Back in middle school, Diddy was pretty inescapable, with the grating Biggie tribute "I'll Be Missing You" playing incessantly on the bus and on headphones during study period and lunch; it wouldn't be surprising if you had heard of some junior high, in macabre misunderstanding, using it for its class song at graduation instead of that one by Green Day.
Two name changes later and five years after his last release (nine since his last relevant one), any memory of Diddy as a rapper was gradually replaced by his image as the male socialite counterpart to Paris Hilton. However, he suddenly has decided that he needs to make music again.
Is there really a need for a Diddy album in this day and age? Didn't we burn out on this guy by the time high school started?
An album that has to overcome the hurdle of proving its existence before its first listen probably isn't destined to remain in your CD player or iTunes list for long, but Diddy's "Press Play" - despite an overload of guests and some mind-numbingly dumb lyrics - is too entertaining to be called a failure.
Before we get to the real stars of "Press Play," which would be the team of A-list mercenaries assembled to guest, credit should be given to Diddy himself. He carries the first three tracks, plus one interlude, pretty much by himself - with surprisingly enjoyable results.
"Testimonial (Intro)" samples the twinkling piano from Tears for Fears' "Head Over Heels" and isn't a throwaway like most intros. Second track "We Gon' Make It" uses the same horn sample as Jay-Z's comeback track, "Show Me What You Got." Where Jay-Z's cut is overly busy, Diddy keeps it simple, staying out of the way of the beat and getting no-name R&B artist Jack Knight to lay down a smooth hook.
This first Diddy-centric portion of the album ends with "Future," an absolutely absurd track. Starting with the ridiculous command to "mainline this new Diddy heroin," you let the fact that the album is more bubblegum than hard narcotics pass, because it only manages to get odder. By the end, Diddy's rapping about his talking robotic house and a Diddy Clone being assassinated. This would work if it was some underground rapper's album, but hearing it on "Press Play" is like if Paris Hilton had tried to include a prog-rock song cycle on her album.
Diddy's become a better rapper in the last 10 years, but that's the same as saying that Weird Al's flow improved from "It's All About the Pentiums" to "White and Nerdy." On "Press Play" Diddy covers up his inadequacies the same way he always has: by surrounding himself with the biggest names in the music business. Sometimes this strategy works; on "Everything I Love," featuring Nas and Cee-Lo and produced by Kanye West, all the guests put their talents to good use. Diddy raps for the first half before handing the reins over to Nas and Kanye - who provide an organ-based beat - to work their magic.
When it doesn't work, like on "Diddy Rock," featuring Timbaland, Twista and Shawna, it sounds like a bunch of hired help coming in to work for a check. Timbaland's contribution to the track doesn't come close to his production work on Nelly Furtado's "Loose" and Justin Timberlake's "FutureSex/LoveSounds" from earlier this year. The song lacks any focus, and it is only worth listening to once to hear Twista do his rapping-really-fast gimmick. The middle of this album, the good and the bad, is so loaded with guest stars that it feels like Diddy's just a master of ceremonies at a three-ring circus.
The final third of the album chills out, with R&B artists like Mario Winans, Brandy and Keyshia Cole, making appearances.
Diddy must have had an awards show to host or a new line of cologne to promote when they were recording these tracks, because his appearances are few and far between. This isn't really that bad; the singers have airy, interesting hooks to work with, and they get as much out of them as they can.
On "Claim My Place (Interlude)," Diddy raps, "Momma always said I gotta be somebody/ So I figured I might as well be great." At times, it seems as easy as that supremely clumsy rap suggests, though "great" may be too strong of a compliment.
Hire the right people, and, with at least a little bit of effort on his own part, Diddy can have a pretty decent pop-rap song. Just as often - or maybe even more frequently - this credo leads to songs falling flat. No matter how many guest stars and producers you have, if you have lines like, "If I take you out on a date/ You'd feel really special and great" from "Special Feeling," you will earn your reputation as a hack.
If you brought this album back in time to your middle school counterpart, it would be all the rage on the playground; it's slathered in the same glitzy production and marquee names - albeit 10 years advanced - that attracted hordes of teens to Diddy years ago.
Or maybe the kids on the playground would just ask if they really have Diddy Clones in the future.
