Thursday, 31 July 2008


I'm just a bachelor! I'm looking for a partner!" exclaims Ginuwine at the beginning of "Pony" and in light of the subsequent Judge Dread level of subtlety of his modest proposals to his hoped-for Other, it seems unlikely that he will find his partner soon. But all the sensuality that his naively relentless double entendres lack ("Someone who knows how to ride without ever falling off" and later he even refers to "every single portion" as though she were a bag of chips), not to mention all of the genuine cheekiness to which he aspires, is encompassed in this startling early Timbaland production; I more than most have been guilty of undervaluing him in recent years but "Pony," now twelve years old, jerked me out of my seat at the time since its beats suggested that Ginuwine and/or Timbaland were wading through a squelchy swamp in Matalan economy wading boots at the time; or else you can see the splashes of contrabass vocoder undertow as a continual, frustrated burp.

Ginuwine sings it fervently, though, and without explicit sauce; he is desperate and hungry, probably hasn't even worked out the basics yet ("my saddle's waiting"), but he means no harm; he won't get anywhere but the lovely, dreamy floating-in-space interlude (brief but meaningful) which comes after his attempted crescendo of "you'll be on my jockey team OHHHHHHH!!!" indicates: just tighten DOWN a little (it's oxymoron time!), relax, put away the Kleenex and he'll be fair for a game. Oddly touching in delivery but dynamically pregnant with apocalypse musically; and the, er, juices which flowed from its youthful arteries proved particularly, um, fruitful (that's enough Carlin; much more of this and we'll be getting complaints from Robert Plant - Ed.).