That Press Play turns out to be no worse or better than we should've expected is incredibly disappointing in light of the timing. But placed back-to-back-to-back-to-back, they become a hookless, charmless comedown that anchors what was supposed to be a party album and renders Press Play nearly devoid of replay value past the twenty-minute mark. There's the Bar Mitzvah & B track from 1985, the one where Diddy sings, a spoken word soliloquy, and something with Brandy that nearly qualifies as two-step. Blige, the gang's all here, leaving you to wonder where Deborah Cox was in all of this.ДЄny of these would have served as, at the very least, interesting left-field detours. Side B of Press Play takes a cyclopean look at 'urban relationship music,' honoring Biggie's 'Dreams' by pumping out track after track with a different R&B chick. After the boasting ends, Diddy takes on a less appealing brand of egocentrism: spending the night popping bottles and tossing hundreds, but having the nerve to tell you ad nauseum during breakfast that he'd give it all up for that special girl.

'Tell Me' features Just Blaze at his brassiest, Christina Aguilera, and the least sexual chemistry we've heard since 'Tush.' Diddy and Christina boast about how they can get their fuck on 'til the break of dawn, but as to be expected from people who probably recorded their parts on different continents, it plays out more like a raunchy IM exchange.ДЄn unsteady balance of kingpin shit talk and radio hedge-betting was to be expected, but Diddy second-guesses his instincts midway through Press Play and it's a huge mistake: the latter half turns out like Bad Boy PresentsвЂ¦The Love Below II. 'Wanna Move' tries to drive you down I-85 with yet another music-makes-me-lose-control Ciara cameo, but it's overactive drum track reeks of product-shizzle. Even his attempt at a Pharoahe Monche flow on 'The Future' is pretty endearing, considering he could've taken the easy way out and gone with, ahem, Rick Ross.Д«ut the nostalgia-for a time when Diddy ran the city-starts to crumble quickly. But on the harder tracks of Press Play, Diddy sounds more comfortable than he's ever been. And it's a little strange getting involved in a hall of mirrors where Diddy is reciting lyrics written by other people pretending to be Diddy. If you can't get past the idea that he might not have authored one word of Press Play, you won't stand a chance. Tracks like 'Hold Up' and 'The Future' play like The Blueprint in HDTV.ДЄnd Diddy actually does them justice. An army of upper-echelon beatmakers led by Just Blaze and Havoc give Diddy some ridiculously tony real estate to preside over. As you may have heard by now, the production on the album should have Jay-Z emptying out a couple Swiss accounts in order to keep up. Maybe he got the message: at least for the first half, Press Play is listen without prejudice. Dep and Loon, Diddy's amateur flow was reedy and distracting, a problem that required a vocal coach more than another ghostwriter. Even amongst Bad Boy afterthoughts like G. Diddy's biggest problem was that he considered himself the consummate showman, but could never perform the music that other people took the trouble to write for him well enough to live up to the name. There's more ghostwriting at the highest levels of hip-hop than you'll ever know. Hile many admire his hustle and resilience, most negative opinions of Diddy are derived directly from his musical output: the shameless and artless sampling, the Making the Band frame of mind that treats the creative process like dentistry, the fact that he needed Sauce Money and Sting to pen a heartfelt tribute to his best friend.Дiddy's infamous line 'don't worry if I write rhymes, I write checks' is his most frequently cited, but would-be detractors are missing the point.

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