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Robin Thicke has dominated the charts with “Blurred Lines,” a silly, salacious song built on a Marvin Gaye riff and “You know you want it” mantra. It seems to have emboldened him to create a disc dominated by smarmy come-ons. On this eleven-track set of poppy funk, the blue-eyed soul seducer has morphed into a leering Lothario. He uses his surname as an adjective for his anatomy, promising to get freakier than Christian Grey. Double entendres are commonplace in pop, but here he descends into wink-and-nod juvenilia. The subtle charms of his previous five records have been drained out of the music, which is innocuous and slickly produced.
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