Unless you practice the ways of the Amish, you’ll be hard-pressed to find someone who’s avoided the club fervor caused by newcomer’s Flo Rida’s “Low” which featured yet another T-Pain choral response. The single albeit a tad bit formulaic, rose to the top of the Billboard Charts and raised suspicions that the torch had been passed to him as Rap’s go-to hitmaker. Falling in as the latest rapper with a hot single, Flo Rida (pronounced “Flow-Rider”) aims to make sure he stays on top of his peers. Surprising enough, his major label debut Mail On Sunday is filled to the brim with irresistible pop that could garner the same success that helped make Nelly and Yung Joc household names.

For a rookie, Flo Rida shows no signs of aphonia with plenty of ambitious material geared towards the dance floor. As a hitmaker, songs like Timbaland’s futuristic thrill-ride on “Elevator” and the rowdy “Don’t Know How To Act” come as no surprise with their precise execution, but Flo Rida manages to show he can hold his own on harder material such as the blistering “Ack Like You Know.” Over pulsating sirens and bass lines with a crescendo of their own, Flo manages to drop some nimble lines like “Flo Rida franchise em’ like the pizza man/all about cheese/full of dough/let me grease ya hands…”

Sporting an unique sing-songy delivery that rides the tracks as well as a candy-painted Chevy with a cruise control, Flo Rida’s flow (hence the name) is his biggest ally. On his duet with Trey Songz, the mildly lewd “Freaky Deeky,” there’s enough variation in his vocals to make an otherwise cliché sex tale acceptable. Same goes for the ode-to-flossin’ “Priceless,” which features Birdman. The brawny MC uses his capable mic skills to bear the tracks massive rumble and easily breeze past his guest’s lukewarm performance.

Mail On Sunday is far from perfect however, as the package is a little soggy in the midsection. As a ringtone dealer, Flo gets the job done, but when he tries to exercise his witty side, the album forms into a big ball of cheese. There’s the syrupy metaphor-for-women “Ms. Hangover” where Flo croons: “She had Hennessy hips/and Belve eyes/Grey Goose on her lips/and cognac thighs…” and Roger Troutman is somehow resurrected for some digital luv on “Me & U.” And he’ll really get the dogs howling on the pitiful “Still Missin” which features some serious boo-hooing with a chorus that reads “My lawnmower home but my hoe still missin’/my rake in the shed but my hoe still missin’…” Flo should make sure he stays in the club until his creative juices have fermented because whining on wax doesn’t get you any respect, word to Keith Sweat.

After the last call is sounded and all the confetti has fallen from sky, Mail On Sunday still leaves room for improvement conceptually and lyrically, but all factors considered, this is the type of product that’s destined to move units – physically and digitally. With joints like his collabo with the Beluga Heights family “Low” at his disposal, Flo Rida has set himself up in the position to be Pop music’s next token rapper. And when you’re talking career moves, there couldn’t be a more perfect situation.

3.5 CIGARETTES

Flo-Rida – Mail On Sunday (Bonus Tracks)