But the inspiring thing is the way that this fabulously wealthy man has spent his money – the synth chords collapsing down just so, so deep, so rounded, so rich, mastered so well, so meticulously that they run up and down the spine, mastered until they shine and gleam. The-Dream, it should be noted, is very, very rich – he wrote two of the biggest hits of the decade, Single Ladies and Umbrella, and is vice-president of his label, Island Def-Jam and his personal wealth is estimated at $60 million. But listening to Yamaha, the thing that strikes me is how rich it sounds, and how perfect it is for that. Like many kids of a certain age and disposition, I grew up reading the NME and listening to music of a lower fidelity, and presumed, somehow, that rudimentary was better than accomplished. And the bended-knee abandon of his delivery of “Wouldn’t last a day … in your world” at the top and “Me and you, they never saw us coming …” is more than cheesy, but it’s also heartbreaking. It’s nothing that new (Prince, Little Red Corvette, thanks for noticing), but like all love songs, and all loves, it’s down to delivery, not originality. It’s about a guy (and, like all The-Dream’s tracks, it’s very much about something – as a lyricist, he’s as close to Cole Porter as he is to the Prince he’s so often compared to) in love with a girl he calls Yamaha because he can’t remember her name. It’s grin-like-an-idot with pure love dumb.
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