Bruno Mars "Unorthodox Jukebox" [2012]

"Unorthodox" -- yeah, sure. This guy is a record exec's wet dream: not masculine, not feminine; not white, not black; generic yet referential; and willingly overcooked by a veritable legion of producers and songwriters. To say Bruno Mars is polished is to put it far too lightly; he's Michael Bolton for a new generation of mixed-race Millennials. Singing songs strictly from the perspective of the privileged party guy with enough cash for an eight-ball who only fucks models -- and then lamenting whatever went wrong with such vacuous people and things -- Bruno Mars is perfect weekend music for bimbos and meatheads. Any emotional gesture at all guns for the lowest common denominator at every turn; the level and detail of this music's universe of corporate-style compromises can take your breath away if you really listen closely, which you're probably not supposed to. And the seamlessness of the production is downright suffocating -- even veering into other genres sounds like a virtual-reality approximation: jump blues with air conditioning, dub reggae with all the homespun integrity of a Sandals vacation. Everything in "Unorthodox Jukebox" is so untraceable and inorganic, forget wondering whether his voice has been auto-tuned and start wondering if he isn't actually some sort of pop cyborg. Janelle Monae, eat your damn heart out.