At one point in his illustrious career, Michael Jackson was able to pluck a Pepsi commercial director out of obscurity and coax the iconic ‘Beat It’ video out of him. Jacko was the Michael Jordan of pop music, equally adept at achieving massive success by his own merits as elevating the works of his collaborators. Timbaland is not the Michael Jackson of lore, although he has proven that he could rise to the occasion at times. While Timbo’s Midas touch behind the boards was successful in transforming Nelly Furtado from half-forgotten MOR crooner to sexy hip-hop siren, people tend to forget about his many misguided attempts at helping the musically less fortunate. Duran Duran’s ill-conceived Red Carpet Massacre, his several albums with helplessly anemic rapping crony Magoo, and an embarrassing duet with URB punching bags She Wants Revenge are all proof that Timbaland is just as capable of throwing even more dirt on careers as he is of resurrecting them. So when a full-album collaboration with former Soundgarden/Audioslave vocalist and current musical bottom feeder Chris Cornell was announced, no one was sure whether to save some dates for stadiums across the world or to save some room in the bargain bin.

Scream may be the most compelling train wreck of an album in recent memory. One must give credit to all parties involved for diving headfirst into an album that is sure to garner more laughs than nods of approval, even before anyone has heard a single note off of it. Timbaland, who is in fine form sonically with his signature chunky rimshots and buzzing synth leads, acquits himself admirably. Any of the album’s shortcomings is not for any lack of effort from the super-producer: he genuinely pulls out all stops to make this album a success. However, Cornell’s strained growl is not a particularly good match. While Timbaland’s instrumentals possess a considerable amount of intensity, Cornell’s grunts and howls do little to enhance any of the music’s qualities. His vocals either serve as window dressing for the songs or become a distraction from the more intriguing occurrences in the music. “Part of Me” would be a potential blockbuster with another singer, but Cornell’s bewilderingly dull histrionics mute its appeal. Aside from Cornell’s diminishing aptitude behind the mic, the album’s other major problem is that it doesn’t truly offer anything new. For the most part, the songs sound exactly as they do on paper – Cornell wailing over Timbaland’s jerky beats. It doesn’t take too much imagination to think up the professionally recorded mash-up sound of the entire album.

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