Janelle Monáe
The Age of Pleasure
Wondaland/Bad Boy/Atlantic
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“No, I’m not the same,” she chants repeatedly as if having a religious experience. “I think I done changed!” Her introductory single “Float” opens with an understatement if ever there was one.
Singer-songwriter-actress-activist-android Janelle Monáe has done nothing but undergo nested metamorphoses before our eyes, adding a new hyphenate for each juncture on the way. Each prior album stair-stepped to her current underwater treasure trove of aquatic eroticism The Age of Pleasure. This R&B celebration of human sensuality is heavily liquored in Afrobeat and reggae spirits. Akin to last year’s seismic Renaissance (2022) from Beyoncé, Pleasure does away with respectability, allowing Monáe to be the playful au naturel sea nymph on its cover.
Some decry this as a departure from thematic and phantasmagorical defining efforts The ArchAndroid (2010) and The Electric Lady (2013). Musically, however, its interconnecting songs and complex orchestrations begin a subtle turn back toward that style. Meanwhile, the artist’s true self is allowed to emerge from its confines.
Monáe had important business to tend to on the pop-anchored Dirty Computer (2018), where she shed her Cindi Mayweather persona to announce that Janelle Monáe now identifies as pansexual and then some. “My pronouns are free-ass motherf—and they/them, her/she,” she declared to the Los Angeles Times. “I’m nonbinary, so I just don’t see myself as a woman... solely. I am everything.” This soul-bearing work paved the way for The Age of Pleasure, the joyous afterparty to that intrepid coming-out.
It is only apropos that “Float” be the topmost layer of her progressively submarine exploration. With the help of Seun Kuti, son of the late Fela Kuti, who now leads his father’s band Egypt 80, this trap-reggae-soul entryway trumpets Monáe’s aforementioned changes.
The suite truly begins with the day-party anthem “Champagne Shit,” reminiscent of Monáe’s 2015 mainstream smash “Yoga.” It splashes gleefully into the transitional “Black Sugar Beach,” a brief swatch of club tropicalia that prepares us for the next powerful waves to wash along Pleasure‘s shores.
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Assisted by alternative hip-hopper Doechii, “Phenomenal” wastes no time commanding attention. “I’m looking at a thousand versions of myself,” Monáe intones. “And we’re all… fine… as fuck.” The danceable confidence booster morphs into “Haute,” in which Monáe affirms the full spectrum of her (or their) gender-bucking beauty (“A bitch look good / A bitch look haute / A bitch look pretty / A bitch look handsome / I'm feelin' so sexy”). And then appears the icon of androgyny, patron saint of reggae-punk rebellion Grace Jones to endorse “Ooh La La” with her sibilant, French doting.
Anyone who saw Monáe on stage grinding beneath Jones in a viral 2022 performance of “Pull Up To The Bumper” won’t be surprised by the Dionysian spectacle of the video for Pleasure’s second single “Lipstick Lover.” In it, Monáe recreates the sort of hedonist swim party that inspired her album. Appropriately, it spotlights Black female sexuality, including men without centering their gaze. Though this might seem exhibitionist, it doesn't feel like she's putting on a show for us, but rather she just doesn't mind if we watch. It's really quite “Any Time, Any Place.”
Next, “The Rush” brings 1997 romcom Love Jones to life. Principal actress Nia Long purrs romantic mantras throughout this subdued tantalizer (think Aaliyah’s “Rock the Boat”) while Ghanaian, pixie-voiced Amaarae sprays her own whipped cream on verse two. As with Marvin Gaye’s I Want You (1976) epic, Monáe excels at sweetly whispering charged, lustful overtures. Her unassuming coo effectively masks how much animalistic sex and raging desire press against flimsily latched doors that can barely hold it back.
If one needs to dissipate pent-up energy, “Water Slide” shifts the focus from mating to self-stimulating (“I’m holding my breath with my eyes closed / I can swim solo / Feelin’ all around for the right spot / Playing Marco Polo”). You can tell the children it’s about frolicking in the pool, but the well-applied Jamaican dancehall sampled from Sister Nancy and Patra betray that something grown-up is definitely going on.
Speaking of growing, the contemporary Afrobeats of “Know Better” are an appealing evolution for Monáe. Chemistry with Nigerian singer CKay is palpable and its deep-water sound succeeds like Alicia Keys’ Drake collaboration “Un-Thinkable (I’m Ready).” Both songs are atypical for their respective artists, but undeniably becoming.
Primarily produced by Nate “Rocket” Wonder, Nana Kwabena, and Sensei Bueno, the project hits all the right notes, and then—like Jazmine Sullivan’s GRAMMY-winning Heaux Tales (2021) or the recent ME YOU & GOD from Monáe protégé Jidenna—the rocksteady ride ends after only 32 minutes.
One can only hope a deluxe edition extends this bacchanalian delight to satisfy those who like a longer session. Perhaps Monáe intentionally chose to stop short because they like watching partners beg for more. It’s a tease, but I might just be into it.
Notable Tracks: “Float” | “Know Better” | “Phenomenal” | “Water Slide”
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