On the DVD supplement to The Neptunes Present… Clones, heard-but-seldom-seen Neptune Chad Hugo (who at one point cannily refers to himself as “the band”) simply describes the duo’s sound as one designed to make the body move — percussion to nod your head, synth and keys to move your feet.
Though they became the most sought after beat-smiths in music by making bare-bones hip-hop, the Neptunes are, after all, in the business of making pop music. And what is good pop music if not that which gets people’s heads nodding and feet moving on the dance floor?
It’s this approach that made Britney tolerable, blessed Jay-Z with even more crossover appeal and molded Justin Timberlake into a latter-day Michael Jackson. No matter how sputtering the flow (N.O.R.E.) or trite the lyricism (Jadakiss), a Neptunes’ track can make the stingiest of wallflowers bust a move for three-and-a-half to four minutes, which is, incidentally, about the same amount of time it takes for said track to shoot up the charts.
The Neptunes Present…Clones offers up a sampler platter of singles from the titular superproducers’ Star Trak label, but Hugo and Williams’ “How many would-be number ones can we squeeze out of this one?” mentality produces frustrating effects. With rote efforts from established acts (Ludacris, Nelly, Snoop Dogg) plopped alongside introductions to Star Trak up-and-commers (Vanessa Marquez, Rosco P. Coldchain, Kelis), the album is a mess of integrity muddled by both commercial palatability and emcees outsized by otherworldly beats.
Of course, the Neptunes’ minimalistic musings work more often than not, as on Busta Rhymes’ “Light Your Ass On Fire” where the vocals and percussion ricochet off what sounds like the walls of a hollowed out space station. Meanwhile, Pharrell’s silky falsetto on the already-ubiquitous “Frontin” justifies the anticipation for his forthcoming solo album.
Star Trak poster-boys Clipse provide the album’s highlights on two more coke-pusher anthems: “Blaze of Glory” and “Hot.” With lines like “White was the treasure, comfort was the steal/ I peddle to the corner like a child on a big wheel,” monomaniacal odes to the power of a drug haven’t sounded this clever since The Chronic.
However, tracks from hip-hop’s aforementioned heavy hitters leave much to be desired, especially when compared to previous Neptunes collaborations by the same artists. Hugo and Williams may very well be setting the bar too high for themselves, but they’re certainly not getting any boosts every time Nelly slurs another R.
It begs the question, “How long will it be before the Neptunes can make Nelly’s next #1 without Nelly at all?” Their body of work has influenced not only the aesthetic of commercial music but also its marketing strategy, one that now pushes the producer ever closer to the spotlight.
Pharrell hints at their newfound pop auteur status on “Hot Damn”: “You niggas is clones/ I hand out styles like ice cream cones.” At the very least, it might be nice if the Neptunes started exercising a little more discretion when deciding who deserves a piece of their dessert.
Grade: B
