The-Dream Performs at S.O.B."s - NYTimes.com When something, or someone, gets under the skin of The-Dream, he makes it known. Last year, in the down time between major-label albums, he released "1977," a free album through his Web site that was recorded under his real name, Terius Nash. The year before he'd split from his wife, the singer Christina Milian, and "1977" bore all the scars of a brutal heartbreak: he was petulant, nasty and unforgiving. His angst didn't stop there. "1977" also captured The-Dream's superiority complex about his craft. He is a witty, savvy songwriter, and a hip-hop-era R&B oddball; his success has made room for others to continue to colonize that space. Certainly there is no bigger advocate of this theory than The-Dream, who seems to hear himself everywhere his ears land. Maybe others are merely doing what he cannot. The-Dream is more a technology of singing and songwriting than an actual vocalist. He has all the parts down, and in his hands, they are endlessly repeatable. What's missing is a voice to draw attention to his worthy skill. If others have walked his path, it is only because he has cleared the brush. This week The-Dream headlined a two-night stand at S.O.B."s. Originally billed as one show, on Sunday, focusing on the songs he's recorded as The-Dream, it was followed by a second show, on Monday, when he leaned on his Terius Nash material. The face-off proved to be something less than that. On Monday Mr. Nash opened with a few songs from "1977," but then settled into more or less the same set as the night before, which had drawn almost exclusively from his three major-label albums. Still, the difference was instructive. The "1977" songs are among his most vulnerable, especially "Wedding Crasher," which Mr. Nash describes in the lyrics as "my drunk song." In between the songs there was some loose talk, presumably directed at his ex. But he didn't dwell. After a few songs the wounded, lovelorn, down-on-his-luck romantic was gone. Back was the sometimes wicked, sometimes crass, sometimes bluntly insightful dog responsible for some of the sharpest R&B of the past few years, a sound that he'd shown off to such dramatic effect on Night One. For a singer of severely limited vocal range, The-Dream still managed to create a small extravaganza onstage on Sunday. During "Purple Kisses" he brought up a woman up to serenade: an unimpressed woman, as it happened. He quickly swapped her for someone more enthusiastic, in a move both expedient and gauche. Sometimes, as on "Fast Car" and "Kill the Lights," it sounded as if he were backed up by Prince's band. Later he followed "Ditch That" with "Walkin" on the Moon," for a climactic run in which his band sounded like a hypertrophied go-go outfit, the sweetness of the synths cutting against the meatiness of the percussion. The-Dream is an R&B traditionalist in hip-hop costume. His true innovation is in untethering the idea of hip-hop soul from the sound of hip-hop while keeping its attitude, its lingo and its toughness. "I haven't done a show in close to two years," he said, and in that time, he insisted, imitators had abounded. One person who took exception to these words was the Weeknd, the rising Toronto R&B star, who, to be fair, owes much more to Terence Trent D'Arby and Rick James than to The-Dream, to say nothing of the huge debt both men owe to Prince. The Weeknd took to Twitter for some veiled shots at The-Dream. But this is quibbling over crumbs, at least for The-Dream, who has had far more success as a songwriter than as a performer; even though he's been responsible for the sales of millions of records, most of them have belonged to other people with names like Rihanna and Beyoncé. On Tuesday morning, after his second show, he took to Twitter both to egg on the Weeknd, and also to proclaim himself above the drama. "I think the world of the boy," he wrote. And nothing will change that. He's very talented. And it's nothing for me to say that. He probably wouldn't know how not to.