Ciara Stumbles Staggeringly

Note to reader. The title of my latest post is kind of my gift to you. Compared to the overblown tripe predominating much of Ciara's self-titled new release I'd like to think I'm giving you the ultimate palate cleanser. Ever buy a candy bar, unwrap it devilishly, taste buds primed for a heart stopping payoff only to discover there's not much candy inside the slickly assembled wrapper? If you have reach through the screen and accept the imaginary Kleenex I'm handing you. Nobody has the right to screw around with candy. What I'm driving at is, for all the heartfelt sentiment Ciara thinks she's offering us, it amounts to a lot of wrapper with hardly much meaningful candy to bite into. Is it a corroding influence for the youth of today? Um...no. Will it make people who downright detest Nicki Minaj detest her on a deeper level? There is that possibility. "I'm Out" is one track Minaj gets guest star billing on. The sound of her hammed up voice is enough to make my nose hairs curl up and sprout middle finger salutes. All I want to know is who was this creature in a previous life? How badly did Mommy and Daddy damage her to make her want to sound so decidedly unfeminine? Has the music industry decided the Earth will no longer spin if she's not steadying it? The thought of "big fat titties sticking out her tank top" is a sad commentary on the state of America's cultural life. I can see why she was tossed into the dunk tank. She's distracting everybody from the action adventure soundtrack posturing of the instruments backing her up. Like I said. Lots of wrapper, not much to chew on. And if you'll allow me a bit of big picture social commentary I promise I won't go all Scott Pelley on you. People, our youngest black Americans are never going to appreciate the slanderous influence behind the word nigger if the recording stars (not artists because that's not what Minaj is bringing here) they listen to display no qualms about using the word. "F-f-fuck these petty niggas" is a bitch motto? Nice going. Set the race back another 200 years and dropped the b-word just because it was the cheap way to draw controversy. In fact the omnipresent bitch rears her questionably ugly head in a number of stanzas here. "Which bitch want it." That bitch did it." How many times do we need to know from some trussed up R & B diva that some bitch is trying to play her? That's so 2005. More to the point it demonstrates the unavoidable stench of moral bankruptcy. "Sophomore" couldn't be more aptly titled. It's sophomoric, plain and simple. Even her backdrop choice appears to have involved all of thirty seconds of emotional investment. Sigh...Y'all up for another round of a star waxing complimentary about her soft skin and booty? Maybe you're all rested up from the big dicks following a generously proportioned ass. If not, too bad. You paid the ticket. Time to ride this train into the brick wall I must warn you we're heading to, brake lines cut. I beg them please lose the foreboding nighttime in the projects synthesizer ambiance that's supposed to tell us, "Yeah, the silly ho means what she says". "Body Party" is not cause to bust out the streamers and go on with your bad self. So...very...tediously...slow. Haven't other people extended the thinly disguised invites to "rock my body". and done with a little something we big boys and girls might want to call flair? Nothing's left to the imagination. I suppose that's okay because this track didn't withdraw any petty cash from the bank of imagination. One...long...booty call. But wait...bored with booty bopping? "Keep On Lookin'" renders Ciara woman under glass, but that's basically the coquettish trap she's allowed herself to be wedded to. The sonic landscape screams backwards African cult. Another K-Mart shopper brand of faux seriousness begging for people to think it's valuable art. Those tribal drums beg for some aspirin and an amnesia inducing drug. Of course we have to have some boy in the hood getting all "Ay" on us. Does it lend much to this outing? I think not. Moving on to (rather than the much preferred running away from) "Read My Lips" Ciara brags about how she's the best meal some man is ever going to get. "All I got up in these jeans really ain't none of y'all business". Moan. Gasp. What ever might she be talking about? I was never that great a biology student. Glad she's a liberated woman comfy with uncorking her lady parts but some of us don't want the entree plopped on our plates, if you catch my drift. The keyboard fills here are similar to the mannerisms of a retarded woodpecker. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Poor Ciara. Such damaged self esteem. Next problem lies in the lead in phase of "Where You Go". This song is only 3 minutes and 48 seconds long. Why does it take 1 minute just to get the backing rhythms established? Then, when we get there, we're greeted by the acid flashback sounds of what I label as the cute tinklings of a retro video game. There's a bass line on hand to make these proceedings not seem quite as shallow. I said not quite. If only the producers, the talent, the janitor mopping the floor during the recording session dates had had the good sense to rein in the superfluous pre-processed eardrum spew Ciara might have at least escaped this record with something like dignity intact. Ciara and special guest Future's honest intentions to make it work with each other are laudable. But with only 2:48 left to make their case by the time the sound trails off we don't have much space to decide yay or nay whether their union will bear satisfying proof or be just another cautionary tale littering the highway of broken romance. 2 minutes 48 seconds. That's like having a couple of neighbors invite you in for coffee, pour it, make a move to sit down beside you, and then discover there's no time for small talk because Poopsie's PowerPoint presentation starts very early in the morning so no time for idle chitchat. What's this? "Super Turnt Up" springs into action with monster truck ferocity superimposed across drums that punch you squarely in the chest. If nausea is your next reaction I salute you and understand wholly. "Super Turnt Up" leaves me super turnt off. This gushing tribute to "Mr. Badman" needed more attention paid to direct pressure. The hemorrhaging of overheated hormones might have stopped sooner. Ciara toys with speeding up and slowing down her voice at the bridge. How goofy. I'm not any more inspired to dig deep into her entanglement. It smacks of cheap tricks designed to make her sound more edgy than she has demonstrated throughout the record. To you and me "DUI" is shorthand for "Driving Under Intoxication". Ciara has decided to form her own not exactly new take on this concept. Presto...we've been handed "Driving Under Influence". In  this case the influence pertains to a man's love and his touch. Ciara needs to take a bow for introducing this cliche into the music lexicon. I guess my standards are too high. Most of us should observe DUI as a surefire way to wreck your life and have the general population regard you as a definite schmuck. She should not be encouraging people to be love drunk. That's very Romeo and Juliet but how many of those walk and breathe amongst us? It's some kind of miracle. "Livin' It Up" doesn't drown itself in splashy production. I can actually sway to this without wanting to slap myself upside the head with a rolled up newspaper (or in this day and age should I be saying supercharged Nook?). Ciara stays firmly on message. She's living on borrowed time (yet another sentiment I haven't heard in the past three seconds). She's living her life her way. Still nothing that's going to stand out as a cultural touchstone but at least the rhythm section is amiable. Johnny Mathis and Deniece Williams had a hit song in the late '70s called "Too Much, Too Little, Too Late" And there you have Ciara's self -titled latest chapter of her career. We have to wait for the ninth track out of ten for her to adopt a pace that doesn't bulldoze both listener and potential listener alike. By the time track ten ("Overdose") rolls around she's balanced her pipes with the energies churning behind her but it's way too late for that to make a difference. You can dance to "Overdose" without needing an instruction manual. The lyrics Ciara sings are derivative but the body shaking potential is high enough to help you forget she's recalling how much she OD'ed on love. Since the days of "1,2 Step" Ciara has demonstrated her abilities as a proven hitmaker. That doesn't mean she's one with a hell of a lot to say worth pausing for. Too much wrapper, not enough candy to satisfy the senses.