And then the avant-jazz-rock mid-tempo seas slosh, lyrical conceits dilute, and her voice pleads for Smith Brothers. If every other critic is correct that West is an "adventurous" departure turntablism, check; synth programming, check that only means Williams has advanced to about 1989. But Alice in Chains would have seen through the boilerplate of "Unsuffer Me," and Steve Vai would have laughed at the wankology of "Come On." When Williams isn't working very hard to distance herself from herself, she just repeats herself crypto-Pentecostal sex appeals, check; postcard place-name dropping, check because this time, she has little to say and little voice left to cover her tracks.
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