Thursday, May 24, 2007

Bad Editions

First things first: Ralph Tresvant is one of the most underappreciated front-men in all of R&B. Allow me to explain. When Bobby Brown came out with Don’t Be Cruel (one of the best R&B albums of all time) in 1988 after splitting from New Edition, we felt his pain. How was this crooked-teethed grinding dancing explosion not the lead singer? The answer was simple: harmonics. What many of us didn’t realize at the time was that it was Tresvant’s voice that allowed the songs to smoothly transition between such disparate voices: from Ricky Bell’s lullaby croon, to Brown’s gravely grunts, and once Brown left, to the overpowering gospel of Johnny Gill. When called upon, Tresvant could also rap, often times playing conductor to Brown and Ronnie Devoe and Michael Bivins. Even when New Edition reunited (twice!) for Home Again (with Brown—yay!) and One Love (no Brown—eh…), it was Tresvant who, in workmanlike fashion, anchored the harmony of tracks like “Something About You” and “Newness”. His ability to gracefully manage the harmony can be heard clearly in New Edition’s best song “Can You Stand the Rain”, an uplifting break-up sad-song that somehow carries the listener through grief into a panasonic harmony of dizzying spirituality. It’s sad to say that, outside of “Sensitivity”, Ralph Tresvant’s best solo songs were when he was playing head-boy/man for New Edition (“If It Isn’t Love”, “Candy Girl”, “Cool it Now”).

All of this is prelude to the fact that, even though Tresvant was so essential to the harmonics of New Edition, his was the weakest solo effort, and, unfortunately, it is his worst album that almost (barring some freakish technicality) tops my list of top five worst albums by former members of New Edition. A list like this should be constructed with an acknowledgment of what made these albums (relative to the rest) qualify as “the worst”. Perhaps I should have written about the “best” albums before trying to truly capture the tragedy of these albums, but such a post will take much longer to compose and the matter (believe it or not—for me at least) requires serious scholarly thought and, in all likelihood, several more days to wrestle with. By starting with the worst, I can better cleanse my mind for that intimidating task. Here they are, best (relatively speaking) to worst.

5. BBD, Bell Biv Devoe, 2001: One of many tragedies that year. Luckily many of us were too engaged by more pressing issues, and thus didn’t have time to listen to the death rattle of one of the most influential (I’ll say it because it needs to be said) hip-hop groups of all time. A quiet (if not slightly dignified) death.

4. Chemistry, Johnny Gill, 1985: No that is not Garry Coleman on the album cover, but a pre-NE Johnny Gill. It seems unfair to blast a guy for an album that was made before he joined the group, but time-line association is not a factor, and it should be noted that, out of all of the NE alum, it is Gill who has managed the most competent (if unspectacular) repertoire (including a solid stint in another R&B super-group LSG—now more like SG…sadness). That is assuming you don’t count any of his numerous compilation CD’s against him (seriously, you're not the Stones, one should do it).

3. Forever, Bobby Brown, 1997: Perhaps it's a bit hypocritical to not put an album that made my “worst albums by an established R&B singer” on top this list, but new information has come to light, not to mention the fact that even a weakened 90’s Brown was still, “on his own” (tee-hee), a force. Just a colossal let-down and proof that the NE penchant for long breaks between albums, sadly, lead to their irrelevance. Still, not as bad as…

2. It’s Goin’ Down, Ralph Tresvant, 1993: It’s the embarrassing use of that apostrophe (even in 1993) that’s a clue to how bad this album was. The problem with Tresvant was that he wanted to be as “bad” as Brown, even when his best songs were from the traditional R&B persona of love-struck or sensitive player looking to move on. And I don’t understand his hang-up on rap (of course this was the age of Kid n’ Play), but I remember loving “Rated R” (from his self-titled debut) and digging Tresvant’s spittle filled delivery, but, unfortunately, can now only cringe at his attempts to sound “hard”, especially given the development of rap since 1990. The leather jacket without an undershirt had to have looked bad, even in '93. It seems hypercritical to talk so much about the album cover and title, but, sadly, not one good song. And I love Ralph Tresvant. But this is what happens when you abandon Jimmy Jam & Terry Lewis (seriously, ask Janet).

1. Bobby Brown & Cape Breton Symphony Fiddlers, Bobby Brown, 1996: I shit you not, I-Tunes assures me this is a Bobby Brown album. Check it out if you don’t believe me. Now I don’t know what, if any, role Brown played in the creation of this album (perhaps it was the plaid fiddle—who knows, he always had an eye for fashion), but if he did, it has to have been one of the most catastrophic acts of fusion this side of Las Almos. If I don’t post for the next few weeks, it’s probably because I’m in my basement, playing this record, and trying to make sense of the world.

No comments: