For the past four years, the production duo of Pharrell Williams and Chad Hugo (better known as the Neptunes) has cast an unavoidable shadow over the music industry. With credits ranging from Jay-Z and Mystikal to Britney Spears and the Backstreet Boys, the Neptunes’ increasingly distinct sound stays loyal to grass-roots hip-hop beats as much as it embraces the full spectrum of popular music.
Unfortunately, the latter characteristic translates into a lack of focus and discipline on its debut effort (under the collective name N.E.R.D.–“No One Ever Really Dies”), In Search Of. The album was originally released overseas last summer, but shelved stateside so Williams and Hugo could further perfect their vision. The original version was pure Neptunes — inventive wordplay, syncopated beats and so much funk it would make George Clinton blush.
This is not to say that the current incarnation of In Search Of doesn’t have moments of brilliance; however, its immediate visceral impact and musical disposition are badly diluted by the fact that Williams and Hugo couldn’t keep their damn hands to themselves.
The resultant album is one that seems to be inspired as much by Roots-ish instrumentation and Michael Jackson’s dance-floor grooves as it is by mysticism and L. Ron Hubbard-derived nonsense.
The first track and single “Lapdance” was released nearly a year ago, accompanied by one of the cheekiest videos to hit MTV in recent memory. Its pumping rhythm and overt sexuality indicated that it had every right to become the house party anthem of the year, but the Neptunes’ tinkering on the updated track make it sound like Fred Durst dropped by with a few “ill” suggestions.
Similar problems plague songs throughout the album. On “Am I High,” an otherwise sensual piece of baby-making camp, the flow is broken up by intrusive piano accompaniment and backup crooning. Likewise, the canny attack on record-label yes-men of “Rock Star” gets drowned out by a sea of cacophonic guitars and muffled vocal deliveries.
The asymmetry pushes its way into the lyrics as well. On “Tape” Williams groans, “Now girl kiss her boobs/And you kiss her boobs too;” on “Run to the Sun” he prophesizes “I’m so embarrassed for mankind/They have the nerve to let their weapon shine;” the unintentionally funny “Bobby James” finds Williams beating the dead horse of the perils of drug dealing. For an album with such a supposedly clear moral purpose, In Search Of can’t seem to settle on what it wants to say.
The production is, as expected, sonically sound, if not frustratingly uneven. “Stay Together” and “Things Are Getting Better” are terrific amalgams of the Neptunes’ trademark layered percussion and synthesized backdrops — but where the hell is this stamp on the rest of the album? Hugo and Williams could’ve created a much more agreeable vibe had they stuck to their guns and not tried to make an all-inclusive magnum opus in the process of losing their LP cherry.
In essence, In Search Of straddles a fine line between self-indulgent pretense and pop-music evolution, one that could very well have been erased had the Neptunes simply left well enough alone.
