Aside from but not far behind �Say My Name,� �Crazy in Love� marks itself as the most successful and fantastic song that Beyonc�s had anything to do with. The rest of her solo album languished in that monster single�s shadow, and now the soul-bap, the Hov verses, the desperate desire to bang have become the defining traits of Beyonc�s flavor. With just one (admittedly killer) song now shaping her present and maybe future catalog, it�s easy to understand why much of B�day is a pleasurable listen, just as it�s easy to recognize that the well of inspiration here is fairly shallow. Beyonc� keeps bucketing, though, desperate to please. That desperation�s its own problem, too, hammering an ebullient diva into some blustery (almost drunken) antics. Next stop, Beyonc� Thunderdome.

Wrong foot dropped, let�s be clear: starting off with �D�j� Vu,� the reflexively titled reincarnation of the monster, might make B�day�s intentions of regurgitation blatantly apparent, and it might be a pretty inferior copy (right down to Jay�s non-sequitur braggadocio), but it�s still a bit of a good time. Rodney Jerkins produces muzak of little distinction, which means he�s okay to do a cheap Harrison Xerox; Jay�s presence is sort of an automatic boon (it�d have to be if he can bring validation to a Linkin Park song, right?); Beyonc�s all flushed and bothered, buzzing furiously as the �Bee�about to sting.� After Jay drops his verse like so much cold turkey, Beyonc� climbs the scale and reaches some point on the other side of hysterics. She�s no longer just crazy in love; �D�j� Vu� finds Beyonc� crazy in a comfortable relationship. Of course, she�s also crazy in jealousy on �Ring the Alarm,� where she rolls around and goes limp noodle, Terminator staring at herself in a mirror while Kelis-shouting, �I�ll be damned if I see another chick on your arm!� She�s crazy in status quo on �Get Me Bodied.� Crazy manipulative and/or skanky on �Freakum Dress.� Plain nuts for including the awful �Irreplaceable.� Common thread being, this B is crazy.

Weirdly, but perhaps admirably enough, B�day tries to tie Beyonc�s eviscerated pathos down to something of a contextual progression. God forbid anyone calls this a concept album, but there�s a pseudo-storyline to the way things start from where they were left three years ago, or how the Beyonc�-as-Santa Clause of �Suga Mama� (wherein Rich Harrison�s spliced funk sounds almost as Rich Harrison as the rest of B�day�s Rich Harrison-imitating producers) leads to the quandary of �Upgrade U,� which has Beyonc� musing what to do now that she�s met her �equal,� i.e. �the motherfuckin� greatest.� Rich and famous Beyonc� with rich and famous Jay-Z smirk at how, by just being together, they�re both richer and famouser and awesomer, Beyonc� mostly focusing on how she�s going to culture Jay, Jay on how much shit he can buy for Beyonc�. It�s a pretty exclusive basis for a song; meanwhile, PDA happens within a new tax bracket of annoyance. Even so, �Upgrade U� is not at all intolerable, and that�s because, in the performances and music, it does manage to emulate its creators� successes, does sate that desire to bang. Ultimately, it�s pure, willful chutzpah that carries B�day through the threats of �Ring the Alarm,� the confusion of �Kitty Kat,� the revenge/make-up sex of �Freakum Dress,� and the not-done-having sex of �Green Light� (a Neptunes breeding of �Hot in Here� with �1 Thing�). Of course, Beyonc� lacks the clear mind needed to pull off the follow-through.

Radio pop albums get ruined by slow songs. We know this shit. The artists know this shit. But Nelly Furtado still slips us tracks like �Te Busque� and �In God�s Hands,� Justin still lumps four totally gross songs at the end of his new record, and Beyonc� predictably quashes any semblance of dramatic arc by skipping right over the climactic confrontation to the lame scene where possessions get divvied. That�d be the saccharine, acoustic guitar sashay of �Irreplaceable,� followed by wishing things had turned out differently on the bland, belt-it paroxysm of �Resentment.� �Check On It� might be a kind of recovery if it weren�t that it�s been released, like, five different times already, and it basically paints a B�day epilogue where Beyonc�s back in the club, fishing for ogles with her ass. Before, the song was just some coy, bubbly fun; at the end of what amounts to a break-up album, it comes off like vindictive flirting. Thus, between that cattiness and upgrading Hov, wearing her hair in a beehive pun and using her own birthday as a marketing ploy, Beyonc� has unintentionally hurled herself up a tier on the hierarchy of Unlikable Divas. J. Lo�s in no danger of being dethroned, sure, since �Crazy in Love� equals hot track forever, and B�day is an album that knows it. But Beyonc�s an artist who�s not sure how to sell her full personality and craft in lieu of selling what she thinks we want. I�m sending her a card.

Dear B:

Believe it or not, you can stand apart from your past hits, your relationship with Jay, your sex symbol status, �bee� gimmicks. You�re a vocally talented and vibrant singer. You�ve got an ear and a natural gusto. You don�t have to push everything, you don�t have to bow to some shitty ballad quota, you sure as hell don�t have to title a song �Freakum Dress� in order to turn us on. Seriously, please don�t do that again. But, anyways, whatever, you�re not reading this. Sigh. Happy Birthday.

Cheers,

Chet Betz
September 8, 2006