined the leggy girl-pop troupe that made us care a smidge about her in the first place, and quickly became re-acquainted with the feeling of success again, thanks to PCD’s Top 10-charting comeback, “When I Grow Up”. Was it another guilty pleasure as endlessly fun as “Buttons”? No, but it at least triggered a few giggles this summer, if only because we initially thought they were singing “I wanna have boobies” in the hook (real, less humorous, lyric: “I wanna have groupies”).
Nevertheless, the tune has recently been re-worked with a hip hop twist, with producer Rodney “Darkchild” Jerkins throwing sprinkles of MJ’s “Thriller” atop a rumbling, urban bounce.
Bookended by the always-welcomed party starter Fat Man Scoop, the “When I Grow Up (Remix)” also features guest drops from Diddy and Lil’ Wayne. Diddy makes for an obvious fit alongside the song’s ambitious theme, allowing him the umpteenth chance to brag about the many jets and diamonds in his possession while once again proudly brag of his lack of true rap talent: “I don’t write nothin’ but yeah I flow” (Barely, Mr. Combs). Meanwhile, Weezy (P.S.: you’re officially a superstar now, no need to make charity cameos like these anymore) continues to be our favorite hip hop goofball with stupid-fresh lines like “When I grow up/ I wanna be/ E-za-cally like me/ Me, me, M-E, moi/ Mwah to the P-U-S-S-Y” (why is it no one ever mentions how much of an influence the equally cuckoo, rhyme-rambler Missy Elliott must of had on him?).
The anticipation for the Queen Bee’s long-awaited post-slammer album loses a bit more heat with newest leak “Respirator”, a very weak (and quite embarrassing) record that fails to convince us why “you need a Lil’ Kim in your life”, but brings about concern that homegirl might have gone a little crazy in her downtime.
Over a tired Middle Eastern-flavored knock that sounds like it could have been taken from Nicole Scherzinger’s shelved solo album, Kim starts off decently by hyping her looming re-arrival (“I’ve been on my grind for awhile now/ Time to attack now”); but then she starts getting all paranoid (“People swear they know Lil’ Kim/ But I’m not what they think I am”), claiming no one’s going to put her in a box and partaking in these weird, horribly-sung foreign chants. And to make matters even more strange (and unbearable), over half the song is spent with her husky voice sent through the annoyingly, ever-present talk box effect.
What the hell is going on? Is this her really bad attempt at Weezy-like eccentricity (something even he can’t quite pull off all the time)? Or have we sadly lost another female rapper to the “Lauryn Hill Descent Into Madness” syndrome? Whatever the answer, “Respirator” will surely leave many scratching their heads, wondering if all that body re-configuring she’s endlessly indulged in has begun to take a toll on her sanity.
Any other year, Nicole Scherzinger’s solo project would’ve probably already gone Double Platinum, produced a couple Top 5 hits, spawned a world tour and grabbed her a Grammy nomination or two. But in 2007, the radio-listening audience felt that they already had enough pop divas of the moment with Fergie, Rihanna and Beyonce ruling the roost. Even former Hot 100 sureshots like Kelly Clarkson, Britney Spears and Jennifer Lopez struggled for airplay. Hell, it took Pink’s latest album over an entire year before it saw a bonafide smash. So now, two flop singles and a still un-released album later, Scherzinger gives it one last go before she retreats back amongst her feline brethren with her tail tucked between her legs.
Produced by Akon, “Puakenikeni” (named after an Hawaiian flower) backs up her signature lascivious come-ons (“Don’t you wanna pick my puakenikeni?/ Don’t you wanna kiss me in my red bikini?” the chorus pants) with a world music ambiance that at least guarantees a hot video set in some exotic locale, but once again Nicole suffers from her inability to project a persona worthy of anyone’s attention. The robo-ho demeanor worked in PCD’s pre-fabricated aesthetic, but something more personable is demanded on her solo work, especially if she wants to stand out from every other female pop singer on the scene.
A tuneless heavy breather that chants and struts without much of a song to tie it all together, “Puakenikeni”, despite bearing a fun title you feel a little dirty saying out loud, is not the last-minute saving grace the girl needs. Oh well, looks like it’s back to barely-clothed hoochie-dancing with the back-up dancers, a gig she should’ve never departed from anyway. I mean, we could have had at least four more Doll guilty pleasures embedded in our brain by now.
Noted electronic artist Paul Van Dyk molds a star from the untapped talents of heretofore non-essential Pussycat Doll Jessica Sutta (she’s one of the darker haired background candies) on his new single, “White Lies”, an icy dance-pop striker that quickly makes you wonder why that Nicole gets all the attention anyway.
Knocking you aside with huge waves of light and twinkly touches of starry-eyed synth harps over a pulsating throb, this spacey dancefloor seducer nearly beats Kylie at her own game. You would think Sutta wouldn’t be much of a vocalist since she gets no love in her own group beyond the occasional skanky ballerina dance move, but she is surprisingly capable at being a frontwoman herself, stealing the spotlight from Dyk’s Trekkie rave atmospherics as she oddly obsesses over the silly fibs her man throws at her like it’s some complimentary character trait. She’s not totally dumb, eventually admitting the foolishness of it all (“I tell myself that I’m not really hooked on you/ But I know/ If I stay then your use will become abuse”), but like the beat she’s caressing, the pull is so addictive that it makes it virtually impossible to form an escape.
Miles more impressive than her PCD leader’s solo fumble, Sutta easily jumps to the front of the line as the Doll we’d most like to play Barbie with.
Nicole Scher-whatever ditches the background dancers for more video face time in this bad Fergie-meets-Missy Elliott-esque turn of a solo debut. Bolstered by an epic introduction from producer Polow Da Don and an atmospheric melange of big band blasts and Mad Max industrial grimace (formerly the backing beat of Chilli & Missy Elliott’s hip hop curiosity “Straight Jack”), “Whatever You Like” predictably doesn’t have Nicole venturing too far away from the male fantasy nature of the Pussycat Dolls. But coming off a string of surprisingly great singles, this blatant mis-step makes one wonder why she would escape the safety of a successful, ready-made girl group to become such an easy target on her own.
Sounding like a blow-up doll come to life, Scher-ding-dong pants “I can do whatever you like”, anxious to see what’s behind the zipper of the hunk she’s eyeing. Why Nicole didn’t dismiss the sexed up PCD image entirely to seperate herself as a singular artist is ridiculous, as is much of this, from the faux-ragga raps and Polow’s stalker-ish spoken interludes. This was her shot to prove herself beyond the pre-fab shtick of her former groups, but out of fear of being shut off the charts, she gives into her testosterone appeal with a tune that Helen Reddy probably wasn’t anticipating when she stated “I am woman/ Hear me roar” all those years ago.
Scher-zipadeedoohdah’s contribution is pointless (and a bit embarrassing) but the production’s oft-kilter pounce and TI’s cool confidence saves “Whatever You Like” from being complete garbage. It’ll be interesting to see the kind of reaction this song will get. If it flops as badly as it really should, watch for her to reclaim her lead Doll spot quicker than she can snatch off her diamond-encrusted bra.
A couple years back Timbaland had hit a career rut. With Neptunes minimalism, sped-up soul samples and synthesizer-crazed crunk dominating the hip hop sound, there didn’t seem a place for the Virginia producer’s alien-toned funk anymore. This obviously got to Timb, who joined several other rap icons in the trendy “the hip hop scene today is disheartening” bandwagon. It seemed every interview he was in predicted that an early retirement was on the horizon.
Then 2006 happened, and Timbaland had found two new muses in Justin Timberlake and Nelly Furtado. Yeah these were pop stars, but their desire to push themselves creatively resulted in some of the decade’s greatest pop singles and suddenly Timbaland felt not only re-relevant, but re-inspired. The amazing back-to-back chart topping success of “Sexy Back”, “Promiscuous” and “My Love” pushed Timbaland into going back to the boards to host this year’s much-anticipated compilation album, Timbaland Presents Shock Value. Alongside the A-list celebrity bolstered lead single “Give It To Me” already storming up the charts, pre-announced collaborations with the likes of Fall Out Boy, Elton John and Bjork have set this album up as a major event with leakages popping up everywhere. Here’s a look at a couple stand-outs:
The essential party starter, “Release” is a pleasing extension of the obliterating spooky funk of “Sexy Back”. More or less an instrumental track, an addictive four-on-the-floor pulse and inverted “Sexy Back” bassline point it as the perfect example of a sweaty dance free-for-all.
“RELEASE!/ I’M OUT OF CONTROL/ WHO’S HERE TO PARTY?!” the hook exclaims, daring you not to lose all your inhibitions to it’s fun strut. It instantly sends you back to the synth-funk heyday of the 80′s when Rick James was at his most nastiest and The Time invited all to their formally attired VIP parties. The vocals that are featured help provide the ambiance; pop music’s new dynamic duo Timbaland and Timberlake sporting the weirded out “SB” vocoder effect as they throw out random celebratory dialogue. It’s the quintessential jump-off and anyone not ready to have a good time after absorbing it’s groove should be checked for a pulse.
On the opposite end of the spectrum is “Scream”, a Giorgio Moroder/ Donna Summer orgasma jam for the new millennium. As with “Release”, the chorus orders a reaction but this is a whole different kind of release expected. Over galloping percussion and rock guitars straight out of the land of prog-rock, Timbaland sits back and proudly watches as his track oozes into the nether-regions of any girl around, leading to the most erotic of responses. R&B up-and-comer Keri Hilson and lead Pussycat Doll Nicole “I-should-really-not-use-my-last-name-because-it’s-a-total-fantasy-killer” Scherzinger take turns topping eachother’s “Big O” squeals of delight, unable to control themselves against the throbbing adventure being pumped into their eardrums. Near the end, Timb puts on his best Barry White impression for a spoken-form tease (“Come here/ Sit on my lap/ Ooh I like that”), mind controlling his victims into doing whatever he wants them to.
If tasty morsels like these indicate the direction Shock Value will be taking, look for it to be the ultimate soundtrack of the ’07 summer season and for the Year of Timbaland to take form yet again.
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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Still obsessed with kick-starting a solo career that no one really cares to hear, head Pussycat Doll Nicole Scherzinger‘s latest singular career move sees her popping up on the “official” remix to Pitbull‘s party rap, infidelity-anthem “Hotel Room Service”…because what we all really needed was a verse-long female perspective on a song in which Pitbull gleefully explains where on his multiple sex partners’ bodies he would like to plant his “egg whites”.
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