Anyone who's seen a Molly Ringwald
movie knows the popular conception of a teenage girl's inner heart. To learn the
adolescent male equivalent, we consulted the recent spate of refugees from boy
supergroups. Reflecting '90s global correctness, our spokesbenjies represent working
class England, blue-collar
America, and el bourgeoisie del Puerto
Rico. Just as the mollies have matured into lovely if somewhat shellshocked
veterans of tampon jokes, we hoped
that the benjamins had also grown beyond low-slung oversized jeans. Let us discover
if girls truly mature faster than boys.
Ricky Martin (Menudo,
1984-89) "Ricky Martin" (Columbia)
By the end of Ricky
Martin's self-titled mega-platinum album, el pequeno Ricky's Chelsea
Boy looks and earnest-but-mealy machismo make perfect sense, and have even
earned grudging awe. The last similar celebration of nocturnally emissive ethnic-kid
sexuality was Michael Jackson's "Bad."
And what Michael did to—or maybe because of—late-'80s funk, Ricky does to
late-'90s salsa.
 Dance Fever
"Shake Your Bon Bon" and the "Cup of Life" offer generic arriba-arriba
lyrics bouncing off Chi-Chi's Mexican
Restaurant merengue backbeats—danceable but forgettable. "Livin' La Vida
Loca" is the instant classic, an overproduction of amazing excess, marrying
salsa, mariachi, and surf guitar to bodega-girl
lyrics. I have personally witnessed normally sane, cynical New York art chicks
leap to their feet in a frenzy of uncontrollable motion when sa vida gets loca
on the bandwidth. "La
Vida Loca" alone is reason to celebrate el
pequeno Ricky.
Score: 8
Turgid Balladry
Ricky Martin taps
the talents of 14 producers—13 more than it takes to record the entire cycle
of the Ring of the Niebelung.
Ten of the 14 cuts are ballads, each programmed to the 16th-note to wring every
nuance from Ricky's limited vocal and emotional spectra. The ballads plunder
everything from the pre-VH1 histrionics of Ann
Wilson's voice-to-voice combat with Mike
Reno ("Private Emotion," con Swedish starlet Meja)
to the tin-plated whining of Richard Marx
("You Stay with Me"). At his most trenchant ("Be Careful"), Ricky welds his
underdeveloped baritone to the overextended alto of la
madre de Lourdes, in a diva fit of such anti-drama that the summons soon
becomes a plea.
Score: 2
Faux Sensitivity
Like Michael
Bolton Ricky has cultivated his female fan base by being willing to talk
and talk and talk about his feelings—and Ricky does it bilingually.
In "Spanish Eyes," he misses la chica bonita he met at a carnival; Jon
Secada's "She's All I Ever Had" is an exercise in earnest, plodding methodology—Ricky
postures love songs with the warmth of programmed sensuality. After all, like
any good benjamino, he believes that the fastest way into una chica's pantalones
is through her corazón. But his voice, so well suited to trampling the
rhythm section, can't negotiate the sweeping seas of synthesizers, drum-machines,
and honey-dripping lyrics unworthy of the incipient legend.
Score: 3
Cojones
As anyone who's been picked up by one will verify, the worst possible—if
most-hoped-for—combination in a man is killer good looks and transparent sincerity.
The dance tracks reek of testosterone like the porn mags stashed beneath an
onanist's mattress. Like any hombre
who's the object of his own affectation, Ricky
seems less comfortable with meaning what he says than fantasizing about saying
it.
Score: 8
 Pin-Up Shot Grooming
"El self-tanner, la hair wax, los biceps." Ricky's
International Male outfits,
carefully styled to hide the hint of babyfat discernible in la video loca, and
Chelsea Boy haircut evoke an image of harmless masculinity that few aspire to,
yet many achieve. Like David
Cassidy, who emotionally scarred an entire generation by revealing in an
Annie Liebowitz photograph that he had pubic hair, the fans who love the look
don't seem to get the joke.
Score: 10+
Disposability
The album is a disappointment, but that has never marred a rocket-ride
to fame. "Livin' la Vida Loca" is potentially the last great pop single of the
millennium; it will carry the legend even as this album slips into clearance-bin
status.
Score: 5
Longevity
Worldwide domination is within the orbit of the hypnotic swivel
of Ricky's hips.
As he's the Caesar
in this scenario and not the Brutus, I'm hedging my bet, but giving Ricky the
lead.
Score: 9
Unsolicited Advice
Ricky—jettison the ballads until you're comfortable expressing
experiences you can actually sing about. Then record with Madonna again—only
another lapsed
Catholic can unlock the arriviste within. Be sure to go to confession afterward.
Robbie Williams (Take
That, 1990-95) "The Ego Has Landed" (Capitol)
It's tempting to dismiss Robbie
as another scowling, pint-drinking, dart-playing
pub crawler until you really listen to this honestly-titled album. "Ego" is
no less referential than the other bennies' jets, but it packs more fuel. Nice
surprises abound, rounding out a disk of uncommon promise yet fulfilled—and,
really, what more do you want from a lad at the threshold of manhood?
 Dance Fever
It is to Robbie's credit that only one song qualifies, if you
define the category as the kind of throbbing junk you hear Saturday
night when it's all right. "Millennium," the smashing first single, blends
all the elements—keyboards, polyrhythm, a killer James
Bond sample—into an airtight, original sound. The album is an homage to
'70s-influenced rock, assembled with a quilter's eye for the best pieces. "Lazy
Days," "Strong," and "Man Machine" converge into a techno mash of submariner
Beatles and sham-glam Bowie.
"Let Me Entertain You" recalls the rock musicals of the early '70s, while "Old
Before I Die" references Heart's
satiny crunch. "Jesus in a Camper Van" pays its debt to Dylan through collaboration
with Loudon Wainwright III; and the
result is the sharpest facet of an album full of gems.
Score: 9
Turgid Balladry
Down-tempos are few, with one beauty: "No Regrets" achieves
gentle truth, with Robbie's honest
vocal layered in a moving clash of rhythm. "Angels," however, pillages the worst
of Elton John: sedated, meandering,
and pedestrian. But, like a candle in the wind, "No Regrets" is such a wonder
that it saves the category.
Score: 5
Faux Sensitivity
Robbie's delivery is offhanded and his voice deliberately
rough, less about sounding pure than sounding off. He avoids cushioning his
manly instrument among hearts
and flowers. His sensitivities are not the detritus of dates gone bad but
the dubious state of the world. Robbie's nonsense is that of post-pomo millennial
hysteria, of the greener-than-thou posturing of the rocket men. Being aware
of the mess, Robbie
doesn't contribute to it. He points it out and complains about it. I call that
sensitivity of the most genuine kind.
Score: 0
Bollocks
Robbie's syncopated delivery, notebook-margin lyrics, and triple-decker
sound evidence a balls-out attitude than only longhairs will argue with. "The
Ego Has Landed" is the aural equivalent of a pub brawl between opposing cricketeers;
without pantywaists in the arena, the fracas is reduced to blood lust, simple
yet complex. Robbie's
not dishonest enough to position inner turmoil where there is none. He's both
challenger and defender, and damn the score.
Score: 10
 Pin-Up Shot Grooming
Robbie takes it easy on the Aveda—what
would the rest of the blokes think? Robbie's
stylists have worked up a basic maintenance of turtlenecks,
T-shirts, work pants, etc.—all cunningly designed to look to all but the
most discerning eyes as if they weren't stratospherically expensive. When there's
a Manchester equivalent to Tiger Beat,
Robbie will become the poster boy of the proletariat.
Until then, he's too distrusting of prettiness to be effective with staples
in his stomach.
Score: 5
Disposability
Much of "Ego" is a mini-compilation of songs that were hits
in the Big Yuk—a situation nowhere near as insulting as being
considered a genius in France. British fans tend to be more demanding of
their idols but more forgiving of mistakes. So, they sent him to audition his
audacity for the American plebes, and "The Ego Has Landed" will be appreciated
by music hounds and forgotten by the masses.
Score: 8
Longevity
How big a splash Robbie makes across the Atlantic remains to be seen,
but his distinct blokehood won't permanently translate. A solid future overseas
is virtually guaranteed. In America, he
shall always be called Levon, and he shall be a good man.
Score: 4
Unsolicited Advice
Be careful, Robbie, of the Elton John continuum. You're
too young for bankruptcy and a pacemaker, and look what happened to John-fan
George Michael.
Joey McIntyre (New Kids on the Block 1984-94) "Stay the Same" (Columbia)
It's difficult to know if Joey McIntyre discovered religion before, during, or after recording "Stay the Same," but it was long enough to collect 13 lines of gushing thank-yous. Effusion permeates "Stay the Same": endless gratitude, boundless preening, and neverending self-congratulation.
 Dance Fever
Joey sets himself up
as muse for the 90210 generation,
having somehow missed that some of those kids are pushing 40. Today's youth
are into Dawson
and Felicity, into
Backdoor
Boys have forsaken. "I Love You Came Too Late," "Can't Do It Without You,"
and "We Can Get Down" are show-stoppers of piracy, referencing a schizo's catalogue
as diverse as Rick James, L.L.
Cool J, TLC, even Isaac Hayes
HimSelf. "Because of You," hands-down the worst cut, illustrates the unfortunate
result: With all these influences resounding through the McIntyre machine, Joey
only sounds like he's singing Lisa
Stansfield records into a hairbrush.
Score: 0
Turgid Balladry
Joey misses no opportunity to layer a 3/4 slow beat with shimmering
triangle, gleaming back-up vocals, and twinkling keyboards ad infinitum.
Somehow the gloss suits the secret journal gleanings of the millennial teenage
male. Joey turns chameleon on the slow songs, infusing them with naivete so
genuine it's charming (if you're charmed by that sort of thing). The very averageness
of the balladry imparts the quality of open-hearthrob surgery. "Stay the Same"
is a masterpiece of unsophistication, so painful in its wistfulness, so gosh-darn
genuine in its awkwardness. How can you begrudge a
kid that?
Score: 7
Faux Sensitivity
Like out heterosexual Duncan
Sheik, Joey enjoys his juggernaut of yearning and mood. Unlike Duncan, Joey
hasn't the pipes, the pen, or the pin-up
potential. His puppy-dogma services a small but inherently transient fan base,
as girlies of both sexes inevitably grow up, or at least away from this month's
four-color layout. McIntyre fills the void whimpering for true love, the romance
he romanticizes about: that golden time when he'll need to shave every day,
when his adorability will not overshadow the sinister pitch of his heart.
Score: 9
Testes
McIntyre's desires seem real, but his ability to communicate them hasn't
yet caught up to his willingness to talk. Despite Donnie
Wahlberg's participation, "Stay the Same" is vanilla pop for soda
fountaineers, containing in its sweetness an inherent, but untouched, promise
of finesse.
Score: 2
 Pin-Up Shot Grooming
Joey McIntyre embodies the pubescent crush, as racy as
Pat Boone, as titillating
as pre-cocaine Leif
Garrett. Bare feet, blue jeans, white tee, hair gel: same old, same old.
Joey's the prom date you never
had—not the football captain (who's now balding and on his second mortgage
and fourth mistress, but you didn't know that then), but the sweet, ineffectual
wuss you wanted to lose your virginity to, and didn't.
Score: 6
Disposability
The hit singles are already careening down the charts. Better
material, better presented would have saved the album. Surely Joey's laboring
over his sophomore effort during summer break. Let us hope he does his homework.
Score: 2
Longevity
The problem with vanilla as flavor-of-the-month is that orchid only
seems exotic until other tastes arrive. A modest niche career is indicated,
if Joey rides wisely by accepting the dual nature of the mass consciousness:
The attention, when focused, is awesome, but easily distracted.
Score: 5
Unsolicited Advice
Please, Joey, enjoy it while you can.
You Too Can Ask Mr. Diva!
Whether you have an existential concept that must be fully explained or a fine point that needs clarification, Mr. Diva can help. Feel free to submit any and all questions to us, and they will be answered by Mr. Diva as soon as his nails dry.
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