Back when he was just Sean "Puffy" Combs, Diddy told you that he wouldn't - or couldn't - stop. Here in 06, he rises phoenix-like from the ashes of his label, which had lost all cachet years before he forced MA$E to come back, claimed to invent the remix and hauled Biggie's exhumed a cappellas around like Weekend At Bernie's 3: The Hamptons. I thought it was last call at the Diddy party when I saw him shilling Proactiv on TV, stressing that the acne treatment "moisturizes my situation and preserves my sexy." But Diddy is a businessman, and on Press Play he insures himself with the hottest guests (Christina Aguilera, Big Boi, Ciara, Nas Cee-Lo), producers (Just Blaze, Kanye West, Havoc, Timbaland, Neptunes) and ghostwriters (Pharoahe Monch, the Game). The result is a sprawled-out, futuristic tribute to Diddy's own celebrity. Hate him, but he pulls it off.