Jamiroquai

The new hippies: plugged in, high on touchy-feely ecstasy instead of acid, and proudly multicultural yet as shallow and sanctimonious as always. These British funktopians took their name from jam and a Native American tribe (Iroquois), and if that weren't silly enough, their Muzak-ready Stevie Wonder rips and people-let's-all-get-together platitudes should be enough to guarantee them a permanent place on the dance floor of hell. Led by a diminutive disco cheerleader named Jay Kay, whose baggy-trousered, wacky-headgeared silhouette graces every release like a chilled-out Mickey Mouse, the group capitalized on two trends that swept Britain in the late '80s and early '90s: rave culture and retro, gourmet R&B. Kay and his keyboardist and chief collaborator, Toby Smith, studied Innervisions-era Wonder carefully, and just about everything the group has recorded sounds like it could in fact have been played by the master him-self. But the blissed-out rave mind-set reduces every track to an aimless, endless trip with no apparent memory of where the band's been or care for where it's going. And Kay's lyrics -- which all fall into either the "I must believe/I can do anything" category or the "Baby, come fly with me/Eternally" category (actual quotes) -- emulate the sentimentality of "My Cherie Amour" but miss the harsh and urgent social criticism of, say, "Living for the City" or "Black Man." Travelling Without Moving stands out slightly because of "Virtual Insanity" and "Cosmic Girl," two big hits that, vapid as they may be, lightened radio playlists somewhat circa 1996. (But the disc is docked half a point for all that damn didgeridoo.) Everything else is identical. (BEN SISARIO)

From 2004's The New Rolling Stone Album Guide