CD reviews: David Archuleta, T-Pain

David Archuleta, "David Archuleta" (Jive/Zomba)

Archuleta, last spring's runner-up on "American Idol," has a lovely, foggy R&B voice out of scale with his small body. That he lost gives his first album a better story line. Could he have retained so much innocence as the winner?

Innocence, in pop, is a form of boldness: the powerful gesture of putting faith in not knowing. It's old news in record-making, but the trick is in how far to push it and in finding music that can stand up to it. Archuleta, a pudding of tongue-tied respect, is a virtuoso of that gesture, and part of his persona on this album is that he may not even know it. He doesn't mope; he just smiles in wistful acknowledgment of the eternal mystery of everything.

The love stories on "David Archuleta" are all sort of subliteral. He can trust only good omens and kind eyes. He is as earnest as it gets. In "Touch My Hand," he looks out into the adoring crowd and doesn't think about royalties; he sees "the sparkle of a million flashlights," but only one face.

The music, made by many producers and songwriters, averages out different forms of radio-format blandness, with tinges of Coldplay and Shania Twain, and a few dollops of good writing: "Crush" and "Don't Let Go," a collaboration with 'N Sync's J.C. Chasez.

BEN RATLIFF, NEW YORK TIMES

T-Pain, "THR33 Ringz" (Jive)

He has a point, though, and on this third album, he makes the case for his misunderstood genius by reasserting that no one has a better idea of how to make a T-Pain song than T-Pain.

This album, one of the softest soul records in recent memory, is far gentler than his previous work. "Blowing Up," which recalls the ecstatic dance-soul records of the mid-1980s, is flirty but not lascivious. The tender, brightly chiming hit single "Can't Believe It" preaches fidelity.

It's a genuine shift for T-Pain, who has long flirted with lewdness (as he does here on "Superstar Lady"). But on most of these songs he recalls no one so much as Missy Elliott, who also works the eccentric edges of hip-hop, using dashes of sexual whimsy and a keen gift for rhythmically savvy melodies. On "Karaoke" he returns to his roots as a rapper to dress down the copycats. But most jarring is "Keep Going," a shockingly straightforward ode to his family. The raw emotion surprises, but so does the delivery mode: gone are the robotic vocals. Instead, T-Pain sings unadorned, and sings well.