Black Panties

R. Kelly

1.5 out of 5 stars

I feel at least somewhat out of my element reviewing an R. Kelly album. Sure, his so-called hip-hopera, “Trapped in the Closet,” is on my list of guiltiest pleasures (amongst Crocs and 90’s murder mystery shows), but sitting down to enjoy to R. Kelly’s serious works? That would be like watching an Adam Sandler movie to enjoy witty political commentary.

The first thing that surprised me about R. Kelly’s twelfth studio album, Black Panties, (that probably shouldn’t have) was the amount of sleaze growing with every song like mold on toast. There is serious “ew” factor present in R. Kelly’s lyrics, and this is coming from a girl that listens to Dying Fetus and  Cattle  Decapitation in her spare time. No amount of obscene album art could have prepared me for the juvenile high-school-bathroom-stall-quality lyrics in songs like “Cookie” and “Genius.”

Then again, R. Kelly didn’t make his millions off of lyrical depth. Adequate bass lines and catchiness come in where writing fails in Black Panties, ascending some songs into the levels of “auto-tuned mediocrity” rather than “auditory torture.”

Speaking of which, why is my beloved Robert Sylvester Kelly using auto-tune in the first place? I know for a 100% fact this man has the voice of a soulful angel. I wouldn’t have sat through 33+ chapters of “Trapped in the Closet” if he didn’t! In an industry with so much auto-tune to accommodate so little talent, why would R. Kelly sink himself that much lower?

Maybe I have high expectations from his “Trapped in the Closet” days, but I know R. Kelly is better than the work he put out for Black Panties. And even considering that everything he does is exaggerated to the Nth degree, that doesn’t make any of the sexualization, auto-tune, and uncreative slow jams any easier on my ears.