Intensive Care

(Virgin)

3.5/5 Stars

In America, Robbie Williams is probably most famous for not being famous.

In the UK he is the talk of the tabloids (his nudist/exhibitionist tendencies lend ample material, as does his notoriously bacchanalian social life), and has been tearing up the pop charts ever since his days with boy band Take That. Every album he releases stateside is ostensibly poised to catapult him to stardom. But so far, success in America has eluded him.

On “Intensive Care,” Williams eschews the dancehall crowd-pleasure of his moderately popular 2000 single, “Rock DJ,” for more serious fare. With his high-pitched voice and British accent, Williams has always been the thinking woman’s musical crush. His latest effort takes him away from the dance floor, and his intellectualism has never sounded better.

The album is a showcase for Williams’ inner Chris Martin, but it preserves his dirtier sense of humor; Williams isn’t afraid to be a little cheeky. Yet, he manages to maintain a melancholy mellow vibe, with a hint of introspection on singles like “Make Me Pure” and “The Trouble With Me.”

He hasn’t abandoned the fun, frothy single. While none of the album’s singles would jump-start any night clubs, fans of Williams’ trademark frat boy cockiness will enjoy his tempting rock crooning on “Sin Sin Sin.” It seems Williams has finally exorcised the demons of his boy-band roots.

By far his strongest single is the reggae-tinged “Tripping.” The funky tempo is met with surprisingly philosophical lyrics like: “What you think is what you’re soon adoring/You don’t want the truth the truth is boring.” Who knew that Britain’s pop master had thoughts past booze and broads?

Williams then points the lyrics at himself, taking him to previously unexplored areas of introspection. In the gentle ballad “Make Me Pure,” he settles on his faults (“I got a ton of selfish genes and lazy bones beneath this skin”), and, paraphrasing St. Augustine’s fabled exhortation, he pleads to the Lord to “make me pure, but not yet.” Backed up by a strumming guitar, Williams sounds like a British Tom Petty, minus that trademark Southern twang.

The power ballad gets a glossy makeover on “Intensive Care” with “Spread Your Wings,” a song that is more fitting for a Lifetime movie of the week. With cliché lyrics like “Spread your wings before they fall apart,” Williams doesn’t have the vocal capacity to pull off the ballad.

The formula works, however, in “Advertising Space,” which finds Williams musing on modern existential dilemmas and Marlon Brando’s death, to a jazzy tone. “Space” in particular seems like it could have come straight from a Coldplay set.

The album’s title itself, “Intensive Care,” suggests that Williams is using his own music as therapy. This self-conscious introspection helps to distinguish him from the Euro-pop he descended from. Let’s hope that Chris Martin hasn’t entirely cornered the introspective British lads in America market.