This came out in 2003 – or at least that’s when I got it. Here’s what I said about it back then (with some minor editing):
“Sometimes when I dream (and) when I wake up / I kinda hope that The Fugees didn’t break up,” confesses Wyclef Jean barely a minute into his fourth album The Preacher’s Son. Like many others, I know just how he feels — and you might too after sitting through the latest release from the undeniably gifted but frustratingly unfocused artist.
As usual, Jean the producer and arranger is at his eclectic and ambitious best on this 65-minute disc, deftly and artfully casting hip-hop, reggae, soul and myriad other styles into a musical melting pot, then dishing out waist-deep grooves that toe the line between Rastaman and Timbaland. But also as usual, without the earthy melodicism of his old partner-in-rhyme Lauryn Hill, Jean the songwriter drops the ball, allowing one-dimensional cuts and self-indulgent monologues to go on far too long and letting the usual parade of guest vocalists take up far too much space. Sure, Jean’s fan base will dig it. But if he wants to win a few new converts, Jean is going to have to stop preaching to the choir.
