Where Are You Chappelle?
Actually, I’m not sure if he could add anything to this. It’s a near perfect circle of self-parodying genius. If you have not seen the new R Kelly "urban opera" that is "Trapped in the Closet", you’re living only one third of the life you could be living. With a press release comparing him to Beethoven (no joke), R has some pretty big shoes to fill. And like the naughty wayward puppy he is, he fills those shoes with shit. Five speak-singing, completely artless songs of shit. Yes, for his first single, R releases a five-part melodramatic opus that tediously recounts one silly, sinful night in the life of the urine-obsessed superstar. But if I can’t admire his craft, I have to admire his craftiness. He has concocted a vaccine against satire by plugging every hole and filling every crack* with confusing mediocrity. It really sounds like he dictated what actually happened to him the night before (with a couple cheesy embellishments) into his Sidekick on the way to the studio. I mean, the improv songs on Whose Line Is It Anyway have more melody than this.
But what could you expect from an album whose title (TP3 Reloaded) makes an oddly dated reference to both the Terminator and Matrix franchises for no good reason? Why didn’t he just call it Yeah, Baby!, and be done with it? While this artistic misstep isn’t as funny as Garth Brook’s Chris Gaines stunt, or as disappointing as Eminem’s last MJ-taunting album, it will still be surprising if Kelly can bounce back from this. But then again, he did get away with urinating on the chest of a 14 year old girl on tape, so what the fuck do I know?
*Certainly, puns intended.
