Magnolia Thunderpussy

Reviews:

As with their parent corporation the Neptunes, N.E.R.D. is now essen-tially Pharrell Williams: his bedroom eyes, his AC/DC t-shirts, his falsetto and his smirk. Chad Hugo's contributions are surely greater than his demure routine as "the guy who just smartens things up a bit" would suggest, but Pharrell is The Star. Fortunately, commercial concerns keep the Neptunes from completely becoming a vehicle for his ballooning ego. No such luck with N.E.R.D.-Fly or Die is a turgid, flailing rap-rock mess. From the hackneyed blues riffs on "Backseat Love" to the Chili Peppers miasma of "She Wants to Move" to the cornball pop-punk-funk of, oh, a good half of the rest, this collection of Frankenstein's monsters spouts shockingly boneheaded lyrics like "Her ass is a spaceship, I want to ride," choruses that run-in full-"Breakout/ Push people," and confessions like "I wrote this song when I was drunk." (We'd never a-guessed.) Forget Prince or P-Funk-we're supposed to differentiate this from lumpen atrocities like Limp Bizkit or Puddle of Mudd how exactly? In his rush to prove black folks can still rock au courant, Pharrell has inadvertently shown what sucks about rock in the '04: production compressed enough to suffocate even bacteria, sludge and shouts misconstrued as "realness," the bass player from Seinfeld held up as the model of funkiness. In other words, all that stuff that doesn't sound like the Neptunes. With their crisp hooks, ear-grabbing sheen, and giant beats that manage to rock and funk, Williams and Hugo are still the Holland-Dozier-Holland or Jam & Lewis of their day as trackmasters. As solo artistes, though, they're strictly Terence Trent D'Arby.

"As with their parent corporation the Neptunes, N.E.R.D. is now essen-tially Pharrell Williams: his bedroom eyes, his AC/DC t-shirts, his falsetto and his smirk. Chad Hugo's contributions are surely greater than his demure routine as ""the guy who just smartens things up a bit"" would suggest, but Pharrell is The Star. Fortunately, commercial concerns keep the Neptunes from completely becoming a vehicle for his ballooning ego. No such luck with N.E.R.D.-Fly or Die is a turgid, flailing rap-rock mess. From the hackneyed blues riffs on ""Backseat Love"" to the Chili Peppers miasma of ""She Wants to Move"" to the cornball pop-punk-funk of, oh, a good half of the rest, this collection of Frankenstein's monsters spouts shockingly boneheaded lyrics like ""Her ass is a spaceship, I want to ride,"" choruses that run-in full-""Breakout/ Push people,"" and confessions like ""I wrote this song when I was drunk."" (We'd never a-guessed.) Forget Prince or P-Funk-we're supposed to differentiate this from lumpen atrocities like Limp Bizkit or Puddle of Mudd how exactly? In his rush to prove black folks can still rock au courant, Pharrell has inadvertently shown what sucks about rock in the '04: production compressed enough to suffocate even bacteria, sludge and shouts misconstrued as ""realness,"" the bass player from Seinfeld held up as the model of funkiness. In other words, all that stuff that doesn't sound like the Neptunes. With their crisp hooks, ear-grabbing sheen, and giant beats that manage to rock and funk, Williams and Hugo are still the Holland-Dozier-Holland or Jam & Lewis of their day as trackmasters. As solo artistes, though, they're strictly Terence Trent D'Arby.

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