SINGLE REVIEW: P Diddy
- Posted on September 17, 2007 3:06 PM
- 0 comments
Through The Pain (She Told Me)
P Diddy (Bad Boy)
Review by Matt Killeen
I’m going to leave aside the fact that this CD was wrapped in the most self satisfied, egotistical and narcissistic press release ever to ooze through my letter box.
I’m going to leave aside the fact that he changes his name all the time in a way that makes him look like a footballer who suddenly decides that being called Andy is demeaning and insists that people call him something else and take him seriously.
I’m going to leave aside the fact that if you subtract the producer, the singer, the writer, the samples, the other rappers and all the people who shoot each other, the P Diddy / Puff Daddy / Sean whatever machine amounts to one guy going ‘yeah, come on’. A lot.
I’m going to leave aside the fact that the only good tracks he has ever done relied on Led Zeppelin and Dave Grohl.
I’m even going to leave aside the fact that he sampled one of the most terrifying, heartbreaking and emotionally clawing songs of all time and ruined it forever by turning it into a community centre wedding first dance dishwater dirge immense in its vapidity and lack of understanding.
I leave all these things aside until I have a huge pile of good reasons to despise this track on the passenger seat of my car. What I’m left with is a wishy-washy atmospheric ballad that was vaguely pleasant and inoffensive as I slid through the dark countryside on deserted motorways at 2am. However, LL Cool J did the talking quietly thing first and PM Dawn did it better. In fact, everyone does this better so I really wonder why he has botherered. Everyone who wants this track already has the album that came out last year and singles don’t make money.
The second track is much more obvious P Diddy fare. It’s interesting enough sonically but the lyric is woeful. Dragging the word ‘Indonesia’ into a song and then failing to think of an adequate rhyme is fairly demonstrative. I thought coming up with ‘please ya’ was the whole point of this rhyming business? The lyrical content is just adolescent bravado, deeply creepy in its assumptions and lacking any awareness, irony or self deprecation.
Ask a woman, any woman, about a man who constantly talks about sex and how good he is at it. Womankind will tell you they don’t really get any and when they do they’re rubbish at it.
We're sure some of you out there will disagree. If you love him, hate him or worship the gold paved ground he walks on, let us know. The comments section is there for the taking.
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