I've been thinking about this record a lot since it first appeared--stewing over it, actually, which is probably more than it deserves. It not only isn't a new idea to bring techno minimalism into hip-hop dance clubs, it's one that a lot of people have already moved beyond; it isn't even a new idea on pop radio. What makes this different and fascinating, at least to me, is the pop brashness of it--it isn't intellectual or cool, it's just another mindless excuse to shout and get rowdy. That may not be a good idea, and because of the formal stiffness that afflicts many of the Peas' records (you can almost see the gears turning in will.i.am's mind) it doesn't quite come off. It also doesn't help that minimalist records build over a long period of time--when you squeeze those ideas into a four minute pop song they tend to sound rushed and gimmicky. But then, pop music is at least partly about rush and gimmick, and "Boom Boom Pow" is, in its own way, as appealingly stupid as early rock and roll, disco and rap. Which means a lot of people are going to hate it. As for me, I'm still making up my mind.

|

For a band that claims to be "so three thousand and eight" this sounds awfully nineteen eight-ohs. Reminds me of Wang Chung somehow, even though it doesn't sound anything like them. What it does sound like is three or four different hooks searching for a song that ran into each other in a dark dance club hallway and decided to slither out onto the floor together in a minimalist conga line, never noticing how much their styles clashed with each other. The one bright spot is that by declaring this the music of the future, the Peas have guaranteed that it won't be. That's a relief, anyway.

|

When I first heard this, I pegged Drake for a slightly more soulful version of Kanye West. Turns out I was only half right, or maybe a third. His raps are an almost even mix, in terms of rhythm and rhyme, of West and Lil Wayne--almost as clever, too. It's not a perfect synthesis--there are still a few seams showing--but it's impressive nonetheless. On top of that he has something that neither West nor Wayne possess: a respectable soul man croon (when Wayne croons it's a joke; when West croons it's painful). Mix those three together into a single voice and give him time and space to create a sound and personality that's his own and he could take over the world (he's got the looks, too, in some photos he reminds of the young Marvin Gaye). But first he'll need to figure out something to say besides "fuck".

|

Hilson's first two singles failed to break pop not because she doesn't have talent, but because that talent moves in decidedly eccentric directions. Here, with help from West and Ne-Yo, she finally makes the big time. Unfortunately, she also lets Ne-Yo steal the record, and it's hard not to wonder how much of an impression she herself is making on the audience. This is a good song, with a great chorus, but Danja's production, which is too busy, almost loses it, and I suspect without Ne-Yo it wouldn't even have made top thirty.

|

I bet this sounds a lot better in the clubs, where the boom of the bass would cover and diminish the harshness of the percussion, and I'm happy to see Latin music of any persuasion make it into the top ten, but other than that I can find little to say about this. Even with as little knowledge of Latin music as I have, this strikes me as mediocre. It's not just the language barrier--the lyrics would have nothing to tell me even if I could understand them--but even great records designed solely for dancing operate in a sphere beyond any conscious appreciation or appraisal. And this, catchy as it is in parts, is not a great record.

|

It's becoming common, in just about anything written about Lady GaGa, to find references to Andy Warhol, as if this cemented some idea of artistic attainment, or at least honest desire. The problem is that the Warhol GaGa seems to have attached herself to is the Warhol of the late 70s, when his artistic drive had dissipated and his obsession with the surface trappings of fame and outré sexuality (and pornography) all but consumed him. That's probably too reductionist, but the fact remains that GaGa has attached herself to an artistic movement that was in decline over thirty years ago, and has gained no ground since. This is the most ordinary and simpleminded of the three records she's put on the top ten so far (with "Papparazi", its video packed with sadistic Helmut Newton-like images of dead women--talk about being behind the times--still to come), with music even more garish than her previous singles. She may not be a fraud, but if she isn't, that only makes her more of a fool.

|

If the electroclash sound here seems familiar, it's because this was produced by RedOne, the same guy responsible for Lady Gaga's singles. Sonic garishness seems to be his forte. If it wasn't for the distinctiveness of Kingston's voice, this could be anybody. Some small part of the charm he brought to "Beautiful Girls" survives, but only enough to make him recognizable--not enough to make this interesting.

|

Every year or so there's a record like this, a sex jam so full of sham intensity and sensitivity--and itself--that the only honest reaction is to laugh out loud. Last year it was J. Holiday's "Bed", a couple of years before that Pretty Ricky's "We Be Grindin'". This is nowhere near as shameless as "Bed", which means it isn’t as funny, but it has its moments. "You kiss me so sweetly, taste just like Hersheys" is one. My favorite, though, is "We be grindin' with passion, cause it’s your birthday". I guess the other 364 days are just a plain old grind.

|

Songs like this make me wish there was some sort of remedial program for songwriters. If you're going to scatter your lyrics with laid back colloquialisms like "I'm not angry, I'm just saying", does it make sense to match it with music that sounds as if you're announcing the apocalypse? If he's leaving his parents, wouldn't that be his first chance (unless of course he's been working for an investment firm and had to move back in with his folks after he got laid off)? If the man in the moon is heading into the stratosphere, doesn't that mean he's falling to earth and not soaring away into the freedom of space, which I assume is what they really meant? And if these guys can't even get these simple things straight, why were they even given a first chance, much less a second?

|

If it wasn't Lil Wayne on the first verse, Jay-Z would hate this record. Wayne not only autotunes his voice to within an inch of its life, but applies the software to the keyboard parts as well. The radio version, where Wayne covers his obscenities with even more autotune (kind of a shame, since he says "pussy" better than anyone since Sean Connery), is completely incomprehensible. It sounds like he's singing through a broken, overmiked accordion. The rest of Young Money give us their vocals straight, and they're equal parts stupid, offensive, and funnier than any other rap so far this year. Every time I hear this, I find myself waiting for Mack Maine to tell us he doesn't discriminate against midgets and exchanges V-cards with retards. I'll go to PC hell for this, I know, but I'll be laughing too hard to care.

|