Pharrell Williams’ solo debut, originally scheduled for release in 1948, has been subject to more delays than the year’s first snowstorm night at O’Hare as recently as last week the diminutive Neptune told Billboard of the street-date shuffle: “I was being super artistic, and I wasn’t listening to anybody. (Two words: Chinese F*#!ing Democracy, and frankly I’m not holding my breath about OutKast either). Constant, publicized delays have the same net effect as a studio failing to pre-screen a film for critics: Just hold your nose, put the damn thing out and be done with it. When an artist pushes the release of his record back and back and back again, the implicit pre-verdict is that it’s probably a steaming pile of monkey poop, or else it would have been natural and organic and expeditious and out already.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |