Don’t Bother, Pussycat.
The pairing of Burt Bacharach (of â€šÃ„ÃºWhatâ€šÃ„Ã´s New, Pussycat?â€šÃ„Ã¹ fame) and Dr. Dre sounds just illogical enough to be genius. Sadly, genius was not to be, as At This Time is just jazzy, overwrought Muzak.Bacharach brings in other famous collaborators, but even Elvis Costello and Rufus Wainwright canâ€šÃ„Ã´t keep this album from sucking. Wainwrightâ€šÃ„Ã´s vocals on â€šÃ„ÃºGo Ask Shakespeareâ€šÃ„Ã¹ are the only pleasant sound on this disc.
Bacharach dips his pinkie toe into politics with â€šÃ„ÃºWho Are These People?â€šÃ„Ã¹ but the track just plays as a mournful lament. When paired with the first two songs on the album, itâ€šÃ„Ã´s really just a huge bummer.
That feeling is only exacerbated by the heavy synthesizer and never-ending cheesy 80â€šÃ„Ã´s background singers. The album might have managed to sound modern despite these outdated elements if not for the tone of Bacharachâ€šÃ„Ã´s lyrics. He mourns the state of current events as if they are passing him by, rather than involving himself as an active member. The â€šÃ„Ãºabout-to-break-into-tearsâ€šÃ„Ã¹ sound isnâ€šÃ„Ã´t one that works in Burtâ€šÃ„Ã´s favor.
On every track the initial beat sounds promising, even funky. But then the piano/synth/strings kick in and shoot that promise all to hell. The album is an emotional rollercoaster in more than one way, as every song sounds good for at least thirty seconds before dying a fiery death.
Hereâ€šÃ„Ã´s a sample of lyrics from the albumâ€šÃ„Ã´s first track, â€šÃ„ÃºPlease Explain,â€šÃ„Ã¹ that pretty accurately sum up the album: â€šÃ„Ãºthe sun and the moon/are crying/the stars in our hearts/crying/please explain/fathers/mothers/crying/sisters/brothers/crying/please explain/please explain.â€šÃ„Ã¹