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Missy "Miss E." "Misdemeanor" Elliott belongs in a class all by herself. Few could argue that the Portsmouth, Virginia, native has any serious competition. But since 2003's This Is Not A Test, her career-long, consistently self-topping collaborations with Timbaland—which brought together the real-women-have-curves spirit of Queen Latifah with the real-women-get-nasty vibe of Lil Kim in a soufflé of saucy elegance—started feeling not so fresh. It shouldn't surprise anyone that this next time around, she would finally decide to work seriously with other producers.
What is surprising is that Elliott would try so hard to make up for the loss (Timbaland only collaborated on the first two tracks here) and that she would end up with too many ideas and not enough focus.
From its '30s/'70s retro cover and booklet photos, you might expect The Cookbook to be a jazz- and blues-infused album, or at least a grasp at maturity. Unfortunately, the cover concept is the first of several ideas that (much like her stillborn reality show Road To Stardom) goes no further than the surface. Elliott is still the same bold and brash lyricist she's always been (and that's not a diss), showing strong skills on "Partytime" and the classic-Misdemeanor "Mommy." But apparently she feels that's not enough. For example, Neptunes production "On & On," dirty South-meets-Reggae "Click Clack," and videogame soundtrack/toasting "Bad Man" all seem to try too hard for innovation—and yet not hard enough. (To work the food metaphor, they resemble those fancy hors d'oeuvres which look amazing but don't taste like anything.) Missy has an inspired list of guests, including Slick Rick, Grand Puba, Mary J. Blige, Fantasia, M.I.A., and the ever-narcissistic Mike Jones. But other than Rick—an inspired choice, who was no doubt pumped at the opportunity on "Irresistible Delicious"—none of them add much to the mix.
Elliott also tries to move in on the territory of her protege, Tweet, trying her hand at R&B vocalizing on "Remember When," "Teary Eyed," and "Time And Time Again." While the results aren't embarrassing, they are sadly inconsequential.
Not that the disc is a total disaster. Production-wise, the most inspired tracks are first single "Lose Control," which finds an infectious middle ground between Southern Crunk and old school New York Electro; "Meltdown," a response of sorts to 50 Cent's "Candy Shop;" "We Run This," a classic party track built entirely on the Sugarhill Gang's "Apache" (in a moment of P. Diddy style shamelessness); and the rock-riffing "Can't Stop." But their oddly sequenced appearances give the album the feel of an iPod on random. Including the aforementioned "Partytime" and "Mommy," that's six good recipes in a compendium of sixteen. Not exactly The Joy Of Cooking.
Lastly, while I'd rather take fashion cues from the stylish Elliott than practically any other rapper, it's still a super-tacky move to put an ad for her Respect M.E. clothing line inside the booklet. So much for class.
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