It sounds like Ashanti’s had a run-in with a bitch named Betrayal, and she’s got the bruises to prove it. Throughout The Declaration, her fourth album of pop promiscuity, the echo of a splintering heart nearly drowns out her lovelorn cries. And assuming the album has even a lick of emotional authenticity, someone really did a number on her.
Her factory-sealed voice and pull-string purr are still there, but now when Ashanti sings about a cheating lover, she does more than pout—she burns. It’s clear Ashanti Douglas is human now, and not just some MTV-friendly paper doll. She’s long been known as the cute chick riffing over the MC-of-the-moment’s tough-guy rhymes, and she’s a pro at delivering tracks with karaoke cache—midrange crowd-pleasers like “Foolish.” Her voice is pleasant if sometimes uninspiring, but on soulful songs like “You’re Gonna Miss,” the pain in her sweet-as-Smarties voice is definite.
But even with all the emo-passion, nearly half of this album is lukewarm. Her broken-hearted desperation is shrieky and vampy when a stronger move would be poignancy or bravado—or maybe just a deeper peek inside her life. Despite its declarative aim, “The Way That I Love You” barely sets off a smoke detector, let alone rings any alarms. Beyoncé’s ’06 vocal conniption fit was enough to make you call 911, but Ashanti—even wielding a bloody knife (as in the video for the song)—isn’t wild-eyed or extreme enough to raise your heart rate.
The album’s impressive production line-up, which includes Robin Thicke, Jermaine Dupri, Kenny “Babyface” Edmonds, and Pharrell Williams—Irv Gotti is nowhere to be found—concocts promworthy slow-dance grooves and easy-breezy jump-rope jams. And she hits some expected notes: The requisite maternal tribute (“Mother”), a few love-conquers-all ballads (“Girlfriend” and bonus track “All I Want”), as well as an awesome kiss-off/empowerment anthem (“Declaration”), far and away the album’s diamond in the rough. Eccentric soundman Seven Aurelius’ production is deliciously lush and Ashanti’s voice—normally as thin as a strip of Zig-Zag rolling paper—sounds gloriously pumped.
In truth, the one-time Mistress of Murder Inc. would be lucky if she made it through an American Idol audition unscathed. But hip hop’s hard-on for a pretty face and a viral verse—she’s hooked up hooks for Fat Joe, Shyne, and, of course, Ja Rule (2001’s “Always On Time”) in the past—keeps Ashanti in the game. By the sound of her latest, though, that wasn’t enough to keep someone from stepping out. Then again, a broken heart sounds better than a broken record.
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