Not the bird out of the Arabian Nights…
[Video][Website]
[5.38]
Katherine St Asaph: Single songwriter seeks photogenic lady for a song’s worth of smooth, unthreatening lovemaking. Must be OK with turning the act into an extended Roc Nation advertisement.
[4]
Anthony Easton: There is no desire in this; like a motet by Byrd, it returns to the same theme with such regularity that the sumptuousness of the music matters less than the content of the lyrics. Byrd is the psalms, and ROC is booty pop. I will leave it as an exercise for the reader which of those forms deserves this treatment more.
[7]
Andrew Ryce: The auto-tuned hook initially feels like a bit of a drag: hesitant, unconvincing, maybe even a little awkward, the last thing you’d expect from Terius Nash. But as the song rolls on with those lapping, lazy drums and little synth swells, the languid chorus feels more like a byproduct of the song’s effortlessly comfy vibe. Dream’s production partner Tricky Stewart keeps things unusually sparse, tying up those lush, melodious synths into the pulse of the drum machine, but it leaves all the more room for Nash’s sweetly sung vocals. If the song sounds like an unambitious attempt at a mainstream ‘comeback’ single (did “Body Work” count?), the video tells you all need to know: this is a late summer jam for heat-stroke afternoons by the pool, and if you don’t like it now, chances are by then you’ll have fallen under its svelte, sleazy charms.
[8]
Brad Shoup: Ah yes, one’s sexual utility belt must always be equipped with the “I’m rich and you’re hot” grappling hook. This isn’t lovemaking music, it’s reiki music.
[4]
Sabina Tang: A long game seduction, unspooling in leisurely fashion until the last spasm of guitar half takes the participants by surprise. The video perfectly reifies this lack of urgency in a party that runs around the clock, drifting from playground to poolside to arcade to mansion before casting itself ashore in the bedroom. It looks like fun, more convincingly so than the Brazzers-style porn vérité the setup evokes.
[7]
John Seroff: The problem with The-Dream’s windy, neo-operatic horsefeathers is that when he forgets to tuck his tongue halfway in cheek, it sounds suspiciously as if he might be blowing a raspberry. The most interesting Dream cuts can be read as sly treatises on hollow mercantile desire and the emotional bankruptcy of working class success stories conditioned to associate spending with caring. When he’s at his most clever and purple (“Make Up Bag”, “Sweat It Out”, “Fast Car”), the man can spin all the plates at once to provide subversive commentary, bittersweet humor and boot-knocking soul. It’s when he aims solely for the last of these that Dream tends to disappoint; a reedy voice and limited bag of tricks render vanilla baby-makers like “ROC” entirely too clinical, self-parodying and (ahem) dry.
[6]
Michaela Drapes: The-Dream, his boring 80’s nostalgia, and his dirty word problem must be stopped. I can’t help think at this point that everything he does is an exercise in overcompensation.
[2]
Alfred Soto: Shawty needs to roc fresher beats.
[5]