So there's stuff here that's worth hearing, if you could untangle the music from the artist's personal life. But you can't, and furthermore, you get the feeling that the artist doesn't want you to.
Perfect way to sum up the release.
I bet Def Jam forgot to invite The Observer reviewer to 777 Tour
And yet... reading comprehension seems to have failed you...
Sis, "there's stuff worth hearing" and "far more interesting album than its predecessor" is not what I would call slaying. Now if they said it's her best album yet I, but they didn't
it doesn't sound like much fun there, a sensation compounded by a particularly dead-eyed vocal. You get another one of those on Jump, ostensibly an unmissable invitation to frenetic sexual activity in Rihanna's boudoir, rendered intriguingly weird by her delivery. "Ride my pony, my saddle is waiting," she sings, blankly, as if she finds the prospect of frenetic sexual activity only marginally more attractive than having a verruca frozen off.