As a thought experiment, it's fun to imagine how classic Prince records might sound to fresh ears, to guess how "Kiss" and "I Would Die 4 U" and "1999" might be received by someone raised in the Spotify era. He's a notoriously streaming-unfriendly artist, after all, and even as his reputation looms larger than ever, his art has become more difficult to obtain. What would someone vaguely familiar with the legend but completely new to the music discover? Well, a millions things obviously—a particular melodic sensibility, the urge to continually reinvent, the indelible stories, his undeniable chops, a restless creativity. But in concrete terms, Prince's best work took new, unfamiliar paths to familiar feelings. Established song forms rebuilt the "wrong" way, Prince's discography has a stiff, funky, uncanny-valley relationship with the pop that came before.
And this is why HITNRUN Phase Two is an underwhelming entry in the artist formerly known as the Artist Formerly Known as Prince's canon. Relative to the idiosycratic and all-over-the place first iteration of the HITNRUN series, Phase Two is an organic-textured, polished, and predictable release. From beginning to end, Prince seems more interested in establishing his proficiency with pop forms, demonstrating his facility with the materials to craft, as it were, a sturdy wooden table. Rather than an artist's interpretation, we get a craftman's tracing.
This is in part due to the absence of Joshua Welton, formerly of forgotten R&B group Fatty Koo. Welton co-produced the bulk of the first HITNRUN album, accenting it with EDM flourishes in a way that felt mildly adventurous. Without them, the record feels bland. But ultimately it's a lack of ideas that sinks this record, a point which hits home every time these songs overtly or subliminally recall one song or another in pop music history. Whether the references are knowing (a nod to Prince's own "Kiss" partway through dancefloor record "Stare") or simply dial up favorites from R&B's celestial jukebox (the extended highlight "Groovy Potential" surely recalls Oliver Cheatham's "Get Down Saturday Night"), the songs rarely cohere into unique shapes. Or when they do, there's something quaint and mediated about the whole ordeal: the swaggering protagonists of "Stare," ("Now we got the sound that's popping in the street") may have the "party going ham" but the strutting feels calculated and theatrical.
We also get the waltz of "When She Comes," like an action-figure version of Otis Redding's "I've Got Dreams to Remember," or the ludicrous chorus of garage-rock vehicle "Screwdriver," which was first premiered in 2013 and could have been written for the Hives. Lyrics tend to be forgettably symbolic; "I'm in the big city when I'm in your arms." I mean, sure? This is perhaps most jarring on topical opener "Baltimore," which not only strikes a bum note tonally—the reassuriningly jaunty vibe is miles away from "Alright"—but just seems lazy: "We're tired of crying, and people dying/ Let's take all the guns away." OK, so no one needs Prince to offer policy positions, but in contrast with even the hippy idealism of his incredible '90s anti-gun anthem "Love Sign," "Baltimore" suggests complete creative fatigue.
The redeeming moments are ones which make some unpredictable moves—any shocks are welcome on a record as polite and poised as this. Near the end comes "Revelation," a spare version of an Isley Brothers-style ballad which holds attention by withholding. Prince's vocal performance has a touching grace, but what makes the song work is its subversive refusal to entirely exist: it feels like a shadow. But perhaps the album's true star is "Xtraloveable," a silly record with an amusing chorus conceit: "Whenever you need someone to take a shower with, call me up, please." It strikes a rare relatable-goofy balance, and like 2014's "Breakfast Can Wait" or 2015's "1000 X's and O's," this gives the record some weight and substance. It's a bit odd to imagine that shower sex is the most exciting part of Prince's day—after all, he's still a superstar living in a $10 million Paisley Park estate—but no reason not to take what you can get.
