CD Review: Wyclef's 'Carnival Vol. II' Is Chaotic Party Worth Skipping

Hip-Hop Singer-Songwriter Releases Sequel To Acclaimed Solo Debut

David Hyland, Staff Writer

POSTED: 7:11 pm CST December 5, 2007

In his two-decade career, Wyclef Jean has garnered many descriptive handles.

He's a hip-hop artist, an R&B singer-songwriter, a pop-music producer-for-hire, a rock music aficionado, a humanitarian and a West Indian musical ambassador, among other distinctions. But, the South Orange, N.J., native wears no hat as naturally as one that crowns him as pop music's most inscrutable figure.

Since springing to fame as the mastermind behind hip-hop's top-selling group the Fugees, Wyclef has subsequently pursued a solo route awash with contradictions. No current artist has proven so unclassifiable, so stylistically independent and so creatively inconsistent. Whether it's hobnobbing with Missy Elliott, Bob Dylan, Shakira, Ziggy Marley and Rammstein; covering Kenny Rogers; or lauding the virtues of Christian rock in interviews, Wyclef is a musical renaissance man, albeit one frequently lacking one essential attribute: taste.

He isn't an eclectic musical connoisseur, but rather an omnivorous beast, digesting indiscriminately whatever -- both high art and pop-radio fare -- is in front of him. Album after album, he's proven to be a musician capable of penning some strikingly inventive and sneakily infectious melodies, but then follows them up in the next track by lazily pinching an entire hook from a '70s funk jam. It's a move that we could expect from an empty suit like P. Diddy and not an artist marketed as the greatest exponent of Caribbean music since Bob Marley. As a result, in New Jersey's hierarchy of all-star contributors to pop music, Jean occupies a murky space -- as dark and swampy as the Meadowlands -- that separates Bruce Springsteen from Jon Bon Jovi and Richie Sambora.

Wyclef's new album is essentially more of the same. In other words, it's a free-for-all, mixed bag. The record, "Carnival Vol. II: Memoirs Of An Immigrant," is his fifth release, but presents itself as a 10-year delayed sequel of his unrivaled debut, "Presents The Carnival Featuring the Refugee Allstars." Like all his records, the new CD is a cross-section review of Western music (in a bit of a break, there's a track that toys with Indian pop music) and spotlights a diverse roster of performers like Paul Simon, Norah Jones, Mary J. Blige, System Of A Down's Serj Tankian, Black-Eye Peas' will.i.am, Shakira, Akon, T.I. and Chamillionaire. Unlike its much-praised predecessor, however, "Carnival Vol. II" isn't as much fun as its billing promises.

Just as was the case with the preceding "Carnival," the new album was born out of discord in the Fugees. Plans for the disc formalized after the surprising Fugees reunion in 2005 officially fizzled. (In various media reports, Wyclef and bandmate Pras laid blame on the group's other creative pole, Lauryn Hill, for fracturing relations and stymieing progress in the studio.) Back out on his own, Wyclef drafted a string of songs that satisfied his urge for musical dabbling and offered exciting opportunities to collaborate with many non-hip-hop artists.

The negative aspect of this tactic is that it doesn't represent a cohesive vision beyond the "throw things at the wall to see what sticks" approach to recording albums. Worse still, while the first "Carnival" had a series of semi-comic skits and an overarching sense of musical joyfulness that subtly connected the rousing celebration of divergent forms, the new disc has a more topically serious and awkwardly contrived vibe. From track to track, Wyclef talks about immigration then post-9/11 paranoia then high school nostalgia while switching from genres as abruptly as if he was adjusting a radio dial. Perhaps in the era of the iPod and "Jack" and "Charlie" radio formats, this puts the record in line with contemporary wisdom. But, it's obvious that a more nuanced approach to shifting gears would make this CD more of an album and less of an iPod Mini stuck on the "shuffle" setting.

That's not to say "Carnival Vol. II" isn't without its redeeming moments. Occasionally, Wyclef really knows how to transform songs into ideal music industry widgets. The smooth R&B/hip-hop flair of "Sweetest Girl (Dollar Bill)" seems predestined to grace a Beyonce album, but Wyclef recasts it as his own chart-topping vehicle. Wyclef uses his most graceful, sensitive rapping voice and lets rappers Akon and Lil Wayne dominate the majority of the cut. Sultry-voiced newcomer Niia sexily coos in the background, but like arm candy, she's not needed for talking.

Equally alluring is "King & Queen," which melds electronica and dub influences into a futuristic version of dancehall. The slinky rhythm that Wyclef raps over in a rich patois is a "Blade Runner" blur created by a hyperactive click track, sputtering drum machine claps and keyboard squeaks. This full-court press to modernize island music only stops for its sublime, Shakira-sung chorus. More than just a studio experiment, the song is the record's most brazen attempt to appeal simultaneously to the dance club crowd as well as pop fans. Motivations aside, one must recognize Wyclef's original take and how he smartly bridged two distinct genres into a near-seamless whole.

Such is Wyclef's track record, however, that on first glance of the title, I thought "Fast Car," which features guest vocals by Paul Simon, was a hip-hop-itization of Tracy Chapman's 1989 hit of the same name. "Oh no, " I thought. "Did Wyclef crack and confuse his acoustic-guitar warblers?" Thankfully, this isn't the case. This "Fast Car" is an intense fusion of hip-hop syncopation, acoustic-guitar melodies and vocals that zigzag over the line dividing singing and rapping. Simon's silky voice is at home in the furious strumming and is a soothing presence for those unaccustomed to Jean's verbal or sonic asides throughout the cut. Norah Jones' easy-mannered singing "Any Other Day" is a familiar entryway into the pop-rock track. Between some precise acoustic guitar work and frequent sidekick Jerry "Wonda" Duplessis' frenetic bass playing, Wyclef chimes in occasionally, but mostly lets Jones use her vocal charms to woo listeners, playing the role of a barker of sorts as he once did with Lauryn Hill.

That song, along with the succeeding, nylon-string guitar-led cut, "Heaven's In New York," form a nugget of unabashed sentimentality that yanks, not tugs, at listeners' heartstrings. The "We Are The World" meets Tupac-like nostalgia behind "Heaven's In New York" is fine, but is just corny. While Wyclef at least deserves credit for having the guts to put this on a "hip-hop" album, concerns about his taste re-emerges.

Other cuts are equally inconclusive. "Riot," which features stiff rapping by Serj from System Of A Down, expropriates the metal band's hybrid of Eastern influences and prog-rock, but doesn't really build to anything. Likewise, "Hollywood Meets Bollywood (Immigration)" incorporates samples of Indian dance music and features a few vocals by Chamillionaire doing his best Nate Dogg impersonation and then spins itself out. The most laughable track is Wyclef's tribute to late Tejana singer Selena, which just clumsily revamps one of her old hits. I'm sure she's honored you worked so hard on that one, Wyclef.

But if there's ever a song that outlines Wyclef's overreaching agenda, there's the seven-minute ode, "Touch Your Button Carnival Jam." Things just begin badly when Wyclef kicks off the track by commanding listeners to the dance floor, sounding less like an MC at a street parade in New Orleans or Rio and more like the activities director from a Carnival cruise ship. From there, Wyclef strays and stumbles across various half-formed musical segments. Snippets of electronica, club hip-hop and Caribbean-influenced gospel are meshed together, concluding with a little Joe Satriani solo guitar. Remember what I said about taste?

As a bonus for those dinosaurs still venturing out to an actual record store to get their music fixes, the store version of the new CD includes three extra cuts that Wyclef recorded for Real Networks' online music service, Rhapsody. Stripped of most of their heavy-handed production, tracks like "Sweetest Girl (Dollar Bill)," "Slow Down" and one of his best non-album tracks, "President," are rearranged in a reggae-dub form. The uncluttered appearance lends breathing room demonstrating the power of the core melodies and provides a platform to showcase Wyclef's vocal charisma and his intuitive, soulful guitar playing.

Those three tracks more than the entire record represent Wyclef at his best. When he's not preoccupied with the idea of being a mogul and when he's dropped out of the rat race of who can make the best beat, he in his element. When he's not trying to prove something to his audience, he has ample space to prove his real strengths as an artist and performer.

Why he doesn't realize this on "Carnival Vol. II" or any other album is the most baffling question of all. This is one party most revelers can skip.

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