“Club Can’t Handle Me” – Review Of Flo Rida’s Only One Flo (Part 1)

12.08.10 7 years ago 12 Comments

Flo Rida’s relationship with Hip-Hop is parallel to the ones found in the social structure of high school. Whereas the pretty and popular can go on to be overweight, public servants, the modest members of the student body tend to venture out for notable impacts in the world. Virtually nothing the stocky rapper from the sunny peninsula accomplishes gets recognized in the rap world, yet he’s able to hoist “Grammy-Nominated,” “platinum” and “record-breaking” in the loopholes of his belt. Unflinchingly refusing to tamper with an operable formula, the radio magnet’s third album, the abbreviated Only One Flo (Part 1), finds the Flo taking his talents to South Beach without worrying about pesky details like substance or subject matter.

Being that this is his third lap around the track, the influenza Flo Rida spreads through his speakers has become a well documented strand. Molding his motto after C.R.E.A.M., it’s ultimately clubs and not cash that rule the world of Flo Rida. Drawing his strength from house and techno remixers like David Guetta and Dr. Luke, Only One Flo (Part 1) carries distinctive pop elements that even the glitziest of rap albums can’t identify with. Incorporating a delirium of synthesizers and keyboards injected with BPM steroids, “Club Can’t Handle Me” is an absolute monster of a dance track. Its 2nd cousin, “Turn Around (5,4,3,2,1),” borrows some calamity from the immortal “Din Daa Daa” and Yello’s “Oh Yeah” to increase his omnipresence on Euro dance floors. Not too hard to guess the trend with this guy.

The obvious drawback to The Flo Rida Show is the sacrificed creativity offered to the pop gods. His voice and delivery act as instruments in their own right but incoherent verses primarily targeted at directing booties can become a trite experience if you’re not into raves while being high on ecstasy. The lame ode-to-legalization–“21” comes off creepy and doesn’t match the intensity of the stronger records, much to the album’s detriment. Even more serious flags arise on the play when Mr. Rida butchers Makaveli’s “Hail Mary” with his own sappy rendition on “Come With Me” and turns it into a carousel paean. If Flo Rida’s commercial reaches were shameless before, they are downright heinous after this one.

By never exceeding his expectations but meeting his obligations, Flo Rida chalks up a few more records to lengthen his live set. While wallflowers and staunch lyrical supporters will opt to skip this one, fans willing to get sweaty may find plenty use for the Poe Boy’s latest mini-jukebox.

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