Sean Combs has been known as many things in
his day: Puff Daddy, Puffy, P. Diddy,
and now just Diddy. He has also been
known as the American dream, a visionary, Hip Hop’s finest entrepreneur, the
first superstar mogul; and to some, a killer of Hip Hop. Rarely will the
name Diddy make someone think
“artist.” It isn’t because his icon has eclipsed his artist, it’s because he’s
always had other people make his music for him. Blessed with more cash than
talent, Diddy buys his albums more
than he makes them. It is no secret, he even once wrote (or had written
for him of course), “don’t worry if I
write rhymes, I write checks.” That’s cool, I respect Puff for his business acumen, not for
his flows.
Fortunately
for Mr. Combs, it isn’t that hard to
purchase yourself a dope album if you’ve got a grip of cash, which of course
he’s got in spades. Buy beats from the best producers and pay the best emcees
to pen your verses for you, simple right? And shit, even if he can’t do it
himself, Diddy has proven over and
over again he knows how to construct a hit. So he’s got Timbaland, The Neptunes, Kanye West,
Just Blaze, Havoc, Will.i.am, D. Dot and Rich Harrison producing and Pharoahe
Monch, TI, The Game, and Rick Ross writing.
How can you fuck that up?
Well, you
can when you’re just really wack. Dr.
Dre can’t write a rhyme to save his life, just like Diddy, but Dre can still
deliver them with rock solid technique. He sounds good when he spits other
people’s rhymes, be it Jay-Z’s (“Still
DRE”) or Eminem’s (“Forgot About
Dre,” “The Watcher”). Diddy, on the
other hand, butchers them. The first track I heard from the album had me
thinking he had made some major improvements. “The Future,” a ridiculously blatant
Pharoahe Monch-penned track, is
really dope. Havoc’s beat is crazy
and Puff does a very respectable Pharoahe Monch impression. He
enunciates really well (and just like Monch),
and doesn’t kill the conviction of the words with his mush mouth delivery like
usual. “Hold Up,” another great track, again features a new-and-improved, Pharoahe Monch-coached Diddy. Sadly, it pretty much ends
there. When paired up with the uber-talented trio of Nas, Cee Lo and Kanye
for “Everything I Love,” Diddy
sounds absolutely bush league spitting. He again does a bit better when
he gets his T.I. on for the Big Boi-assisted “Wanna Move,” but when
he does him on horrible tracks like “Thought You Said” or club trash like “Come
To Me,” it’s nothing short of embarrassing. Listen to the interlude “I Am” and
tell it doesn’t sound like it’s a man rapping for the first time, which ruins
an otherwise good beat. It doesn’t matter who is writing your rhymes if
you can’t deliver them, and that really holds this album down.
There are fair
shares of sappy R&B tracks that do nothing to help Press Play, and sadly the best of the bunch is nearly dragged six
feet under by “the rapper.” “Tell Me” has the usual Just Blaze banger and Christina
Aguilera lacing the hook (putting any other singer on the album to shame),
but Diddy is again excruciating to
listen to rap. His shortcomings aside, there are other issues; the
aforementioned overabundance of shitty R&B collabs, pointless interlude-type
joints like “Claim My Place” and “Crazy Thang,” or great producers giving god-awful
beats (Diddy Rock. Worst. Timbaland. Beat. Ever.). Not to mention
this shit is 80 minutes long!
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Some people
are probably gonna be quick to say “how
you gonna complain about the rapping on a Diddy
album? What did you expect from him? He ain’t Jay-Z.” No, I’m not expecting Jay-Z, but I’m expecting a rapper who is at least listenable and
doesn’t ruin everything he touches. I don’t care who it is, he doesn’t just get
a free pass for wack ass rapping – after all, the man is making a damn album.
If it’s such common knowledge that he is such a bad rapper that he shouldn’t be
judged on it then he shouldn’t even be making an album. Sean Combs does a lot of things, and
most of those things he does very well. Making solo albums, is not one of those
things.
