Have you ever been in the same room as a married couple that is fighting? You squirm uncomfortably and want to get the hell out of there, right? That’s kind of what listening to Paula is like.
The current soap opera is that Robin Thicke, an old-time R&B singer who shot to fame last year with the out-of-character dirty pop single “Blurred Lines,” separated from his wife, actress Paula Patton, earlier this year. The two had been high school sweethearts who were married for almost nine years and have a young child together, but something happened after Thicke hit the big time and now they are split.
Thicke tried to work it out with Paula, reportedly, first in private and then in public, taking opportunities at awards shows and interviews to apologize to his estranged wife and ask for her back. Since nothing seems to be working, Thicke turned to his music as a last-ditch attempt to win back his love, both via lyrics and what he hopes will be public support.
Many songs and albums have addressed failed relationships, from Fleetwood Mac to Prince to Usher to Alanis Morrisette to Marvin Gaye (Thicke’s hero), but usually only on a couple of songs and never this detailed. On song after song after song, Thicke apologizes for what he did (which is not specifically addressed, just hinted at), says how he should have acted, promises to change, offers undying love and asks Paula to come back to him. It’s sweet, I suppose, but it’s the sort of thing he should have released privately – passed to a mutual friend so that Paula can read it, like a love note – instead of released on a major music label for the whole world to hear. But again, Thicke seems to want to stoke public outcry, to get fans to rally behind him and help beg Paula to come back.
From a musical standpoint, almost none of the glitz and party-time shenanigans of 
Blurred Lines is here, replaced instead with the same sort of old-time R&B sound mixed with gospel, pop and singer-songwriter sensitivity that has marked all of Thicke’s other albums. This will appeal to fans of the R&B genre (guys like Ray Charles and Gaye) and Thicke’s original fan base in particular, but the millions that came on board with “Blurred Lines” will be confused, perhaps bored. Younger listeners will likely sympathize with Robin for pouring his heart out and admitting he was wrong; older, jaded listeners will appreciate the sentiment but feel a bit itchy and awkward, like watching a public argument/groveling session in an airport or restaurant.
Canny pop star that he has become, Thicke knows he can’t sell an entire album of sensitive broken-heart paeans to his wife, so he throws in a handful of campy pop tunes along the lines of Bruno Mars that break up the sadness. Like the rest of the album, they seem calculated for a specific audience, such as the tourism sloganeering of “Living In New York City” (which takes a page from James Brown) and the goofy, jaunty “Tippy Toes,” which is undone by its childlike chorus.
But contrast that with the bluesy “Black Tar Cloud,” which tells the detailed story of a cheating husband and the wife who found out – she smashed the TV, chased him with a golf club until he bashed through the gate with the car and drove away – and its emotional aftermath: “Turns out I’m the only one who double dipped (truth) / Face down in a puddle of shame / Drowning in suffering, self-sabotaging / The one thing that always made life seem ok (truth) / I was jealous of your light, jealous of your soul.” Thicke could be talking about himself, although the details sound more like the Tiger Woods/Elin Nordegren fight, which Thicke is perhaps using as a template for his own black cloud. Regardless, it’s these sort of details and raw emotions that define this album on songs like “Get Her Back,” “Forever Love,” “Love Can Grow Back” and “Still Madly Crazy,” not to mention the self-pity of “Something Bad in Me.”
Art, at its core, is supposed to be an expression of its artist, and music that is intensely personal always seems to resonate more with listeners. Those who have been through a breakup, especially men who realized they screwed up and just want their lady back, will no doubt empathize with Thicke here. And one has to respect any artists who puts his feelings – and, perhaps, his dirty laundry – out there without any sort of self-aggrandizement. It would be easy to say “That bitch done left me” and go twerk with half-naked models again, but Thicke, age 37, is man enough to apologize in public and admit he was wrong.
On the other hand, if he is so sincere, why does he need to keep apologizing publicly and go so far as to release an album with his wife’s name on it? Hard to say. If Paula does come back, then Paula will be seen as a genius work of art, but somehow I doubt this album says anything that Robin hasn’t already said dozens of times lyrically, and musically it doesn’t say much that other artists haven’t already said either. It’s a plea to save a marriage, and I admire that, but it shouldn’t be for us to hear.