R. Kelly's 'Untitled' isn't a turn-on

Dim the lights and ruffle the sheets: R. Kelly is back, and he wants to get you pregnant. Wait, back that up a bit. It's not every day you come across an album that simultaneously delights and disappoints. Then again, Kelly's "Untitled" is one of a kind. Only a year after his child pornography scandal, Kelly, the Chuck Norris of R&B, continues to boast shamelessly about his sexual libido. Wondering why the album is "Untitled"? Well, that's not difficult to answer: At age 42, Kels has released the lewdest record yet of a far-from-tame career.

But that isn't necessarily a bad thing. Despite his eccentricities, Kelly again proves that he is capable of writing infectious, sexually charged songs.. Kelly's first single, "Number One" featuring Keri Hilson, is skillfully arranged and shines as the most successful track on the album. And he clearly doesn't feel any need to be subtle: "Having sex with you is like makin' hits/ Girl we got egos / They can't tell us that we ain't the shit."

On the other side of the spectrum, "Be My #2" is a funky Jamiroquai-esque tune. And if you don't think too much about the lyrics, its retro flavor is a nice break from the slow jams that dominate most of the album. Even better, "Echo," a mellow ballad about "sex in the morning, sex all day" is pretty catchy - that is, until Kelly starts yodeling. Okay sure, he's got the range to make it work, but that won't stop the average listener from cracking up in the middle of the song. I'm all for creativity and crossing musical boundaries, but R&B yodeling? I've got to draw the line somewhere.

To my great surprise, there are a few genuinely affectionate tracks that avoid the overall old-man creepiness of "Untitled." "Religious" and "Elsewhere" are straight slingshots into the cheesy love anthems of the late '90s. Both songs are classic R. Kelly from the days of "I Believe I Can Fly." But the actually touching lyrics aren't fooling anyone. Two self-consciously serious and middle-aged songs strategically placed near the end of an otherwise raunchy album are a clear sign that Kelly still feels like he has something to prove.

Sadly, the older, wiser Kelly (if such a thing even exists) is constantly drowned out by desperate, "get with the youth" attempts at chart success. "Crazy Night," the opening number, is dripping with Auto-Tune to the point of parody, while "Supaman High," the only real rap song on the album, sounds like a bad homage to Soulja Boy. It's a pretty big step backwards for Kelly, if that's even possible.

As if all of that wasn't already a deal-breaker, Kelly makes a desperate last-minute bid for maturity with the closing track - an epic, six-minute slow jam called (what else?) "Pregnant." Does it sound like Kels is ready for fatherhood? I might believe it if the lyrics didn't spectacularly ruin the mood: "Girl you make me wanna get you pregnant / lay your body down and get you pregnant (knock you up), pregnant (knock you up)." Honestly, I can't imagine that Kelly could take himself seriously with that. And to any male listeners, unless your girlfriend has a great sense of humor, you might want to find a better way to get the message across.

All in all, "Untitled" is a remarkable oddity: both entertaining and appalling at once. Kelly is clearly making the most of his mid-life crisis with more emotionally - and physically - revealing music. But to be honest, I feel the man's beyond judgment at this point; he's become an absurd caricature of himself. You might as well just get the album, have a laugh and get it over with.

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