Bobby Brown My Prerogative (1988)

“Candy Girl” shunted and King of Stage (1986) forgotten, with this single Brown willfully sought to mature his new jack swagger out of the doldrums by sidelining Don’t Be Cruel (1988) producers L.A. Reid and Babyface in favor of new jack swing godfather Teddy Riley and producer Gene Griffin. Lyrically, the song is all about Brown’s wicked ultra bad-boy image -- the same one that ex-New Edition producer Maurice Starr would attempt to outdo the same year with Donnie “he’s hanging from the train’s ceiling!” Walhberg -- and also, of course, his attempt to jump on the bandwagon of Michael Jackson’s wicked new R&B trope: don’t talk about the money or business of stars. Does it even need to be mentioned that “Gossip Folks” is the only song that has ever made this kind of shit work? Musically, though, it’s hard to deny the pinball pinions of the music, collapsing soul, hip hop, and R&B together in that now-familiar new jack style. Blurping synth lines end in faux-scratching, drum machines are stark and quarter-note pinned (kick/snare/kick/snare), and Brown raps badly over a vocoder. It’s the chorus we come back for, all robot angst and grinding vocals. And fine, I can’t resist: uh…Bobby? I know it was 1988, and I know it was your money, but you really shouldn’t have spent it on all those pairs of severely pleated pants.

Janet Jackson Escapade (1989)

Ex-the Time band mates Jimmy Jam (James Harris III) and Terry Lewis pulled a fascinating turn from Control (1986), honing music to match Jackson’s new, stark political image. Janet Jackson’s Rhythm Nation 1814 (1989), whatever its faults, was a pop star bombshell when it came out, even if Jackson realized her audience would only have the patience to sit through three or four tracks about a cosmic 1990s future where everybody dressed like they were in an Air Force funk squad. “Escapade,” cloistered near the back to keep it as far away from the serious business of the front half as possible, is one of the finest exercises in melody that exists, and more discerning listeners will know that pretty much every Jackson single of any worth since has followed the exact same formula: un-grooved intro, drums kick in, frank and conversational lyrics about how Jackson needs somebody to love, semi-related pre-chorus about finding solace in this relationship, semi-related chorus where the title of the song is sung. All the way up the “Ventura Highway.” “Escapade” is the tonic of Jackson’s musical existence: the faux-classical string synths that open with the pre-chorus’s melody (that wonderful, brilliant pop melody) haven’t quite aged well, but the sustained cymbal wash that spirals over the slightly modified kick/snare quarter-note bonanza, the hiccupping bass undercupping the part where a chorus of Janets gate out “Es / Ca / Pade,” and that flourishing hit that punctuates lines like a tricked-out period...all perfect. Cash your paychecks and get down.

Young MC Bust A Move (1989)

To every white college kid who learned the lyrics to this song and sang it at bars when it came on and thought “hey -- I can rap” or, worse, decided they should sing it at karaoke? This song is like the elephant in the room of your life. And, no mistake, it’s a fun song, and a room of kids screaming “yellow” and “hello” at one another before swigging their drinks again? Priceless. Kind of pathetic, but priceless all the same. Anyway, you know the drill: pedestrian rhymes of every salt-of-the-earth sexist-but-not-overtly-malicious assumptions “the fellas” have about “the ladies” are arranged by Marvin Young to map out a basic plan of attack for men (possibly the geeky kind) to get laid: get money, get attention, bust a move. Which begs the question: why is it always guys singing this song to other guys? It’s like a fratboy HoYay! apocalypse whenever it plays. In fact, I heartily suggest you all hit the local college pub and watch two drunk guys scream, “there’s one more girl you won’t be getting!” at one another while grinning like idiots. Could it actually be that this song is entirely responsible for a lot of people not getting laid?

Bel Biv Devoe Poison (1990)

Another too-sincere and therefore hilarious assessment of the evils of women, peppered with hilarious inconsistencies -- the first verse is warning the “girl” against the singer’s strange mind, while the rest is about how the girl is “poison”? Who’s actually bad? “Poison” might just musicially be the best thing new jack swing ever had to offer. I mean, why is this not universally considered the most awesome track of the ‘90s? The only place I’ve heard it (besides my house) is Big Primpin’, the local GLBT hip hop night. It kills there, everybody screaming “never trust a big butt and a smile,” everybody just tweaking on that wicked drum sample. Ex-Brown New Edition associates completely failed to capitulate on their image anywhere but with this, their first single. But even if people remember Turk doing this more than Rickey Bell, Michael Bivins, and Ronnie DeVoe, the song is way better than the cultural novelty it’s been relegated to. Well, maybe not DeVoe’s rap. But Dr. Freeze’s use of Kool G. Rap is delicious, and that bass line under the chorus after the break is better than anything on OK Computer.

Color Me Badd All 4 Love (1991)

Likely intended as the epitome of the “typical” (read: Hollywood inculcated) female fantasy, and almost certainly concocted to fill some bullshit focus group demographic lacuna not currently occupied by the New Kids on the Block juggernaut, Color Me Badd might just be the cheesiest band that has ever existed. They were doggedly promoted throughout the early ‘90s; it’s quite hilarious in hindsight, actually, when you consider that “I Wanna Sex You Up” is the most well known track from the New Jack City soundtrack, or you note the obvious concentration the actors of Beverly Hills 90210 had to employ to act like Color Me Badd was the bestest thing ever. And then there’s the way they united a triptych of romantic manliness with a brilliant marketing plan. Single one: sex us up, even though “I Wanna Sex U Up”’s sex is more chaste than Mischa “Marissa Cooper” Barton’s brief fling with lesbianism, done in secret (“disconnect the phone”), and physically inconceivable (are they asleep or what?). Single two: “I Ador Mi Amor,” but the name doesn’t matter; it’s a ballad and it’s vaguely Latin. Single three, “All 4 Love,” panders to sentiment, but it’s still my favorite of the three, falling neatly into a short list of unintentionally awesome tracks that meld brilliant pop R&B (here chopped into new jack swing) with the silliest lyrics imaginable. Read as camp, this is the best kind of pop single, and is far more comical than Milli Vanilli could ever hope to be. I’ll leave you with the words of Kevin Thorton: “I like a girl that loves romance. Someone I can cherish, hold and who doesn’t mind taking walks with me on the beach, or even gazing into my eyes underneath a starlit night as I read her poetry and express exactly what she means to me.” Hee. That “bad” really does need the extra “d,” what?

Another Bad Creation Iesha (1991)

If all they get is “better than Kriss Kross” as their legacy, well, what can you do? What’s with the Cleopatra fanfare at the beginning? What’s with the awesome paint covered overalls? Where’d you meet? “At the playground…y’know!” I love it when the newspaper in the video says “second verse” right after Michael Bivins says “second verse” while sitting all casual being interviewed mid-song about how great these kids were. I mean, sure, Diana Ross presents the Jackson 5 (1969) started this trend, but not like this: Bivins says “all you people out there riding in cars”; the video flashes to the group driving go-carts. Chris Sellers, Dave Shelton, Romell "RoRo" Chapman, G.A. Austin, and brothers Marliss and Demetrius Pugh may have been cuter than they were talented, but their story is kind of tragic: they never get the girl. Tears. Seriously, people. When one of the kids tells Dallas Austin to flip the track? The ryh -- the ryh -- the ryh -- the ryh --

Mary J. Blige Real Love (1992)

Mark C. Rooney and Mark “Prince Markie Dee” Morales transform the wicked drum groove from Audio Two’s “Top Billin’” into something sentimental, but no matter how romantic this song is it won’t erase the way those horn synths encroach the panned channels like the song is being strangled. And that might be the reason this song was so affecting: it’s pretty, but everything that surrounds it gives it a quiet edge, pushing Blige’s vocals upwards above the storm. The piano sample looks patently ludicrous when laid across the stark post-Ryhthm Nation world of the video, produced at the height of baseball jersey etiquette. There isn’t a whole lot to say about this song, really. It warmed the radio waves for hip hop, it gave soul music an edge it hadn’t had since Ann Peebles (who would get her own retconning a couple years later on the Missy/Timbaland joint “The Rain”), and though Blige is only one person, this turfs any En Vogue-ism you can name. Except maybe “Whatta Man.”

Salt 'N Pepa None of Your Business (1993)

Cheryl James, Sandra Denton, and Deidre Roper are the shit when it comes to making politics fun to dance to. The video sort of pretends this is a “My Prerogative” kind of jam, but really it’s much simpler than a lash out at the media: “opinions are like assholes and everybody’s got one.” People hummed and hawed over the mud wrestling or the sex of the video, missing the point: the female body, like any body, interracial relationships, hairstyles, fucking, leopard print underwear, and homosexuality, isn’t up for debate or surveillance. Simultaneously the most confrontational political and engagingly funky of Salt N’ Pepa’s tracks, even Spinderella’s verse is pretty decent. Plus, she’s the funniest to watch in video, completely sincerely licking her fingers and waving them over her nipples while her body moves like she’s been possessed. How could anybody watch this and not get that they’re making fun of this shit? People also argue over whether Very Necessary (1993) sold out the promise of Blacks’ Magic (1990) for commercial success, but “None of Your Business” is a brilliant culmination of the process through which these women, led by James, took hold of the reigns of the group (1986). This ain’t no “Push It.”

TLC Creep (1994)

The horns that open the track are recognizable anywhere, and the track itself, while shedding the brilliant fun of earlier singles like “Baby Baby Baby” and “What About Your Friends,” displays the vast growth of Dallas Austin’s production style. Austin also wrote the song, which does nothing to explain the cache he wields with Orrin Hatch, but in any case the track tells an eye-for-an-eye story where Tionne “T-Boz” Watkins reveals that she knows her man is cheating on her, so she cheats on him. Watkins’s low voice was a huge boon for the group; doubled with Rozonda “Chilli” Thomas’s soulful croon, the vocal range of TLC was insane. And while Thomas can sing well (see “No Scrubs”) her ability to riff around the melody and raise the song from the murky depths of Watkin’s voice was the hallmark of the classic TLC single. Here, that triple “oh / ah” is punctuated by the horn samples that flutter all over the stereo range, and the absence of a Lisa “Left Eye” Lopes rap keeps the focus on the claustrophobic production. In 1994 this was pretty radical shit (“If he knew the things I did / he couldn’t handle it / and I choose to keep him protected”) wrapped into a new jack swing package that was in the process of molting, hinting at the kind of music that would follow.

Mariah Carey Fantasy (1995)

And new jack swing matures. By the time “Fantasy” was released hip hop proper was beginning to receive more widespread play on popular radio, and the trappings of R&B were no longer necessary to make hip hop palatable for a commercial audience. Meanwhile, Missy Elliot and Timbaland’s first album was just around the corner, and the Backstreet Boys and others were hot on those heels. The rock insurgence begun by Nevermind (1991) was subsiding, and so the mid-1990s was a strange spot where almost any kind of music could be and was played on the radio and at video dances. “Fantasy” was the first indication of what Color Me Badd promised: that new jack swing was destined to grow old with its audience as commercial hip hop took root in culture, no matter what “No Diggity,” released the same year by Teddy Riley’s new group Blackstreet, would have you believe. The song itself is mindless fun, murder on a dance floor, and full of Carey’s trademark higher-than-heaven vocals. The drums and guitar are pure funk-fueled new jack swing, but check the Dre G-funk (1992) accents in the corners. Too old to rock and roll and too young to die, this is how new jack swing ended up: just another “Escapade” with updated production. If you can lodge this track into a well prepared set at just the right moment? It’s the best dance song ever.