Despite my
wishing, I understand that New Kids on the Block, the
Maurice Starr-orchestrated boy band of Tiger
Beatnik fixation in the late '80s and early
'90s, never intended to win a homo following.
Of course, that didn't stop any especially
coordinated preteen boys from craving the group with
innocently perverted fervor. It never does.
And yet, Chairman
Starr, I thee implore: If Jordan, Donnie, Jon, Danny,
and Joe set out to snag only straight girl fanatics, why did
you tease the fey lads with such classic homo bait?
Rambunctious, cute boys aside, you pitched some real
poison darts -- like that glee clubber falsetto in
"I'll Be Loving You (Forever)." And
Jordan Knight's clinically bodacious pompadour.
And the "Step by Step" video's sweaty
muscle-crunching yanked right out of Herb
Ritts's photo fantasia. But mostly, Mauri, you
taunted us with our favorite thing of all: emotions.
"Please Don't Go, Girl"? That was
Sophie's Choice: Junior Edition for
many of us. The gays never did find out where to deposit
their unrequited urges; the fan clubs didn't
seem sympathetic.
Lucky us, we can
just recollect our withered crushes, since the New Kids
have surprised us all with a full-fledged reunion. Their new
album, The Block, hit stores September 2. Finally,
straights and gays young and old can unite over NKOTB,
because this album really isn't for any of us.
Fourteen years
after their last album, New Kids on the Block sound like
partially confident college juniors. What other age bracket
would concern itself with the platter of song subjects
here, ranging from declarations of adulthood
("Big Girl Now" and "Grown Man")
to homemade porn recording ("Click Click
Click" and "Lights, Camera, Action")?
Like Justin Timberlake's Justified,
these songs intend to graduate child stars into
throbbing crooners and viable bedroom bandits. But
their earnest efforts shrivel in the lyrics, which are
sometimes just lame ("Gotta know If
you're mad at me / Before Grey's
Anatomy" moans "2 in the Morning,"
while "Dirty Dancing" dares to rhyme
"crazy" with "Swayze") and
sometimes just gross: "Tell me where to kiss
it," goes "Twisted"; "I do the
stunts on my own," brags "Lights,
Camera, Action." Remember, that one's about
sex tapes. Yep.
The first single,
"Summertime," rides on a catchable wave of
nostalgia and seeming harmlessness. The boys
appropriate hip-hop phrasing ("The feeling was
hot / Kissing on you while the ocean rocked") to
dubious avail, and they don't quite sound like
they're being themselves, but the song coolly
embraces their relatively ancient history. They needed more
songs like this to steer them away from sounding far too
much like JT (on "Single" with Ne-Yo,
featuring harmonies unapologetically shanghaied from
recent Timberlake tracks) and too self-serious (the dated
piano ballad "Stare at You").
For all of
NKOTB's attempts to own their sexual identity, The
Block feels commandeered by the
band's production team, which aggressively
shines each track into waxy cohesion. Even as the
album lifts slow-jam beats and flourishes from recent
R&B fare, the album sounds mysteriously retro -- like
leftover tracks from Brian McKnight or Craig David.
The barrage of album guest stars, ranging from the
Pussycat Dolls to Akon, scarcely digs these tracks out
of their void. Current gay diva du jour Lady Gaga comes
closest to adding real spice on "Big Girl
Now," which contains the catchiest cadence on
the album, even if the lyrics slime up the groove.
Considering the
group's intention to sound young and sexy,
it's hard to understand who this album is
intended for. Original NKOTB fans? That can't
be; they're too old for crooning poon talk. Perhaps
the fresh guest stars' presence says more about
this album's key demographic, but even so, the
iPod generation recognizes NKOTB as musical forefathers, not
contemporaries to the current crop of stars. Is anyone
excited about receiving "Full Service"?
Or getting their love "sexified" (on
"Sexify My Love")? Why do these song
titles and lyrics sound so accidentally immature?
The deluxe
edition of The Block actually boasts a few very
good, tasteful tracks. "Officially Over" mines
Nick Lachey territory but remains more memorable (and
likable) than much of the album, and "One
Song" is serviceably danceable. Otherwise, The
Block boorishly straddles the line between sincere
creepiness and unintentional self-parody, when all it really
wants to do is straddle your sorority friends. This time,
the gays should feel privileged in being left out.