As the last millennium came to a close, young soul artists were staging a rebellion against the kind of mediocre music that can be heard on O'Ryan's self-titled debut.
But now that the virtues of Erykah Badu, D'Angelo and their weaponry of earthy instruments have been commercialized in embarrassing ways, R&B has again cleaved into distinct pop and alternative sects.
It's smooth Motown versus gritty Stax all over again - that age-old infighting over authenticity, maturity and commerce. But his music almost makes you forget that unpretentious, youthful R&B can be as well-made as an Aaliyah or Justin Timberlake record.
But like any of the mercifully forgettable club tunes by his two older brothers, Marques Houston and B2K's Omari, this is all too innocuous to view as a harbinger of musical apocalypse.
In fact, O'Ryan sounds like a nice, harmless 16-year-old. He even takes a stand in his songs to lay off underage drinking.
Since he and his brothers insist on being urban counterparts to white teen idols such as the Backstreet Boys, they should borrow some of their inane tunefulness.
The album is Usher-lite, but if it's unable to get our booties quivering, at least the singer respects women just a bit more than his predecessor, that preeminent player with crude confessions.
The first single, "Take It Slow," offers up abstinence, however momentary, an idea recycled from Janet Jackson's "Let's Wait Awhile."
Predictably, none of the melodies stand out and O'Ryan's voice is more amateurish than an American Idol's. All the beats are as nauseatingly uniform as watered-down Ja Rule.
