The-Dream’s summery third album Love King may tame some of the drama from last year’s Love vs. Money, perhaps the must turbulent major R&B record since Marvin Gaye’s Here, My Dear, but it still lands plenty of gut punches. Even on the feather-light title track, which opens the album in a delirious rush of synths and finger snaps, The-Dream can’t suppress his insecurities. His winking boasts about the many, many women in his life give way to self-doubt. “You don’t know me like that,” he sings, overtaken by yearning for the woman he doesn’t have. “Girl, you should know me like that.”
Like so many post-R. Kelly R&B stars, The-Dream is an unabashed, Patron-popping braggart, yet he exudes an underdog charm that makes it hard not to root for him in spite of his ego. He’s like an ostensibly successful, grown-up version of Charlie Brown, who for all his royalty checks and one-night stands still can’t kick a football or win over the little redheaded girl.
Again and again on Love King, The-Dream is defeated by his inability to communicate with women. When his livid girlfriend accuses him of infidelity on “Make Up Bag,” he’s unable to exonerate himself in the face of incriminating evidence (“I got makeup all on my collar,” he concedes, “Chanel No. 5 is all on my shirt, but I ain’t even holler.”) He spends the night on the couch, considering which designer purse will best buy her forgiveness. On “Nikki Pt. 2,” he catches up with an ex and cordially wishes her well. It’s the next song, “Abyss,” that plays like an inner monologue of all the vicious ways he wishes he’d told her off.
Love King is The-Dream's most insular record yet. The album's lone songwriter, The-Dream limits guest spots to just one verse from T.I., and for the first time, he also handles the production primarily by himself, with just a handful of assists from old hands Los da Mystro and Tricky Stewart. Nonetheless, Love King's sound is fuller and more immersive than that of most any pop record produced by committee. The aching “F.I.L.A.” may be the prettiest song ever composed around synthesized horns, while “Yamaha” begins as a routine Prince throwback, but as its groove unfurls it picks up a feverish momentum all its own. Most of these songs are in a continual state of transition, constantly reinventing themselves, twisting and sputtering out new melodies even in their final breaths, as they segue into the next track.
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In the run up to its release, The-Dream teased Love King as his last album. If that were true, it’d be a proud final statement, but the singer has since recanted and begun floating plans for follow-up projects, to the surprise of nobody. For The-Dream, there will always be women to pine for, luxuries to celebrate, axes to grind and wounds to lick. It’s hard to imagine why somebody who takes such obvious joy writing about these things would ever stop.
