 The-Dream holds court with his exhilarating third album, Love King, in part because the paisley overtones, while still unmistakably crucial, have mutated into their own virulent strain of neo-sensualism. (Not to be mistaken for Ne-Yo-sensualism. Unlike the "Closer" crooner, The-Dream could still hurt you.) While cheap comparisons do little service to either party, singer-songwriter-producer Terius Nash's debt to Prince keeps blossoming in unexpected ways, far beyond the surface resemblance the detail work of "Yamaha" has to the Purple One's "Little Red Corvette." The intelligence of his production (not limited to but including two "versions" of "Sex Intelligent"), the sometimes-janky/sometimes-brilliant wordplay, the complexity of his eroticism all emerge from Love King in holistic fashion. Here is The-Dream touching down in the same way Prince did with 1999.
Like that sprawling double album, Love King's journey through the secret life of ass dares to meander, to free associate between tracks, to show just how a little can go a long way. Eschewing radio-friendly running times, the songs finesse layers upon layers of R&B hooks from what initially seem to be simple singsongs. They're so easy to pick apart you hardly notice they're as stuffed as a latter-day Basement Jaxx track. His tracks skirt the line, like so many of the best pop tracks, separating a lack of effort and effortless perfection. It's exactly the trick he and cohort Tricky Stewart would've pulled off with Mariah Carey's underrated Memoirs of an Imperfect Angel had they also remembered that Carey is, among other ignoble things, a dance-floor diva who needs a few dance-floor monsters mixed in with the corn-syrup ballads.
Part of that simplicity comes from the flawless sheen each of his synth-stabby tracks boast. Their obsessive-compulsive cleanliness—an almost total lack of analogue instruments, straightforward rhythms, snaps and drones instead of drum kicks—parallels Prince's stripped-down naked funk. Both make minimalism expansive. Like the long string of songs on 1999 that pushed well beyond the four-, five-, and six-minute mark (foremost "Let's Pretend We're Married," which subtly jackhammers listeners for seven-and-a-half minutes into a pool of submission), the slowly unfurling pulsations of The-Dream's love-in-this-club "Abyss," sick-slinging "Panties to the Side," and sweet, tart "Turnt Out" have the pluming accrued effect of a pink cumulonimbus....full text |
| Terius Nash, Carlos McKinney, and Christopher Stewart had long seized possession of the belt -- the belt for the electronic pop-R&B division, once held by innovators Leon Sylvers III, Kashif and Morrie Brown, Prince, Jam & Lewis, Teddy Riley, Timbaland and Missy Elliott, and the Neptunes -- when details of Love King materialized. Perhaps the conquest is one reason why Nash, aka the-Dream, declared that this, his third album, would be his last. As a solo artist, he had nothing left to prove. Love King, however, shows that he has plenty left to give. That goes for running his mouth, wearing out every contemporary R&B lyrical cliché, and coming off like a classless, materialistic, womanizing jerk. Once again, his way with a melody, an outrageous line, and an exquisitely adroit rhythm, all components in his immense crazy-quilt song cycle -- full of recurring lyrical themes and sonic flourishes -- transcend the flaws. Though this is the least collaborative Dream album, with McKinney and Stewart absent on six of the dozen songs, its layer upon layer of synthetic opulence and greater range of lushly detailed arrangements sometimes make the first two sound spindly and small-scoped in comparison. The drawback is that snappy singles aren’t as common, but the album is an absolute embarrassment of riches for those in love with the indulgent artist side of the-Dream. That’s not to say that those who prefer the hitmaking side are shut out. “Make Up Bag,” all boom and snap filled with swirling fluff, gives the object a second meaning with a hook worthy of a double dutch chant: “If you ever make your girlfriend mad, don’t let your good girl go bad/Drop five stacks on the makeup bag.” “Yamaha,” roaring and ecstatic, is an upgrade of “Fast Car” and his most energizing song to date. At the other end, or the bottom, is “Abyss,” an elegiac mini-epic several shades darker than anything off Love vs Money: “Bitch, I could give a damn how harsh this may seem/But I’m here to put your heart in its place/Chained up at the bottom of the lake.” “Turnt Out,” set on the slow-spin cycle, is one of many songs in which Nash broadens his range as a singer. He has sung in falsetto before, but never with such softness; it’s a charmingly imperfect guide vocal for one of his female collaborators. Evidently aware that it’s too soon to confine himself to writing and producing for others, he doesn’t wait more than 15 minutes into the album to boast “Who the fuck’s gonna replace me?” and “Six-seven-20-11, I’m-a drop that Love Affair.”...full text |
| “Radio killa”? Sure, but the R&B ATLien behind “Umbrella” and “Single Ladies” is also an auteur of weirdly personal, brilliantly lowbrow, and dazzlingly state-of-the-art pop albums. As bawdy, referential, and effortless-sounding as ever, Terius “The-Dream” Nash takes his long-playing love affair to the next level on this third solo effort, fading snappy summer-jam contenders into seething urban-rock suites. Mostly, though, The-Dream loves to love, so much so that you can hear it through the fourth wall: “Know this song is over / But I can’t get up off ya.”...full text |
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