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Never mind that Richard Marx's cool meter is hovering around the same level as Michael Bolton's just now. The man knows what he's good at--that would be syrupy, rock-tinged power ballads--and, as evidenced by My Own Best Enemy, he's sticking to it. Here he grinds his sandpapery voice forcefully into the groove of a dozen soM
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Never mind that Richard Marx's cool meter is hovering around the same level as Michael Bolton's just now. The man knows what he's good at--that would be syrupy, rock-tinged power ballads--and, as evidenced by My Own Best Enemy, he's sticking to it. Here he grinds his sandpapery voice forcefully into the groove of a dozen songs designed to stoke or soothe mushy-hearted sensibilities. Lyrics, accordingly, are Lifetime movie-ready: He's discovering all that he is on "Again"; wallowing over who will dry his tears, hold his hand, etc., on "When You're Gone"; and sharing secrets as "deep as the ocean," his "truth laid open," on "Falling." The disc, it should be argued, matches Marx's work on early '90s hits like "Should've Known Better," and he's bound to find an appreciative audience among the throngs of lady worshippers who have been waiting for him to re-emerge. But his crime is being unfashionable, and for it he'll serve a sentence: As friendly as Enemy is to the ear, it won't earn him a new--and much-needed--generation of fans. --Tammy La Gorce