On paper, you're on CODY CHESNUTT'S side. An obviously talented musician, this Atlanta, Georgia native seemed to have everything going with his band The Crosswalk, who had completed a debut album for Hollywood Records, before a complicated situation led to the band being dumped and Cody being left holding the baby by his bandmates. Bloodied, but unbowed, he dusted himself down, retreated to his bedroom with his keyboards, guitars and a 4-track to make a resolutely lo-fi return, brimming with honesty. Voila: "The Headphone Masterpiece."
So, in terms of personal endeavour, you're hard put to fault him, but unfortunately "The Headphone Masterpiece" is ultimately one of those 'ideas win out over execution' scenarios, where one too many half-finished song ensures your initial goodwill drains away.
And, while 36 tracks over a generously appointed 2CDS sounds great at face value, the results sprawl like hell and you're very quickly forced into cherry-picking for satisfaction. Like Howe Gelb, it seems Cody has no feel for self-editing and while there are moments when he redeems himself, far too muh of this stuff is superfluous and frustratingly unrealised.
Beginning with the pretty, but brief, Fender Rhodes'n'vocoder "Magic In A Mortal Minute", you soon find out there are too many annoying thumbnail sketches obscuring the real songs. Indeed, if anyone could enlighten me as to why he included gear such as "Setting The System" (keyboard and beatbox bollocks); "The Most Beautiful Shame" (schmaltzy bollocks) and "Enough Of Nothing" (acoustic, cod-philosophical bollocks) then I'd be grateful, as I currently find it mystifying why he should include them for public consumption.
Even more frustrating is when he presents us with something containing real promise (like the funky instrumental "Batman Vs. Blackman" or the sinister "Juicin' The Dark") and either lets it peter out before it's started (the former) or pisses it away like in the latter's case.
However, it's Cody's twin obsessions with the bulge in his kecks and God that really sinks him. The latter I can sorta forgive, and to be fair when he gets tender'n'spiritual (like on "She's Still Here" or "Up In The Treehouse") he can be good, but his sexual prowess does get wearing after a while. It totally spoils some potentially OK tunes like "Boylife In America" ("All I want is pussy, give me some religion") and his collaboration with The Roots on "The Seed", which would otherwise be one of the best things here. However, the expletive count on the shite "Bitch, I'm Broke" is just nauseating and when he's off (again) about sleeping around on "Michelle" you just wish he'd put it away for a while.
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He redeems himself infrequently. When he can be bothered to actually finish a track properly, like on "If We Don't Disagree" or the funked-out "Upstarts In A Blowout" (based on a riff that weirdly apes Big Star's "In The Street" of all things) he's definitely got things going on. He can also startle when he tries something like the kooked-out keyboard grooves of "The World Is Coming To My Party" or takes a gentler, more soulful line on "The Make Up", but you have to wade through a morass of undisciplined, half-cocked, would-be tracks to reach these, so be warned.
I've no doubt Cody Chesnutt could be an important artist, and bits of "The Headphone Masterpiece" are enough for me to (temporarily) reconsider. However, for the most part he's too busy trying to be a low-rent Lenny Kravitz and letting his dick get in the way of the creative process. Try thinking with your pants on, mate: there are a damn sight less complications that way. Take heed.
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