it looks like Tresvant is going for the tried-and-true lover-man thing, with titles like "Sensitivity" and romps like "Stone Cold Gentleman" (with Bobby Brown). Then again, on the opening track, "Rated R," he gives the impression that maybe a little Bell Biv DeVoe-style nastiness might be in order, but then he leaps back to wistful good intentions. He ain't cut out for the rough stuff; by the looks of his designer suit, he wants to soothe you, not feel you up, but his multitracked vocals never cut through the music to successfully make his case.

Tresvant has a pleasing, if uninspiring, tenor reminiscent of Michael Jackson, and if he was given stronger material (as he was with New Edition), his vocal shortcomings might not be so obvious; but a majority of the tunes on this album consist of the chorus being repeated over and over until you either get the point or leave the room. In classic black-pop form, Tresvant has used a host of "name" producers, including the ubiquitous (and usually on the money) Jimmy Jam and Terry Lewis. Those two either were experiencing a low-biorhythm day or had used up all the good stuff they had working with Janet Jackson; their work on Ralph Tresvant is strictly by the numbers, with almost no personality and very few surprises. There is such a dearth of hooks that it is scary; BBD may consist of sexist swine, but try to get "Poison" out of your head.

As if that weren't disappointing enough, Tresvant's strength – delivering the perfect three minutes of pleading, yearning, buoyant love – is needlessly adulterated, with songs stretched out by listless grooves and the disc clocking in at over sixty-two minutes. The sad fact may well be that Tresvant doesn't have much to say and that the only way he can come across is through the power of his production credits. Tresvant wouldn't be the first to try that trick, but given that he never needed to resort to such trumpery in the past, it's a real shame. (RS 597)

AMY LINDEN