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National Features

  • Village Voice
    A Long Way Wrong?

    Another celebrated memoir threatens to blow into a million little pieces.

    By Graham Rayman
  • LA Weekly
    Hoop Dawg

    Billionaire Donald T. Sterling owns the L.A. Clippers and loves the ladies. And those are just two of his problems.

    By Patrick Range McDonald
  • The Pitch
    Children of the Porn

    Elvin Boone's sex-shop empire crumbles as his offspring feud.

    By Justin Kendall
  • Westword
    The Good Soldier

    When the Army tried to take down Andrew Pogany, they messed with the wrong coward.

    By Joel Warner

So retro it's alternative, Discipline is a busy, padded album about control and surrender. Like many of Janet Jackson's other CDs, it's awash with drum machines, big, synthesized beats, and cooing choruses on steroids. Jackson's voice, as usual, isn't distinctive. But armed with production help from Jermaine Dupri, Rodney Jerkins, and Ne-Yo, she turns in a professional if unexciting record. The between-song patter will drive you nuts — her handlers apparently told her faking party scenes in these strained interludes would be cool — but turns by guitarist Ernie Isley and booty-shaker Missy Elliott provide occasional style and humor. Repetition capsizes "Rollercoaster" (ever think of love that way before? Originality still hasn't visited Jackson), "Rock With U," and "What's Ur Name," but "2Nite" is sexy and dramatic, "Greatest X" has actual progressions, and "Can't B Good," vapid lyrics aside, has a groove. Expectations may still dog Jackson nearly 20 years after she peaked with Rhythm Nation, but she seems content to release this sort of album — counting on naughty graphics, her buff body, and well-worn rhythmic tropes to appease whatever audience she has left.

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