I'm not usually one to delve into an ultra self-conscious style of reviewing that examines more how I feel about reviewing an album that it does the album's quality. I mean, who cares, right? Unless it's done with a sharp sense of wit, it comes off as masturbatory, a piece of writing that serves the writer much more than it could possibly serve any reader. Please, then, not-so-gentle reader, take this introductory paragraph as my disclaimer, a heartfelt apology. Tropical Brainstorm is indeed a special case that, I believe, requires this method I normally strive to resist.

This, of course, is because Kirsty MacColl is dead.

Last December, after releasing Tropical Brainstorm to acclaim in the UK, the 41 year-old MacColl was struck by a speedboat illegally driving through waters reserved for swimmers off the coast of Cozumel, Mexico. Making the situation infinitely more tragic, her two sons were in the water with her and watched her die. It's heartbreaking, and on a completely selfish note, it makes the job of reviewing her last proper album fucking difficult.

While I sympathize with MacColl's family and am indeed saddened by her calamitous demise, I'm nonetheless too cynical to blindly laud Brainstorm with praise. The instant deification of celebrities passed are not always warranted. I generally avoid pandering to that, and I'm doing my damnedest to follow suit here. But this ideal of level-headedness is tainted by the Catholic upbringing that clutters my psyche. To speak unkindly of the (recently) deceased is tasteless at best, and an abomination at worst.

If only Tropical Brainstorm were a work of unquestionable genius, an album that demanded virtually mindless praise. If only I could focus the critical scope so narrowly that even the record's weakest moments could be overlooked. If only I could live with myself by watering this review down and giving it a 10.0.

Ultimately, I can't, for Brainstorm is indeed flawed. MacColl summoned longtime cohorts Pete Glenister and David Ruffy to help record the tropical-themed album. Neither of these guys have much of a background in Latin music, and it shows. The record celebrates its lack of authenticity, as samples of older Latin tunes provide just as much (if not more of) a musical backdrop as live instrumentation. It's a quirky, unpretentious concept that, unfortunately, often ends up exploiting its source genre, rather than adding to its legacy.

The record's two opening tracks, "Mambo de la Luna" and "In These Shoes?" are prime examples of Brainstorm's shortcomings. The former is a Cuban-influenced dud that should become an anthem of yuppie cruises. It starts with the brazen-voiced MacColl singing, "I know a place where the people are kind," includes a Spanish-sung chorus, and concludes with MacColl trying her hand at rapping. The former's Mariachi horns are somewhat appealing, but are undermined by corny, Bette Midler-esque lyrics: when asked by a "man with a sense of adventure" to make love on a mountain top, MacColl replies, "In these shoes?/ I don't think so/ Let's do it here." Try as I might, I couldn't stop my eyes from rolling at the retort.

And though the Internet romance portrayed in the tepid "Here Comes That Man," similarly lacks MacColl's lyrical wryness, her ferocious wit can't be contained for long. The Latin influence of "Autumngirlsoup" is not apparent in the song's borderline-generic trip-hop beat, but its lyrical content that evokes Laura Esquivel's Like Water for Chocolate. MacColl's first-rate words rival that novel in sheer sensuousness: "Get me on boil and reduce me to a simmering wreck/ Pierce my skin with a few well chosen words/ Grate my thighs with your chinny chin chin."

But the songs on Brainstorm that refrain from marinating, and only dust MacColl with Latin-isms, are kindest to her adept songwriting. "Golden Heart" is a lovely, stripped-down pop samba a la Astrud Gilberto's "Day by Day." "Things Happen" features only MacColl's surprisingly tempered vocals and a plucked acoustic guitar. Kirsty sounds more at home on this breezy, gorgeous bit of bossa nova than anywhere else on Brainstorm.

And, now that we've reached the end of the review, a final lament of MacColl's death seems in order; something to really hit home how sorely she'll be missed, or how underappreciated she was during her life (especially in America). But I'll save you the melodrama and merely state that, despite Tropical Brainstorm's fumbles, it's a record that illustrates initiative and invention from a sharp singer/songwriter.

-Richard M. Juzwiak