The 12 months was 2013, and Terius Nash was formally fed the f–okay up. Sure: he of the cutesy “ellas” and “ayyys,” the cherub-cheeked man who wrote “Baby” for Justin Bieber and chivalrously shared his umbrella with Rihanna, who six years prior simply wished to play along with your hair and watch you strive on totally different shades of MAC lipstick. All that, and nonetheless the singer/songwriter higher often known as The-Dream felt no nearer to the R&B A-list than he had when he’d kicked off his solo profession with 2007’s impeccable Love Hate; as a substitute, it felt like a brand new era had skipped the road straight to the highest. “Not dying for an award – you can keep the trophy, I could really care less,” he spat unconvincingly on“Form of Flattery,” the scathing finale of 2011’s 1977 album that railed towards imitators who by no means gave him his props. (Later, he’d name the monitor his “Pimp C moment.”) He’d proceed that practice of thought onstage at an NYC present the next 12 months, sparking a Twitter beef by which The Weeknd referred to as him a “Hamburglar lookin’ ass n***a.” The most effective R&B songwriter of the previous decade might catch not one break.
Hearken to The-Dream’s IV Play now.
“I don’t give a f–k about the foreplay – I want it now,” went the refrain of “IV Play,” the title monitor of Nash’s fifth album. From the man whose thought of a 12-step program was LARPing R. Kelly’s debut, the sentiment initially appeared like an inconceivable shift in programming from the self-proclaimed Love King. However as a sensible prophet mentioned that very same 12 months: it’s ranges to this shit.
Nash’s finest love songs are hardly ever nearly love, and his finest f–k-me-now songs are hardly ever nearly f–king. Moreso than every other working R&B artist, Nash’s songs have at all times been stuffed with brilliantly meta overtones – an interaction between his life as a songwriter, a performer, and a real-world human being, in perpetual tug of conflict. Main as much as IV Play, that intertextuality between life and artwork often took the type of straight-up music criticism: when he sang, on 2011’s “Ghetto,” that “She want that old thing back, that ride it like a pony,” it wasn’t only a story of nostalgia-f–king an outdated flame however an R&B purist’s lament – a refined requiem for the unapologetically attractive days of Ginuwine’s “Pony.” Nash’s sudden foregoing of foreplay was deeper than intercourse; it was about his rising impatience at getting the credit score he’d lengthy since been due.
IV Play could also be The-Dream’s least balanced album – full of extra options than he’d ever beforehand included, a few of its tracks felt like excuses to flex his star-studded Rolodex – however 5 years later, its excessive factors stay a few of the most underrated in his catalog. There was “Too Early,” a heartbroken, hungover blues tune with Gary Clark Jr. a few relationship’s unraveling sparking an all-encompassing downward spiral (“My heart’s hurtin’ but the bill’s due / Car note and the rent, too”); you possibly can virtually image the empty bottles of Wild Turkey littering the studio. Mid-album climax “Michael” is likely to be Nash’s finest tune this facet of “Yamaha”; it’s additionally his truest tribute to his childhood idol, Michael Jackson. The place 2009’s “Walking on the Moon” had veered too near pastiche, “Michael” merely channeled MJ’s spirit whereas becoming completely into Nash’s oeuvre – the charming piano chords, the snap-&-B bounce, the music historical past references (“Dirty Diana, hop up in this Phantom”). It was a soundtrack completely suited to the late spring stroll to the bar simply as a lot because it match the following morning’s stroll of disgrace; decide in case you should, however when Terius Nash sings, “F–k a love song, I need to f–k you,” you are taking heed.
However probably the most important piece of IV Play’s puzzle is the one which speaks most on to The-Dream’s continued legacy. “Slow It Down,” the common version of the album’s last monitor, is preceded by a quick interlude, the place we hear Nash scoff: “Man, I don’t know what the f–okay is up with all these wack-ass uptempo songs and shit. I imply, they need that muhf–kin’ ‘07 shit.” And then, bang, we are hit with “Slow It Down” – a closing statement if there ever was one, and a track that takes it back to 2007 Dream as thoroughly as promised (Fabolous verse included). “I know they ain’t gonna play this on High 40 radio,” he sings over his signature doo-wop keys, lending new irony to the nickname “Radio Killa.” After which, climaxing into ecstatic vocal harmonies, he delivers probably the most loaded refrain of his profession: “She’s backing it up on me / DJ, you know you wrong / Enough with the motherf–king dance songs – you gotta slow it down!” It’s considered one of his deftest intertwinings of life and artwork: a catchy hook that doubles as a radical critique of the music trade and a righteous protection of his place inside it. “Always with you, baby, I’ll never sell out / Them other n****s had to do a dance record or the label wouldn’t put ‘em out,” he sings with theatrical sweetness, directly a promise to his core fanbase and a shot at his friends’ overwhelming lack of inventive integrity.
Years later, “Slow It Down” stays Nash’s important mission assertion. Possibly he’ll by no means get the credit score he deserves as an R&B auteur from a mainstream viewers – however for individuals who actually get it, his songs will stay perpetually.
Hearken to The-Dream’s IV Play now.
Editor’s notice: This text was initially printed in 2018.
