Significantly shorter than his marathon freshman and sophomore albums, Cherry Bomb is still a mess of noise and unintelligible rhymes. So why am I already on my second listen?
Possibly because I know there is a good record somewhere in there, I can hear all the right elements, but there is just something...off.
I think this review got it right: He can’t make a pretty beat without offsetting it with a shrill one. He can’t let a song clock a clean three minutes; he has to draw it out with meandering, joyless skits. And, most frustratingly, even though he’s toned down some of his shock-rap impulses, he still punctuates his verses with the noxious sign-off “faggot.” Even at his most pleasant, he can’t resist leaving a foul taste behind.
Give it a listen for yourself or if you're feeling wealthy, grab it on iTunes.