Janelle Monáe Ditches High Concepts for Hedonistic Abandon on The Age of Pleasure

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#janellemonáe For over a decade, Janelle Monáe has been a trailblazer in the music industry, carving out a niche for herself as a purveyor of R&B that is so high-concept that even her album covers came with subtitles. Her albums poise her as a part-human, part-cyborg figure in a dystopian future, blending Afrofuturism with the sexually ambiguous personae of 70s Bowie. However, Monáe’s commitment to her roles, which extended to apparently giving interviews in character, have resulted in her albums selling well but not spectacularly.

However, her latest album, The Age of Pleasure, marks a significant departure from her previous works. Rather than a stylized illustration of a heavily coiffed and costumed Monáe complete with a wordy subtitle, the cover of The Age of Pleasure features a blurry snap of the singer topless and underwater, swimming through a succession of people’s legs. The album is 31 minutes long, less than half the length of either The Electric Lady or The ArchAndroid, with songs, interludes and fleeting guest appearances seamlessly blending into each other. The lyrical focus shifts dramatically from future dystopias to partying and having it off, with songs named after champagne cocktails and recordings of Monáe and her friends toasting each other as they embark on an evening of bar-hopping.

The album is set to rhythms rooted in reggae and dancehall, overlaid with bursts of Afrobeat horns. The atmospheres on the album recall the laid-back 70s soul of Kool & the Gang’s Summer Madness or Lowrell’s Mellow Mellow Right On. Although not every song works, Monáe using reggae to hymn queer relationships on Lipstick Lover is something smart and subversive. The album’s highlight, Only Have Eyes 42, conjures up an enveloping dreamy ambience, borrowing the chorus from the Flamingos’ similarly titled doo-wop classic.

Recent profiles of Monáe make clear that the partying and having it off come with a side-order of earnest stuff about self-acceptance and self-discovery. Monáe encourages her listeners to “actively focus on being present”, to reorient their lives around pleasure, and to explore their sexual desires. Although these messages are challenging, they seem out of place on an album about hedonistic abandon. At moments, Monáe’s vocals feel oddly stiff, as if she’s playing another role, or trying a little too hard to sound authentic.

Nonetheless, The Age of Pleasure’s brevity means that these moments pass quickly, to be supplanted by moments when Monáe sounds as light and warm as the music behind her. The album’s flaws feel forgivable since it is a dramatic pivot unlikely to alienate anyone drawn to the old high-concept Janelle Monáe. Moreover, given pop’s current risk-averse climate, that’s an achievement in itself.

Overall, Janelle Monáe’s The Age of Pleasure marks a significant departure from her previous Afrofuturism themed albums. Although not every song works, Monáe’s pivot towards partying and having it off is unlikely to alienate her dedicated fanbase and may attract new listeners. The album’s brevity means its flaws feel forgivable, making it a commendable achievement in pop music’s current risk-averse climate.