Advertisement

M & M

Chris Azzopardi
Mariah Carey, 'E=MC2'

When Mariah Carey boasts on her 11th album, "E=MC2," "Them other irregularities, they can't compete with M.C.," it's hard to fault her – even if her ego seems bigger than the 463,000 copies she sold during the disc's debut week, the best of her two-decade career. With playfully-kitsch hit "Touch My Body" besting Elvis' Billboard Hot 100 No. 1 record last month, girl's got reason to toast to herself: Fans forgave her for "Glitter," turning "The Emancipation of Mimi" into a career comeback. So, she has every right to remind us why some wannabes just can't measure up to Mimi.
And she does – through her lung athletics, plentiful hooks, multi-layered vocals, and spin-offs of "We Belong Together," her chart-topping bass-driven ballad that catapulted "Mimi" into surefire success. "Bye Bye," the obvious Stargate-produced second single, follows similarly, offering a dear-departed sentiment over a synth-piano-bass bed. As Carey croons about her late father, and dedicates the "One Sweet Day"-meets-"We Belong Together" ballad to "all my peoples who just lost somebody" (Yes! Peoples! With an "s"!), she unleashes what would be, if you close your eyes, the Mariah Hand Spasms. Here, the vocal gymnastics seem – and this is a compliment – better suited for the playground than the Olympics, substituting bombastic crescendos for more emotive singing and formidable phrasing.
Lambs (the Mariah-coined term for her diehard fans) banking on belting about butterflies and rainbows will likely cringe at Carey's further foray into hip-hop, as she comfortably – and frequently – embraces her inner thug, name-dropping TuPac and Biggie, and admitting her taste in men has shifted from elder record executives to inked hoodlums. She's also embracing her campy side, promising to open a can of whoop-ass should a one-night-stand leak their sex tape and donning a Jamaican patois (she actually says, "ting"). She's proclaimed emancipation before – on several occasions, in fact – but she's never sounded so damn free.
Intoning lyrics like, "It might benefit me to throw something on/To feature my hips/Accentuate my tits/And steal the show," this isn't the Carey who reminded us that we're our own hero, or that she'd be our friend anytime we needed one, or that rainbows don't just mean gay – they mean hope.
Reduced to a low-register coo, and doing the unbelievable by finessing her vocal with auto-tune, "Migrate" is a club-banger that wisely uses Carey's glass-smashing whistle as a background instrument rather than a way of maintaining her bragging rights. She saves that for "For the Record," a urban take on early-'90s "Can't Let Go" – a song Carey references in the tune's bridge, along with other nostalgic classics of hers.
It doesn't take Einstein, whose energy formula Carey's turned into an "Emancipation" proclamation (to the second power), to figure out that "E=MC2" is almost like a plug-and-play formula, falling into some identical-twin-like produced ballads mid-way with "Last Kiss" and "Love Story."
But the equation mostly equals slick, smart and stylish, especially when Carey layers on the pop polish with infectious summer-sounding "I'll Be Lovin' U Long Time" (think bassy "Dreamlover") and gets personal on the album's boldest and best cut, "Side Effects."
With its ominous, synthy drum beat, "Side Effects," featuring a Young Jeezy rap, is an angsty ex-hubby slam, citing "those violent times" as her reason for breaking away, even though she still can't shake feeling depressed, defensive and protective.
We're left to assume album-closer "I Wish You Well" is dedicated to him, as well as others (yeah, you, Perez, and you, Virgin Records) as she references biblical passages during the holy number dedicated to all of those who counted her out.
Who's getting the last laugh now? A-

Madonna, 'Hard Candy'

Madonna seems, not surprisingly, in control of the leather leash she holds on the crotch-shot cover of "Hard Candy" – but don't be fooled. Here, on her 11th disc, the ubiquitous producers – Timbaland, the Neptunes and Nate Danja Hills – dominate this hip-pop disc, which, for the sake of satisfying everyone's hunger for candy metaphors, is like already-chewed gum.
Brimming with bouncy beats, silly come-ons and Justin Timberlake, the forever-evolving sexpot drops "American Life"-like testimonials for a dance sequel to "Confessions on a Dance Floor." But almost everything sounds like it's a product of a Musical Recycling Machine.
The Timberlake Touch molds a handful of "Hard Candy," which was heading toward first-week sales of 250,000 at press time, and fans of the producer will recall the set's sole ballad "Devil Wouldn't Recognize You" as a so-so retread of Timberlake's "Cry Me a River," water effects and all, while the "Spanish Lesson" is a bland "Like I Love You" rip-off.
Elsewhere, she attempts an '80-career-inspired "Incredible," a catchy-if-overlong call to an ex to re-launch a relationship, and on the set-opener "Candy Shop," she invites us into her treat factory, teasing, "I've got candy galore." The flirty Neptunes-produced track is more kitsch and camp than "Erotica" sexual, relying on tired double-entendres, like calling herself a lollipop and a Hershey Kiss and promising we'll be begging for more. After that, she's lucky we do.
On fab first single, "Four Minutes," the groove is there – so is a catchy marching-band beat, hit-making producer duo Timbaland and Timberlake – but Madonna? We get about as much of her as we did of Janet Jackson's ta-ta during the '04 Super Bowl. Still, like her breast, the song leaves a lasting impression with its anthem-like sound, where she and J.T.'s chemistry make for a buoyant affair.
Same can be said for old-school sounding "Beat Goes On," which, even with a lifeless rap from Kanye West, is a simple shake-it song that hypnotically chants, "Get down/Beep beep/Gotta get outta your seat."
Vapid, shallow and boiling over with enough tired metaphors to fill Willy Wonka's chocolate factory, Madonna's co-written lyrics don't always triumph; they're often stale, trite and written as perfunctorily as an Oompa-Loompa on an assembly line. But, then again, Madonna's never been Emily Dickinson. Remember, she's the one who piled on the cheddar to express her undying love for the Big Apple by singing: "I love New York/Other places make me feel like a dork."
Here, though, with no Kabbalah references, no war allegories, and only vague confessions (see "Miles Away"), her mission on her last disc for Warner Bros. is clear: She wants us to dance, and she obviously – and maybe even desperately – wouldn't mind scoring a hit.
She won't find one in the "Spanish Lessons," which is as sour as Madonna's acting, but "She's Not Me," with its feisty self-boasting, easily sates any sweet tooth.
It's hard to argue that Madonna, who warns, "She's not me/She doesn't have my name/She'll never have what I have," is anything but revolutionary. But when she bleeds into the musical fabrics of her producers' former female collaborators, most notably Gwen Stefani and Nelly Furtado, we have to wonder: Who's really in control?
On "Hard Candy," the answer is clear. C+

Leona Lewis, 'Spirit'
Imagine if Mariah Carey were still stuck in pre-metamorphosis melodrama: There'd probably be lung tug-of-war between British export Leona Lewis and the now-hip-hop diva. Lewis takes over that former throne – and we doubt Carey will care. Measurably plotted in mush, the big-voiced nightingale tackles bombast like a less-interesting Christina Aguilera – their pipes practically sharing similar DNA – though Lewis' often is too polished-sounding. "Bleeding Love," the brilliant organ-building first single that put Lewis in the American pop pantheon, is the Simon Cowell/Clive Davis-produced disc's coup and, to further U.S. consumption, the disc boasts back-to-back bouncy beats courtesy of "Forgive Me" and "Misses Glass." Though Lewis falls victim to some blah filler, relying on Celine Dion'ing it to distract from Meg Ryan movie-like banalities, Carey-sounding "Yesterday" fares better. And even if "Footprints in the Sand," an ode to the famous poem, shares the Josh Groban-sung "You Raise Me Up" blueprint – with its spirit-upping theme, the swelling orchestration and the slight pause before the gospel choir swoops in – Lewis proves a promising, if ill-used, addition to the Big-Lunged Ladies. B-

HMO Approved

Estelle, 'Shine'
Hip-hop lyrics don't get much better than "Wrap it up, 'cause I ain't carrying your embryo." What rapper-singer Estelle does carry, though, is a soulful set of cords – and enough sass to fend off even the most big-headed hunk. Slick, smart and produced by a myriad of heavyweights, the John Legend find's sophomore disc wisely sets "No Substitute Love" to a George Michael "Faith" sample. It semi-loses its lovable luster two-thirds in, but the disco-fied first single "American Boy" and reggae, Wyclef Jean-teamed "So Much Out the Way" are groovy toe-tappers. And, within those gems, it's easy to see that "Shine" is what Estelle does best. B

Robyn, 'Robyn'
Listen to the tad-bit "Saw"-villian-sounding dude who opens this Sweden export's poptastic latest when he robotically intones: "Would you please turn it the fuck up? Do it." We don't want to be blamed for a lost foot when you decide to overlook this electro-pop catch from a big-label-molded blonde who probably figured her talent was being wasted on crappola like '90s hit "Show Me Love." She opts for glitchy dance beats (killer "Cobrastyle") and string-lined ballads (moving "With Every Heartbeat"), and the result won't have you regretting Creepy Dude's opening demand. A-

Flight of the Conchords, 'Flight of the Conchords'
You thought Justin Timberlake brought sexy back? Then, you haven't heard Flight of the Conchord's "Business Time," a witty rundown of events leading up to the (two-minute) dirty deed: "You lean in close and say something sexy like, 'I might go to bed. I've got work in the morning.'" On the New Zealand folk-comedy duo's disc, there's formidable folksy melodies, quotable lines and punchy punch lines – plus talk of bad sex, hippos and, of course, beautiful women (who look like high-class prostitutes). Because the near-acoustic arrangements sizzle and Jemaine Clement and Bret McKenzie's voices meld like a yin-yang, their schtick never dulls. It'll have you LOL-ing until you can't see anymore. B+

Advertisement
Advertisement
Advertisement