We’re not sure what’s going on with this album cover. Perhaps those characters are supposed to be Brown’s inner demons, who he chooses to defeat with a spray can, rather than bludgeoning them to death his guitar. And what’s with the boots, dude?

Before “the incident”, Chris Brown’s first two albums found him surrounded with hit records, including each “Run It”, “Kiss Kiss”, “Wall To Wall”, not to mention bonus tracks “No Air” and “Forever”, which would prove to be two of the biggest hits of his career.  But then Chris Brown fucked up, big time. Seldom do artists get blackballed in such a way like Chris Brown has, but in his case, the punishment definitely fits the crime. But like R. Kelly before him, the R&B audience seems to have short memories, already embracing Chris’s comeback single, “I Can Transform You”, a banging Swizz Beatz club-knocker that has an unintentionally disturbing double-entendre, considering what he did to Rihanna.

But to avoid a Canibus like fate, Chris Brown played this one very close to the hip, insuring that his album would satisfy all sides of his audience. He gets right to it, trying to win the favor of both his audience and Rihanna on a pair of tracks of mid-tempo jams that attempt to inspire. First on “Crawl”, a sort of “I Believe I Can Fly” type of ballad, (which could have been a massive adult contemporary hit and 2010 Olympic theme song, but not anymore), finds a broken Brown trying to pick up the pieces of his shattered career / existence. The piano-driven “So Cold” follows, as Chris croons “if you ever see her / if you ever meet her / if you ever get the chance to sit down and talk with her / let her know, it’s so cold with out her,” which follows with multiple apologies and self-realizations. Both are well written, well performed songs, but possible radio casualties thanks to “the incident”. The name-dropping “Famous Girl” exudes of producer’s Ryan Leslie flair, as Chris panders to his peers, using Drake, Beyonce, Keri Hilson, Keyshia Cole, and others as metaphors. Despite a catchy track, it’s impossible to say how this will go over, as some of these folks may not want to be mentioned in the same breath as Brown.

Unfortunately, while these tracks are solid, at times they fail to forgive the unforgivable, and can come off as disingenuous. However on the other half of Graffiti, Chris has a solid handful of club anthems that will undoubtedly carry him through the year. “What I Do” is a massive money-throwing monster, featuring the hood’s favorite mush-mouthed rapper, Plies, ringing out like a true player’s anthem. The Pollow The Don assisted “Wait”, features the ironic trio of Brown, Game, and Trey Songz, each of whom have their industry issues. Despite the rumors, heresy, etc, “Wait” is a bouncy urban club track where each member is in prime form, as Pollow lends his trademark ad-libs to the hook. The only real misstep in these club tracks is the lift of house auteur Eric Prydz’s “Call On Me” with “Pass Out”, further abusing the shameless trend already beaten to death by Pitbull and Flo-Rida.

However, it’s here in this crop of club songs that Chris can best be taken at face value, where no other deeper introspection is required. By itself, Graffiti is a satisfying pop R&B album from a fallen star that could have kept on rising. The deluxe edition, however, is overkill. Packed with an additional nine tracks, the extended edition of Graffiti is a bit like the difference between Transformers and Transformers 2, overloaded with loose-knit demos and songs not good enough to make the final cut. Make no mistake, despite Chris’s awful shortcomings (his ego, his behavior, his crime), he’s one of the most talented voices in today’s urban arena. It’s a shame that he has put his young career on life-support. While critics will have a hard time separating Chris’s art from his crime, Graffiti is still solid, despite the writing on the wall.