The-Dream's first three albums—in particular, his 2007 debut Love/Hate—relied upon a delicate balance of songcraft with the singer/songwriter's foibles and quirks. There was a playfulness to his best songs which never undercut their sincere emotional power; if anything, the tossed-off lyrics enhanced that power, his irreverence contrasting starkly with the song's overwhelming emotional intensity. This was a skill he channeled from R. Kelly, executed in a more modern style; by the time R. Kelly released the obviously The-Dream-inspired "Echo" in 2010, the snake was eating his own tail, a tribute to The-Dream's ability to adapt an established dynamic to create something genuinely new.
But The-Dream spent the past five years slipping from that sweet spot of effortless transcendence: there's a sharp divide between The-Dream songs which work, and those that don't, and the latter category stacked some substantial gains over the course of the 2010s. Perhaps buying into the hype around his steadily growing stanbase and critical acclaim, he abandoned the high-pressure lottery of hits-first craftsmanship and tilted autobiographical, personal. But The-Dream is not a charismatic personality, and after he was caught cheating on his then-wife Christina Milian, he wasn't a sympathetic one either. As cruel as it sounds, perhaps it wasn't Terius his fans loved; it was his work, his melodic sense, his intuitive sensibilities and unpretentious workmanship.
Chastened, The-Dream's deft "That's My Shit" is a return to that just-right poise of the serious and silly. The beat is understated, a two-tone stop-start organ tiptoeing forward on synthesized finger snaps, his protagonist's confidence underlined by the "Yup!" vocal interjections in the background. For the dancer, its use of space allows for a freer range of motion. The melody is equally relaxed, a barely-there nursery rhyme that taunts his target until the reassuring piano tones anchor his certainty at the chorus. But what makes "That's My Shit" so singular is the way The-Dream conveys an unconventional theme with emotional precision. The conviction with which he sings "I know how to push that button, trust me y'all just fuckin'" is funny, yet he is unafraid to let his heart show—boldly "catching feelings."
The rest of The Crown EP does not thread the needle quite so gracefully. "Prime" is an example of one such failure: The-Dream is at his best when he isolates and emphasizes the familiar. But where "That's My Shit" epitomizes the bulletproof swagger of romantic confidence, "Prime" feels distant: Convincing a future lover of your value typically requires a bit more show-don't-tell than "I know you think you're out of my league/ But I'm trying to tell you girl, I'm in my prime." Even if interpreted as internal monologue, "Prime" suggests uncertainty and insecurity—relatable emotions, maybe, but not ones you'd sing about with pride.
In part, the misses might be a product of the format: "All I Need" links to "Fruition" like the infamous "Yamaha"-"Nikki Part 2"-"Abyss" triptych of Love King, but on a 6-track record, it feels forced, his old ambitions with R&B form reduced to mannerism. There's always been a certain degree of generosity to The-Dream's work, a feeling that one hook wasn't enough, that Tricky Stewart's production would be lusher and more ornamental, each record a compact snow globe of ideas and emotions. Yet closer "Cedes Benz" feels like a product of pressure. Each of its disparate parts—the grinding aggro opener, the menacing second act, the sensuous slow jam—feel undercooked, repetitious, combined in the hopes that no one would recognize the reheated elements interspersed throughout. It's not entirely empty of ideas, but the good ones are buried.
"Fruition" feels like the rare middleweight The-Dream track: held together entirely by a perfect guitar loop repeated as if it were a memory, an average song is redeemed by a single melody. "All I Need", however, almost lives up to our memory of The-Dream's earliest peaks, compelling and grandiose: it is unafraid to fail, to overreach. And in that ambition, it wrings more from the formula The-Dream approached on records like Love vs. Money's "Fancy". It points to a key strength of The-Dream's songwriting. While we may never have really understood him, it was that yearning to be understood that his music so evocatively conveys: a willingness to risk embarrassment in an effort to convey human emotion through the boldest possible gestures.
