George

Believe exemplifies stagnant pop music — it's neither progressive nor regressive. It's not surprising or interesting, yet it's slickly produced. It's the kind of dated pop that makes Justin Timberlake look like Brian Eno. Believe is the work of George, an eponymous, nearly hairless 20-year-old would-be Canadian heartthrob with bedroom eyes, a made-for-TV voice, and a sound that's an uninspired throwback to late '90s boy bands like 98 Degrees. Half the fun of pop is dissecting the singer's image. George is certainly grittier than blingtard Massari and he oozes sex appeal, but with this brand of bland long out of fashion, Believe is better suited to post-sex showering than pre-sex prowling. And since every song is so aggressively mediocre, it's hard to figure out the hits. Fortunately, teenyboppers have no attention spans, so singles must always appear high up in the track list. "Talk To Me" is the first slow-jam ballad, while "Dance With Me" seems an obvious successor.