Encore
Eminem
Aftermath Records
As I listened to Encore, the new album from rap’s wittiest white boy, I found myself chanting along to “Evil Deeds”—“forgive me Father for I know what I do.” Needless to say, I never thought Eminem would provide the sound track to my first confession. Standing out as the anthem of the first half of the album, the song explores the rapper’s abandonment as a child, his feelings of guilt toward his family, and his frustration with fame.
For the first 30 minutes, I was excited. Tracks like the infectious “Never Enough” (featuring D-12), “Yellow Brick Road,” and “Like Toy Soldiers”—whose chorus of children kept reminding me of Michael Jackson’s “We Are The World”—seemed to reveal a more mature, reflective Marshall Mathers. “Like Toy Soldiers” discusses violence in pop music and shows us a contemplative Eminem who appears to have been pushed to the point of considering retirement; “I love y’all too much to see the verdict/I’ll walk away from it all before I let it go further.”
But after five sensitive tracks, the brash rapper returns; he’s at his worst in “Puke,” where 30 seconds of vomiting prelude a characteristically comic and quick-worded rant. “Big Weenie,” “Just Lose It,” and “Ass Like That” are all reminiscent of his debut album’s misogynistic abrasiveness, but he redeems himself with “Mockingbird,” a surprisingly genuine and revealing lullaby written for his daughter Hailie. The new album is decisively Em, with few surprises and a slew of reliable hits. —Olivia De Carlo
White People
Handsome Boy Modeling School
Elektra Records
Take a moment to recall the police line-up scene in The Usual Suspects when the group of criminals get its mugshots taken. All the men are top suspects for the crime; their reputations precede them. Reading the jacket of Handsome Boy Modeling School’s latest effort, White People, is like watching that scene. This most recent work from Prince Paul and Dan the Automator assembles hip-hop’s street-cred monopolists for what could have been the biggest caper of recent history.
You want this fantastically ambitious project to succeed, but by combining so much hip-hop royalty onto one disc, Prince Paul and Dan the Automator have created unreal expectations. When you see De La Soul, Del the Funky Homosapien, Casual, Pharrell Williams, Rza, and Jazzy Jay, your earbuds expect nothing less than musical champagne. This problem is reminiscent of the Los Angeles Lakers’ all-star team: you’d expect that such talents would know how to share the spotlight a little better.
Like the Lakers, the album works well for the most part, but clinching the trophy proves more difficult. The combination of such distinct personalities makes for tracks that refuse to cooperate with the rest of the album. Aside from an amusing but ineffectual comedy thread, White People sounds like a collection of distinct, and individually phenomenal, singles. De La Soul’s track does not fit with that of Del’s, Rza’s does not fit with Jazzy Jay’s. No need for song titles—this album is nothing more than a series of cameos. Still, realizing that, yes, that is a Jack Johnson track and, indeed, the Mars Volta playing alongside the Rza, and it becomes easier to understand how Automator pays for the cigars on his album covers.
In The Usual Suspects, the assembled criminals all have to repeat the same sentence to the police as they line up for their mugs. While they all say the same words, each sentence is uttered with a different tone. If Automator and Prince Paul could have linked their varying personalities effectively, they could have created an album worthy of its great contributors. As it stands, however, White People is only as strong as it weakest link. —Geoff Aung
Real Talk
Fabolous
Elektra Records
Real Talk practically forces you to get up and shake it. On his third album, rapper Fabolous enlists the help of some of rap’s most brilliant producers, like The Neptunes and Scott Storch (the mastermind behind The Terror Squad’s “Lean Back”), to make a great get-up-and-move CD.
The contributors provide some much needed innovative beats on the songs “Tit 4 Tat” and “Round & Round.” “Breathe,” the single produced by Just Blaze, is also a standout. Despite some potential hits, only about a third of the 18 tracks on Real Talk truly capture Fabolous’ power as a rapper. His rapping style is distinct and his flow is effortless, but quite a bit of the album doesn’t rise to its full potential. The clichéd “Girls,” for example, will most likely evoke little else besides indifference. Much of Real Talk sounds like the unoriginal, generic material that has been increasingly abundant in hip-hop lately—it’s definitely not unbearable, but the mediocrity will make you briefly consider skipping to the next song.
Real Talk is an infectious blend of hip-hop that will probably leave you desiring a bit more from Fabolous. —Dana Gorodetsky
Hellogoodbye [EP]
Hellogoodbye
Sanctuary Records
Imagine if Willy Wonka made bands instead of candy: sugar coated, super-hyper sound bytes of musical delight would emerge from his factory of wonders, packaged in technicolor wrappers to match their bright sounds. Well, candy lovers, your wishes have come true—Hellogoodbye has arrived.
This up-and-coming band from California flaunts a troupe of personalities. The frontman Forrest Kline only performs barefoot in neon track shorts and vintage tees; bassist Marcus Cole wears red industrial earmuffs and shreds in a maniacal, robotic style; drummer Chris Profeta beats on his drums like Bam Bam, and behind a swirling mass of blond hair; and keyboardist Jesse Kurvink completes the band’s giddy, dance hall sound.
Hellogoodbye’s self-titled EP is a good representation of the band’s sound. Klein lays sweet, almost boyish vocals over tracks like “Shimmy Shimmy Quarter Turn,” and “Dear Jamie ... Sincerely Me,” letting Cole and Kurvink take over the beat with heavy bass lines and laser-like keyboards. They have the chutzpa to rhyme the word “radical” with “magical,” and the charm to get away with it.
Short and sweet with six original tracks, the EP is composed with a boyish wonder and playfulness that makes Hellogoodbye instantly addictive. —Mia Tramz
The Art of Romance
Tony Bennett
Sony Records
The effect of listening to Tony Bennett’s recently released album, The Art of Romance, borders on emotional masochism. A sense of nostalgia permeates the music so thoroughly that despite the album’s undeniable musical validity, even the lightest tracks—“Time to Smile” and “The Best Man”—suggest a subtle and lingering pathos. Tearjerkers such as “Don’t Like Goodbyes” are nearly unbearable; the album’s content is too homogeneous to adequately reflect Bennett’s creativity, yet too legitimate to constitute sheer contrivance.
Skillfully executed piano accompaniments might distract listeners from feeling heartbroken, and Bennett’s impressive rendition of Steven Sondheim’s overrated angst anthem “Being Alive” (from Company) may catch Broadway snobs pleasantly off guard. If that isn’t the case, Bennett’s modestly soulful piano bar warbling will leave you longing for a steamy 1940s romance of your own—or for a copy of Rod Stewart’s Stardust, the third installment of his Great American Songbook series and a less solemn, more playful alternative to Bennett’s affecting nostalgia.
Romance saddens but does not necessarily disappoint. Lacking in diversity but replete with potential, it elicits an excessive emotional response but clearly reflects the earnest intentions of the talented musicians involved. Perhaps the next time Bennett decides to tug on our heartstrings, he’ll tug from several different directions instead of just one. —Abby Rosebrock
Peachtree Road
Elton John
Universal Records
Taking Elton John seriously these days is difficult enough without having to confront an album as silly as Peachtree Road. In his latest effort, John and collaborator Bernie Taupin try their best to capture a down-home aesthetic, claiming to do justice to a few loosely-defined genres strongly associated with southern America. What results is a compilation of hastily-written tracks that sound remarkably like “The Way You Look Tonight” and “Sad Songs Say So Much,” this time featuring the unforgivable gimmick of an Englishman’s miserable country twang.
Come on, Sir Elton. If you’re going to recycle old chord progressions and vocal contrivances, at least draw from your sizeable pool of classic material. Even “They Call Her the Cat,” the only track on Peachtree reminiscent of John’s previous exuberance, lacks the lyrical strength of his earlier works. The song’s vague, sloppily written verses—“They took a little of this/she got a little of that”—make listening an awkward experience.
“I Stop and I Breathe” and “Freaks in Love,” exceptions to the album’s overall inadequacy, provide evidence that John has retained a shred of musical integrity. The real stars of Peachtree are members of a choral ensemble called Voice of Atlanta, which contributes to eight songs and reflects one of John’s few sound artistic decisions in executing the album.
Many of us feel obligated to appreciate John for making what used to be consistently decent contributions to pop music. Lately, though, it’s become damned-near impossible to justify overlooking his egotism and relative lack of talent. —Abby Rosebrock
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