Things That Make You Want to Scream
Managing to conjure the execrable masculinity of rap-rock without actually rapping or rocking, Scream pairs Cornell’s unctuous, hard-rock wail with Timbaland’s minimalist bump ’n’ grind. The production certainly isn’t the problem here. Timbaland's beats are fine, if uninspired. They could very well be leftovers from his Nelly Furtado sessions, only here promiscuous girl has been replaced by greasy dude.
Scream is an album that aims for the clubs but is too icky for even the dankest strip club. Between the post-modern synths, disinterested, vocoded backing vocals and hammy, butt-rock groaning, it plays like one of Prince Paul’s scathing satires of contemporary music, but with every dire, desperate note, Cornell attests that he’s dead serious.