But You Caint Use My Phone by Erykah Badu

I’m starting to wonder if the real reason we can’t use Erykah’s phone is because it’s overloaded with regrettable track choices and missed potential. “But You Caint Use My Phone” feels less like a clever mixtape and more like a 36-minute voicemail you never wanted to receive in the first place.

Badu’s phone-themed mixtape promises an exploration of communication in the digital age, but what we really get is a rehash of tired tropes and a phone obsession that rivals your teenage cousin’s Instagram addiction. Yes, the concept of blending R&B, neo-soul, and modern production is intriguing on paper, but somewhere along the line, it veers off into gimmick territory. The mixtape revolves around phones: calls, hang-ups, and the occasional Hotline Bling remix (yes, that one), but after a few tracks, the theme gets as tiresome as listening to a dial tone.

Musically, the project is a mixed bag of ideas that never fully develop. There’s a spacey vibe running through the mixtape—like someone recorded it while floating through a Wi-Fi dead zone. Tracks like “Phone Down” are repetitive enough to make you want to put your own phone down and walk away entirely. Sure, the beats are occasionally funky, but most tracks feel like they were tossed together in a 12-day studio bender, which, surprise, they were. This rushed quality means we get a lot of half-baked beats and noodling synths that lead nowhere in particular. Experimental? Sure. Successful? Hardly.

The mixtape’s lyrics are equally lackluster. Erykah recycles the same handful of phrases like “You used to call me on my cell phone” until you’re begging for her to switch to airplane mode. “Mr. Telephone Man” is a standout for all the wrong reasons, with the titular phrase awkwardly crammed into almost every line like a bad auto-correct suggestion. Even with a guest appearance from André 3000 on “Hello,” there’s not enough substance to save the day—this feels more like a chat you’d have with someone who refuses to hang up first.

If there’s a bright spot here, it’s “Hello,” the only track that doesn’t completely overstay its welcome thanks to André 3000 injecting some life into the proceedings. But then again, André could rap over hold music and make it sound profound. Other than that, the highlights are few and far between. Even the much-anticipated cover of Drake’s “Hotline Bling” (rebranded as “Cel U Lar Device”) just feels like a novelty cover that overstays its welcome.

The mixtape tries to maintain a loose theme around phones and communication, but it ends up sounding more like a series of disconnected voice memos. The tracks don’t flow smoothly; instead, they crash into each other with all the grace of someone dropping their phone in the toilet. If there’s supposed to be a story here, it’s as hard to follow as a conversation with someone who’s driving through a tunnel.

Listening to this mixtape is like picking up a telemarketing call—at first, you’re curious, but soon you realize it’s nothing but empty promises. There’s no emotional depth here, no connection. Badu has always been a master of crafting soulful, introspective music, but this is not it. The mixtape feels cold, distant, and ultimately forgettable, which is ironic given that it’s all about connecting through phones.

This one’s for the diehard Badu fans only—the type who would listen to her hum into a speakerphone and call it revolutionary. Casual listeners expecting a polished, cohesive album like Baduizm or New Amerykah will be sorely disappointed. Even if you’re in it for the nostalgia, don’t expect this mixtape to rekindle the love you felt for Badu’s earlier work.

In the end, “But You Caint Use My Phone” is a frustrating listen. It’s a quirky detour in Badu’s discography that ultimately falls flat. Somewhere in the endless loops of phone references, the connection between artist and listener is lost. If you want to save time, just do what the title suggests: don’t pick up the phone. You’re not missing much.