On 'Love/Hate II,' The-Dream Is Still Horny, Still Chasing the Ghost of Platinum Past
Thirteen years later, The-Dream returns to his defining work, only to discover it takes more than a masterpiece to build a franchise.
Previously on Love/Hate...
In an industry full of horny ass niggas, The-Dream might be the horniest.
He’s the creepy groomsman scrolling OnlyFans at the wedding.
He’s the hotel guest demanding a late checkout for all the wrong reasons.
Pick any storage closet in Madison Square Garden, and at least two of his nine children were conceived there. And when the Ying Yang Twins set aside their drinks to whisper, “Wait ‘til you see my dick,” it was at the behest of one Terius Nash until proven otherwise.
It’s been 13 years since the nine-time Grammy Award winner blessed us with a major label studio album. (2013’s IV Play was indeed that shit.) But if you think he spent all that time away from the microphone twiddling his thumbs, you’d be sadly mistaken.
He dropped three projects during his supposed hiatus—with his Ménage à Trois: Sextape a bit bloated at 40 songs—and sprinkled his bedroom bravado onto albums from Diddy, Kanye, and every other equally problematic artist in the niggaverse.
But let’s not act like his pen hasn’t been penning this entire time too—as evidenced by his latest sensual assault, Beyoncé’s “Morning Dew (Donk).”
So now that he’s tended to his kingdom, it’s finally time to drop a new album and reclaim his libido-shaped throne. The only question is whether his crown still fits.
Previously on Love/Hate...
Sequels create expectations, and it’s clear that the intent behind Love/Hate II is to revisit what many consider the pinnacle of his career: his debut album, Love/Hate. But while I can personally attest that its lead single, “Shawty Is a 10,” had the clubs in a headlock back in 2007, “Bring That Body”—his reintroduction to the algorithm—fails to recapture that alchemy.
Its plodding bassline and monosyllabic chorus—in which The-Dream goes full Mortal Kombat to lure his prey “over heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeere” from “that fake nigga over there”—haven’t exactly endeared themselves to his audience, with many flooding Blue Ivy’s internet to file their grievances. I, however, am on the opposite end of that spectrum and appreciate the seductive minimalism lurking beneath his autotuned exterior.
But therein lies the problem: Love/Hate II asks ardent fans to ignore the artist he’s become in favor of revisiting the artist he used to be. This framing requires us to embrace two contradictory ideas at once: acknowledge his artistic evolution while expecting him to be the artist he’s no longer capable of being.
That’s what we call self-sabotage.
That’s not to say Love/Hate II doesn’t have its moments. “24/7” is The-Dream at his dirty macking, dry humping best, and he almost sticks the landing on “Obviously/Juxtapose,” which attempts to shoehorn his “Yamaha”/“Nikki Pt. 2”/“Abyss” trilogy into two acts. But for the most part, this album is a recycle bin of melodies and motifs he perfected years ago.
This is reinforced by the fact that “State of Peaches” literally sounds like a reference track, with some of the most atrocious squawking in the history of Western civilization.
That makes Love/Hate II a disappointment on its own merits, but even more discouraging in the context of a sequel.
Joker: Folie à Deux wasn’t it either.
The-Dream will forever remain a first-ballot Hall of Fame pervert and one of my all-time favorite artists, but at this point, he’s become more like comfort food. Every now and then, he’ll surprise us with a bop. “Cedes Benz (Queen & Slim Version)” and “Gorgeous” immediately come to mind.
But you already know how McDonald’s fries taste.
I just wish he’d come to the same conclusion.