Amidst whirling sirens, Dirt McGirt's turn, "Pop Shit," boasts a comical Looney Tunes-worthy arrangement. (It also must be said that no one else could make the line "And I was gon' tear your ass up" seem so charming.) The spare cattle-prod funk of "Light Your Ass on Fire" pings and jolts with sharp zaps, accompanying Busta Rhymes' more sexually aggressive and explicit come-ons. Williams steps out with some help from Jay-Z on "Frontin'," one of the biggest Neptunes-related singles yet the light, simple arrangement is ideally suited to Williams' lighthearted falsetto. If anything, Clones puts an end to any thought that the duo randomly selects a track from their beat bank when collaborating, since it ably demonstrates how their skills can adapt to any conceivable personality. For The Neptunes Present.Clones, the tables are somewhat turned the producers aren't in need of any more hits, but they do the enlisting here, and they snare an all-star cast of featured players who are willing to join up and/or return the favor, all the while reaping the cachet that comes with being in such venerated company. The Neptunes may be at their creative, commercial and financial peak, but if this album is any indication, they should expect a long tenure at the top of the musical ladder.When Chad Hugo and Pharrell Williams are behind the boards, hit singles are expected, and hit singles are usually granted. With other excellent appearances from Nas, Supercat, Jadakiss and Dirt McGirt, Clones manages to succeed in delivering a worthwhile listening experience without fully realizing the goal of an innovative star mash. From the fuzz-bass and stuttering organ stabs of Kelis' "Popular Thug" to the bowling alley imperial march through nuclear winter on "Blaze of Glory", The Neptunes move all around the style map. Production is the strongest facet of this album, with The Neptunes handling all tracks with their trademark of being exceedingly technical in their simplicity. Like "Grindin'" refined, pitch shifted and swallowed by the Bomb Squad, "Blaze of Glory" forecasts the upcoming Clipse record as a definite must-hear. Pusha T, in particular, impresses, claiming he "hurries the 'cane like Miami U". It stands to succeed in its purpose, primarily due to the Clipse's "pastors of the church of Jay-Hova" approach. The 'Tunes assemble the twins with Ab-Liva over a hard drum loop that's accented by rumbling bass, handclaps, an infrequent cellphone alert and what can only be described as a layer of Batman theme-esque horns. Speaking of the Clipse, they drop the best song on the album through their clever attempt to reinvent the success of last year's "Grindin'". A laser-guided funk missile collides with handclaps and a pulsing bassdrum backbeat, on a spiraling trajectory towards surprisingly inspirational lyrics from the Clipse. The highly anticipated new N.E.R.D track naturally isn't very interesting, lyrically ("We will not be the losers" is this generation's "We Are the Champions"), but is stunning, beatwise.
On the other hand, when the Neptunes step out of their accepted hip-hop box, they find their greatest success. Arguably the worst song on the album, Fam-Lay comes off like Eazy-E on morphine on "Rock N' Roll", claiming he has "so much coke, got coke in jail." Surprising to see a majority of the eighth planet populace's affiliates don't share the same agenda for innovation. Coldchain's collaboration with Pusha T and Boo Bonic, "Hot", falls on its face, based on the incorporation of a lame barebones interpolation of the Beastie Boys' "Paul Revere" and lackluster verses from all involved.
Busta Rhymes is laced with a crisp jungle funk backdrop that samples Kraftwerk, but he also fails to live up to the task at hand, settling on saying the word "ass" about a hundred times.Įven the Star Trak artists disappoint. Snoop Dogg, Ludacris and Nelly each sleepwalk through their performances, with beats that complement their lack of interest and lack of concern with diversifying their portfolios. The most established artists realize that with their level of notoriety, they no longer need to impress. Ironically, the biggest names fare the worst. So, as expected, they've drafted the very biggest stars out of their two-way pager address books to develop a venerable who's-who in hip-hop today. They've worked with everyone from Daft Punk to Beenie Man, and this disc is the proverbial victory lap at the peak of their success. The hottest production team in music today, Chad Hugo and Pharrell Williams have crafted a million dollar organization out of their deceptively simple beatmaking style.
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