Who could have guessed that a horndog
wannabe rapper turned gimmicky robo-singer who looks like the dreadlocked alien
from The Predator would prove to be the most influential hip-hop musician of the
past five years It's impossible to listen to Top 40 radio without being
inundated with T-Pain's computerized crooning, not to mention his acolytes Lil
Wayne and Kanye West. This is the tacky, superficial age of T-Pain, hip-hop's
poet laureate of closing-time hookups and strip-club crushes. Success has only
emboldened Auto-Tune's best friend, as evidenced by the ridiculous pop-up
packaging of the deluxe edition of Thr33 Ringz, which comes
complete with a mini-poster crowing "The industry is my circus."
The industry is also T-Pain's bitch, and on Ringz, he seems
hell-bent on setting a new standard for pop-music shamelessness, comparing
himself to K-Fed, sorta-rhyming "mansion" with "Wisconsin," perversely/inexplicably
stealing the chorus of the AOR sleeping pill "Change The World," anointing
himself "the sex police," and crankily boasting, "I don't need your sex, I'll
masturbate."
Like kindred spirit R. Kelly, T-Pain
is at his best when he's at his worst, though his mentor Akon scores Ringz' cheesiest
line when he vows to "turn every bullet into a Hershey's Kiss / and we can eat
away our fears." T-Pain is a funny guy, sometimes intentionally so. "Chopped
And Screwed" is "The Breaks" for the digital age, "Freeze" begs to be the
soundtrack to a training montage in a cheesy dance film, and the agreeably
grouchy "Therapy" features a lively verse from Kanye West. Ringz won't convert
any non-believers, but for fans (auto) tuned into Pain's gleefully synthetic,
excessive wavelength, he continues to deliver the guiltiest of pleasures.