Son of a Preacher Man

“Here’s something soothing, something groovy, something new, something old, something for everyone”, declares the oh so modest introduction to Wyclef’s latest offering. And while it certainly ain’t all that, this is an entertaining enough effort from the former Fugee.
Never earning quite the same critical praise as old mucker Lauryn Hill, the affable Mr. Jean has always enjoyed having fun with his pop-reggae side as well as maintaining his more ‘serious’ hip-hop roots. So it is here, the album kicking off with ‘Industry’, a lament about the genre’s high profile victims and a sermon on the need to lose some of the old bling bling, which then leads into single ‘Party To Damascus’, sounding like he’s having a blast as he gets his freak on with Missy Elliott (who still seems to be milking that sitar sound for all its worth).
‘Grateful’ sees Wyclef reasserting his background as a Fugee on the streets, showing that despite the earlier sermon he’s keen to remind us he’s still a hard man. Yawn. ‘Baby Daddy’ meanwhile comes on like an alternative take on ‘Billie Jean’ (“I may not be your father but I’m the closest thing to it”). The mix of styles and moods keeps things moving along, and at one stage he even manages a just about passable Curtis Mayfield impression.
However the sheer amount of collaborators he hauls in here does suggest a lack of ideas, and in places the album fizzles out badly. I can’t be the only one sick to death of hearing Carlos Santana replicate that same bloody guitar sound on every song he does (he’s here on ‘Three Nights In Rio’), while the almost-novelty ‘Party By The Sea’ with Buju Banton is just plain horrible.