Enrique Iglesias - Insomniac
Holy moley - Enrique Iglesias is back with his eight album - and this time, if he's got anything to do with it, there'll nary be a dry-eyed or weak-knee'd damsel within a ten mile radius of his latest sultry emanations. The Spanish heartthrob has long been a favourite with pop-loving womenfolk of the Spanish-speaking persuasion, just as his father was before him; yet it wasn't until 1999's Enrique - his first English-language album - that his throb was hearted by the rest of the western world's female population. That album spawned his breakthrough hits Bailamos and Rhythm Divine - admittedly both ace pop songs - and its follow up hatched the similarly-gargantuan sopfest Hero. It was with some surprise then, that Iglesias would disrupt the gathering momentum that his career was undertaking to record his third Spanish-language album in 2002, Quizas; and indeed, the sales of both that album, and its successor (7) were not half as favourable as those of yesteryear. It makes sense that Insomniac should be a compound of Iglesias's two languages then, although the overwhelming melancholic ambience suggests that it's certainly not a fusion of styles. Insomniac's title really gives it away; it's a wearisome, exasperating and downright vapid collection of songs, with a running time that's far too long (over an hour!) and a mood that's glummer than Pete Doherty's dentist. Every track here is either a sombre, mumbled, slow-moving number that sounds dated and cumbersome (Ring My Bells, Tired of Being Sorry), cheesy radio-friendly dirges that have been done a million times before and better (Missing You, Somebody's Me, the ludicrously-titled 'Do You Know? (The Ping Pong Song)') or are just so amateur-sounding that they're embarrassing (the Lil' Wayne-featured Push). Iglesias seems to be running out of ideas for lyrics ("Baby, you're gonna love what I do / When I'm on top of you") as well as music (Little Girl sounds uncannily similar to a pop reshuffling of David Gray's This Year's Love); yet, still only at 32, you have to wonder if Enrique has the same longevity as his father. Insomniac attests to the contrary; this is the kind of turgid rubbish that gives pop a bad name.
The opinions expressed here are those of the viewer and do not reflect those of Entertainment.ie. Entertainment.ie accepts no responsibility, legal or otherwise, for their accuracy of content. Please contact us to report abusive content