Sweat Suit

The sleeve folds out into a poster of Nelly with his bling on display – talk about rubbing it in. It’s suspicious that he released two albums simultaneously last autumn, one representing his street side, the other his smooth side. And it’s disgraceful to combine the best songs eight months later with Sweat Suit, just to squeeze every last penny possible. But then to show off that fans’ hard-earned cash is going towards his jewellery collection? Discretion seems lost on him.
So much so, that it’s tempting not to be taken in by the offering. But the very reason he’s got so many followers to take advantage of is the man knows how to write a tune. The cream-skimmed nature of the album helps show this – for starters we have former single ‘My Place’, which slinks on over into Usher’s territory and wins his girlfriend over with some sly moves. And then, as the scene changes to the dancefloor of a sweaty, underground club for ‘Flap Your Wings’, Nelly’s distinctive holler woos the ladies in a less subtle way: “Drop down and get your eagle on, girl”, he repeatedly requests. Meeting Pharrell Williams, Christina Aguilera, Snoop Dogg and others on the way, he closes with ‘River Don’t Runnn’, which displays an anthemic reggae chorus as big as the expanse between LA and Jamaica.
Had Nelly released this to begin with, he could have been perceived as the most important urban act this decade. But now he’s either a money-hungry fool who’s forgotten his roots or under the thumb of his record company, neither of which bode well.