I want to like Ciara. I really do. She's affable, coochie pops with the
best of them, and is actually a better performer than her more popular, blonde or red-haired counterparts. But she keeps reminding me, and the world as a
whole, why she shouldn't be taken seriously. Taking a break from
performing as her alter-ego Trey Songz--because they are absolutely the
same person--Ciara's gearing up for the release of Basic Instinct, an instruction manual for mediocre broads worldwide. Summarizing
the effort in one sentence: Dammit I wish I was Janet Jackson.
Demonstrated by an overall forgettable mix of hair-whipping bangers and
awkward slow jams dripping with forced sexuality, it's evident that
Princess Crotch Pump wants you to want her. To her credit, she's a strong dancer and hardly ever takes a bad picture, but the overly persistent, attention seeker lacks the consistency and direction necessary to achieve the icon status she so desperately wants. Over the weekend, "You Can
Get It" surfaced, showcasing CiCi's cotton candy vocals over The-Dream
and Tricky Stewart's predictable production. Hopefully, "it" refers to a refund.
Return to sender, please. Four albums in and still looking for a lane?
Suggestion: grab Kelly Rowland and enroll in a nice, quiet typing school
somewhere. Secretaries will always be in demand.