All the King’s Men Can’t Help

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MICHAEL JACKSON

“Invincible”

Epic

Ever since the unprecedented success of 1982’s “Thriller,” Michael Jackson has tried to find magic and symbolism in one-word album titles. There was “Bad,” then “Dangerous” and even “HIStory.” So it’s not surprising that he turns to the formula once again with his first collection of new material in six years, which is due in stores Tuesday.

The title can be seen as a statement to those who have questioned the self-proclaimed King of Pop’s creative and commercial standing during all the image-bruising, tabloid scrutiny he’s undergone since “Thriller.”

But the music itself is anything but invincible.

Jackson has enlisted enough co-writers to fill a city bus, but they haven’t helped him recapture the vitality and command that made the highlights of his work with Quincy Jones on “Off the Wall” and “Thriller” seem so urgent.

There are some inspired moments in the 77-minute collection, but there are also stretches that are sappy, derivative and labored. The excesses show what happens when you have an unlimited budget, no time constraints and an uncertain vision.

Rodney Jerkins, the young producer who has served up hits for Whitney Houston and Jennifer Lopez with the ease of a flapjack cook, helps Jackson get off to a winning start. His rhythm track on “Unbreakable” is so striking that savvy stereo retailers could use it to demonstrate the wonders of their latest sound systems.

“Heartbreaker” and the title song are also sonic marvels that lead us to think Jackson has thrown away some of the security blankets he’s held onto since “Thriller,” and moved into daring new territory. His singing is sassy, defiant and forceful. If “Invincible” had continued on this dynamic path, the album might have been a 31/2-star project.

But any chance of that rating evaporates the moment you hear “Break of Dawn.” In that song and others, Jackson rests his comeback on his least convincing persona: lover boy.

“Break of Dawn,” a love song with the breathless, quivering vocal that has become an annoying Jackson trademark, and “Heaven Can Wait,” a tale about turning away an angel who comes to take him to heaven because he wants to stay with his darling, seem aimed at the lower end of ‘N Sync’s fan base--a difficult stretch for a man of 43.

Other songs that also deal with puppy love are as woefully generic as their titles. The one about romantic jitters is called “Butterflies.” The one about being tongued-tied by love is titled “Speechless.”

In the midst of this emotional abyss, Jackson connects marvelously with co-producer Teddy Riley on “2000 Watts,” a celebration of dance music’s therapeutic powers that should be a club anthem for months.

But the remaining tracks revisit familiar territory with varying effectiveness. “You Rock My World” is old-school Jackson, and “Privacy” is yet another slap at prying media eyes. R. Kelly’s “Cry” fills the social commentary role of “Man in the Mirror.”

“The Lost Children,” one of only two songs that Jackson wrote on his own, is an ultra-sensitive expression of concern about young people in need, but the good intentions are sabotaged by a heavy-handed arrangement.

So how did Jackson get from the command of “Thriller” to the uncertainty of “Invincible”?

In “Off the Wall” and “Thriller,” Jackson proved both an inspiring artist and a crafty hit-maker. But he seems to have become so absorbed by the hit-making side that selling records became more important than the artistry. He most certainly wanted to make the best records he could, but he also seemed to tailor the music to fit demographics and trends.

Facing enormous, self-imposed pressure each time he steps into the studio, Jackson has gotten further and further from the innocence and joy that gave the early work such power and appeal.

The question is whether it’s even possible for him to regain that focus.

Robert Hilburn

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LENNY KRAVITZ

“Lenny”

Virgin

Lenny Kravitz needs to get out more. Out of the recording studio, that is. For his sixth album (in stores Tuesday), the multitalented musician wrote, sang, arranged, produced and played virtually every instrument on all 12 selections. An impressive feat, certainly, but one that left him with no one to recommend he take most of these sophomoric songs back to the woodshed for more honing.

Perhaps he was too busy playing all those instruments to spend any time polishing what he had to say. So we’re stuck with high-school poetry that rarely rises above this gem from “Yesterday Is Gone”: “The one thing constant is that there is always change/Not everything in life is meant to last.” And not everything committed to a songwriter’s notebook is meant to see the light of day.

Musically there’s some tasty work, like the glistening rock-funk pulse of “Believe in Me,” the chunky hip-hop/metal groove of “Pay to Play,” and the loping, Grateful Dead/Band blues-rock churn of “A Million Miles Away.” But those dippy lyrics keep cropping up.

The ghosts of John Lennon, Sly Stone and Elvis Costello obviously still haunt Kravitz, but evidently not enough to spur him to get a little help from some friends.

Randy Lewis

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JERMAINE DUPRI

“Instructions”

So So Def/Columbia

As a producer for Xscape, Mariah Carey and TLC, among others, Jermaine Dupri has created a buoyant rhythmic bounce that has streaked across the urban music landscape like a sonic boom.

As a solo performer, he represents the triumph of the crude. Dupri’s new album (due in stores Tuesday) sounds like a desperate grasp for credibility from an artist who’s afraid of being elbowed out of the teen-culture loop. “Instructions” is so intent on promoting the “playa” lifestyle that instead of songs, it offers laundry lists of luxury items, sybaritic activities and sexual conquests that quickly curdle into self-parody.

“Instructions” leans too hard on a single rhythmic template--a processional beat topped with a shimmering high-hat, with Dupri rough-riding along to the bump and grind. But the album’s worst offense isn’t even its anemic hip-hop. It’s the endless, humorless, interstitial “skits” that lard the record. This kind of thing should have gone out with gold chains and Kangol hat. “Instructions” sounds half-cocked, a joy ride running on fumes.

Marc Weingarten

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THREE 6 MAFIA

“Choices: The Soundtrack”

Hypnotize Minds/Loud

The sonic accompaniment to the debut movie from hit rap group Three 6 Mafia comes out Tuesday as an explosive, 21-cut album that deserves the kind of warning found at roller coasters: The faint of heart should not proceed.

The Memphis sextet and assorted friends rap over whirlwinds of violent noise that will likely scare the daylights out of the meek. “Shootin’ First,” featuring Mafia members Gangsta Boo and Crunchy Black, lets listeners know that this collective remains on the offensive as it navigates the deadly streets depicted in the movie, out on DVD and video Nov. 6 and among the strongest of the many released by hip-hop acts. Producers-rappers DJ Paul and Juicy “J” create searing, assaulting beats.

Project Pat, who plays one of the movie’s villains, shows that his bad-guy tendencies aren’t limited to the screen with the rough “Ridin’ on Chrome.” Three 6 Mafia takes a slight detour from its ominous sound to promote hip-hop’s latest craze, the two-way pager, on the confrontational “2 Way Freak.” Here, Paul, “J” and La Chat relay their annoyance with unsolicited correspondents. Don’t page them. They’ll page you.

Soren Baker

* * * LE TIGRE

“Feminist Sweepstakes”

Mr. Lady

In a climate in which women artists trade more on their bodies than their brains or any real musical talent, it’s refreshing to hear an intelligent and opinionated band put its music where its mind is. With its second full-length release, this New York City trio further refines the beatbox feminism of its self-titled 1999 debut.

Led by Riot Grrrl pioneer Kathleen Hanna, “Feminist Sweepstakes” picks up where that movement left off in the ‘90s, weighing in on the lack of advancement in women’s issues and encouraging women to wake up to the cultural brainwashing that oppresses them, instead of willingly buying into it.

Musically, the group is more Casio than punk-rock, although it hasn’t entirely ditched its paint-chipped and stickered guitars. Vocals volley between hysterical rants and a demure sort of sing-speak that seems to represent how women are expected to behave. As much a musical manifesto as a call to action, the group’s message is sometimes stronger than its music. But more often than not, Le Tigre’s attempts at the tricky fusion of girl politics, electronica and grungy guitar-rock come together beautifully.

Whether the group is sampling snippets from a lesbian protest march or slow-grooving about society’s relentless need to pigeonhole, Le Tigre is a rare band--one that inspires listeners not only to dance but to think. Susan Carpenter

In Brief

* * Erick Sermon, “Music,” J. This rap legend’s recently sluggish solo career was resurrected by the late Marvin Gaye last summer when Sermon culled some unused vocals by the legendary singer for his popular “Music” single. On his fourth album (due Tuesday), Sermon (who was hospitalized earlier this month in an apparent suicide attempt) relies on the tried-and-true formula he first used for success in the 1980s with the duo EPMD. Sermon’s easygoing, brag-heavy rapping is highlighted by clever references to current events, while his neck-snapping, funk-drenched beats remain bass-heavy and irresistible.

S.B.

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Albums are rated on a scale of one star (poor), two stars (fair), three stars (good) and four stars (excellent). The albums are already released unless noted.