I've always found Tom Tom Club to be one of the most useless musical endeavors in pop. The band's work, from that one song that goes "Check it out!" to their uninspired cover of Dylan's "She Belongs To Me," always makes me feel kinda embarrassed. 'Cause I'd be pulling for these guys, but they never shook the palpable desperation. Tom Tom Club, especially in their momentum dissolving tunr in Stop Making Sense was a band based on sour grapes.

It must be tough to have talent and creativity and be in the shadow of a genius. And no one denies that Chris Franz and Tina Weymouth, the heart and soul behind Tom Tom Club, mean well and have good ideas. But I think all the time backing David Byrne on his groundbreaking musical explorations as the rhythm section of the now-defunct Talking Heads left Tom Tom Club confused and off message. Were they a novelty act? The one "Check it out!" song with those doofy computer blips--the same that later found their way sampled in a Mariah Carey song--sure made it sound that way. Or maybe they were just a cut-loose side project, in the good tradition of The Traveling Wilburys or, I dunno, Slash's Snakepit? The band itself didn't know.

The problem was that the albums weren't any fun! But they were portrayed as fun, B-52s fun. The albums were, sorry, bland, proving that sometimes you may be better off staying quiet and letting the genius in your ranks do all the important work.

It's been years since Talking Heads' breakup and it would appear that the dust has settled. I discern this because Tom Tom Club have released a new, surefooted album, The Good The Bad and The Funky, which actually tries to say something.

If one focuses solely on the beats, one can not be disappointed. I mean, these guys were the rhythm section for Talking Heads, so they did pick up a few things over all those years. Track one opens with some low boogie thump and whizzes and swirls that are as dense as you'll hear on any classic funk record. "Time To Bounce" is the name, and it's a simple lyric extoling the virtues of dance. Good. They're not trying to write anything meaningful like that underwater crap on the "Boom Boom Chi Boom Boom" album. They've learned that lesson – they can't be quirky in words. Problem though: Tina Weymouth can not sing.

She's thin. There's no there there. It's fuzzy, not airy and clear like spoken-female vocals need to be to keep me from falling asleep. I don't care how many times she overdubs herself (sounds like twelve here) 'cause anything times zero is still zero. The vocals come damn near lose to ruining this dense funk hip-hop groove.

This atrocity continues for three tracks: brilliant beats made inaudible by nails-on-blackboard vocals. God, she's terrible. Track four, though, thank you, there's some dude singin' named Charles Pettigrew. Jesus, it's amazing to feel the difference when someone who actually has some soul is in control of these cuts. The next vocalist is Mystic Bowie, who sings and cuts loose toasting. After this is Toots of Toots and the Maytals. Call it blasphemy, but I don't think the Maytals ever sounded as good as the thick thumpin' Tom Tom Club do here.

So what does this all mean? It means that the tracks without Tina singing are better than great–they're phenomenal. George Clinton phenomenal. But the stuff with her--ye gods, a cool beat is a cool beat, but after three minutes no amount of deep funk is gonna' keep you entertained.

(Of course, there is one exception. "She's a Freak" is filled with all sorts of effects, and is sung in a sultry lower register. The sparking metal hi-hat and video game noises make this the stand out track.)

I recommend the album, because te half of it that is on is unstoppable. And compared to the older work, it shows incredible improvement. The effects and production shame artists like Moby and Everything But The Girl, and when they bothered to dig in and pay some real live black men with soul, the results are overwhelming.