Published on Nov 25, 2004
Once upon a time, there was a Jackson sibling who wasn’t
completely dysfunctional, who had genuine raw talent, and had the
savvy to surround herself with the smartest, talented people she
could muster. Janet. We knew her by her first name alone. For years
she delivered smart, concise pop music that saturated the airwaves
and TV. Smartly, she hitched her wagon to the brilliant star of
Jimmy Jam and Terry Lewis, whose production cred is untouchable.
Together they topped every pop and R&B chart and made her a
household name.
After a huge peak with
Rhythm Nation: 1814 and its follow-up
Janet, she looked into her panties and found her special
gift, and delved into sex on the next release
The Velvet Rope and again on its follow-up
All For You.
Rope was musical soft-core porn, albeit danceable porn, and
All was actually pretty sexy and had some real soul to it.
OK Janet, you’re a dirty girl. We get the point. Sex, you like sex.
Great, fabulous…got it. Note to self: Janet likes sex.
Apparently the world didn’t care too much, as those two albums
didn’t have nearly the success of her previous work. Did Janet
change tactics? Oh no, she’s back bigger and nastier with
Damita Jo, the latest tawdry romp through her naughty little
mind.
Airing out her naughty bits to anyone who wants a peek, Janet’s
Travis Bickle-like approach is about as sexy as a plastic blow-up
doll. Listeners will also be subjected to more of the spoken-word
spam that she uses for filler. This disc is absolutely polluted
with it. She must really love the sound of her own whispering voice
because this album is peppered with Janet talking and mumbling all
sorts of nonsense, like the chatter that cluttered up the otherwise
listenable
All For You. I’m sure it is meant to add ambiance, but it’s
just tiresome, almost as tiresome as the 22 tracks encompassed on
this ill-conceived mess. Hey Janet, the phonebook is real long too,
but it doesn’t win any awards for creativity. She could have easily
chopped this into two separate releases, which would have probably
been much more enjoyable. As it is, it’s too damn long and lacks
the energy to engage the listener through 22 tracks.
Damita Jo (Janet’s middle name and her self-proclaimed
sexual alter-ego) is Janet telling us about her sex life. OK Janet,
we know you’re a naughty girl. We saw your boob on TV and all over
the Internet. We know about your little fling with that wussy
boy-band refuge (Sorry, I can’t bring myself to use his name). What
makes you think anyone wants to know what you nicknamed your
coochie, or about your preferred oral technique? I’m sure her
intent was to titillate and shock, but in the end, it’s simply
tawdry and lewd, and completely devoid of any real sexual energy.
Is this a desperation move to recover an audience that has moved
on? I guess if you can’t grab an audience with your talent you grab
them by trying to shock them? Some artists can effectively use
sexuality in a creative and entertaining manner. Prince made a
career out of it, and Madonna did it with considerable success.
Madonna’s
Erotica and
Bedtime Stories are infinitely sexier than this garbage.
If the music were great, there would be some worthiness to this.
The music is not great, despite the talent involved. (Babyface, Jam
& Lewis, et al.) The music is middle-of-the-road and
forgettable. They try to resurrect some old-school style soul
slow-groove, but it’s all slow and no groove. There are a few
energetic moments, but not nearly enough to raise this to the level
of
Rhythm Nation or
Control. Could the 11 people with producer credits be a
factor? It sounds like a case of too many cooks and not enough
heart. Along with the utter lack of interesting lyrical content,
this tawdry peep show will be quickly forgotten.