R. Kelly is as unhinged as ever, and the result is a frustrating mess of an album with probably the most bizarre songs you’ll hear all year.
Kelly’s long been defiant about how it’s his party and he’ll get down with multiple honeys if he wants to. And Mr. Trapped in the Closet is not exactly shy about creating epic stories that test your patience. We tolerate him, though, because he usually brings with his nuttiness a surplus of hot beats and cool melodies. Not this time.
He’s barely writing songs anymore. Instead, we get the kind of nonsense usually reserved for LiveJournal entries (see: “Leave Your Name”). Or we get Kelly transcribing intolerable conversations he’s had (see: “Havin’ a Baby”). And even when he’s at his most lascivious (telling a lady he’s going to make her wet like a rain forest) the pick-up lines sound like Beavis and Butt-Head rejects.
The album gets off to a promising start. The two-minute intro “The Champ” is an aggressive takedown of all his haters. Kelly declares that he’s been through hell and he’s got No. 1 to show for it. It’s the swagger of a man who’s been beaten down many times but always risen up to conquer. But the only other song on this album that offers this kind of energy is the very dirty, clever and graphic “Rock Star,” and the credit for that largely belongs to Ludacris.
Title track “Double Up” is the kind of twisted hook-up tale Kelly’s known for: Kelly, with help from his boy Snoop Dogg, has grabbed two girls at a club. They might even be cousins. One of them sucks his toes while the other braids his hair. The problem is that the weak tune sounds like it’s being held together by Scotch tape. And once you hear the rest of the album, you’ll realize that it’s one of the more cohesive songs. –Andy Wang