Luther's ladies buy as many tapes and CDs as B-girls do, and in real stores, too. But as a sage old outsider, I wonder whether he hasn't also sold out a little-and whether pop music and the world aren't better off for his market-driven pursuit of the love-man demographic. "He's grown up a little," an intelligent young member of his target audience was gratified to report, and that's a reasonable explanation for his surprise abandonment of bump-and-mack banality. But lest anyone suspect he lacks moral acuity, he offers this Inspirational Liner Note: "To all those women out there when I step off in a club-don't treat me like I'm just anybody because you end up treating me like I'm nobody and that's wrong." C+ He has no apparent interest in tune-the Spinners' "Sadie" sounds positively angelic after "Summer Bunnies" and "I Like the Crotch on You." And despite a few moments of class consciousness, he displays far less human decency in his quest for booty than such unaltruistic competitors as Jodeci and Boyz II Men.
An effective singer in the post-Stevie new-soul mode whose way with a beat is confirmed by an impressive catalogue of bestselling productions, he aims his common denominator straight at the solar plexus. In a year when the big rappers have either repeated tired outrages or outgrown them, Kelly's crude, chartwise new jack swing is black pop's most depressing development.
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