erykah badu : mama's gun

At 2000's close, crooner Erykah Badu, another artist at the forefront of this R&B revival, released Mama's Gun. Although her last album, Baduizm, came out back in 1997, you get the feeling even before starting the CD that this was a rather slipshod effort. Printed on the CD itself is the message, "i changed the sequence at the last minute. peace, e. badu." Thus the actual track order differs from what's printed anywhere on the packaging. Then, in the CD booklet, she writes under the song, "Didn't Cha Know": "Note: (Peace my beloved people, check website for the rest of these lyrics—ain't finished yet.) e. badu." Thanks, but not everyone has a T1 line, darlin'.

So Badu's sophomore album already seems...sophomoric. It's when you actually get to the music that you start to see why she has so many admirers in the music world, from D'Angelo to The Roots to Dr. Dre. Badu's lovely, sophisticated, jazz-influenced sound is reminiscent of Billie Holiday. But like many artists who strive to imitate a past master, Badu captures the sound and feel of Holiday's work without producing Holiday's effortless grace and passion.

The lack of passion on Mama's Gun is apparent throughout the album. Badu's music is well written, tastefully produced and never unpleasant. But much of the CD floats by without a funky beat, catchy hook, or even a moment of raw emotion to draw you into its world. It is here that Badu suffers in relation to her R&B-revival companions: she has neither the party-girl funk sound of Macy Gray nor the risky vulnerability of Jill Scott's ephemeral soundscapes. By comparison, Mama's Gun is background music: not quite lazy, but not very exciting either.

Lyrically, Badu does little to draw you in. In the hit "Bag Lady," she falls victim to clichés when she talks about psychological baggage: "Bag lady you gone hurt your back/Dragging all them bags like that." At other times, her hip-hop influences become all too evident. The track "...& On," presumably a sequel to her first hit, "On and On," rivals only Eminem in the sheer number of self-references: "Don't go talkin' that shit Badu/Badu...I'm the envy of the women/And I rule the men."

Badu does deserve praise for two songs: the first and the last. The opener, "Penitentiary Philosophy," is a mildly funky tune that breaks the staid mold of the rest of the album. On "Green Eyes," Badu comes her closest to sounding like Holiday, complete with backing by turntable fuzz and Roy Hargrove's trumpet riffs.

In between these standouts, Mama's Gun is a polite, polished, and innocuous album lacking the most essential ingredient of the genre: soul. Badu doesn't seem to have her heart in her music, and as a result, the album glides by, never quite finding its footing and certainly never grabbing the listener.

Here's a tip for Discman addicts: Mama's Gun is a great album to listen to when you're studying. You probably won't even know it's there. —Dan Feder

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