The music video to Janelle Monáe’s 2010 single Cold War presents only a slither of the narrative richness of her debut album The ArchAndroid – and yet, it is a masterpiece that embraces simplicity and emotion to get to the core of this Afrofuturistic, genre-bending concept piece: the road to self-realisation and love is a road worth fighting for.
I don’t want to sound like an artsy teenager, but The ArchAndroid was one of the first albums I bought with my own money (alongside Eliza Doolittle’s self-titled debut record, slightly diminishing my artsiness rating). And I didn’t understand it upon first listen. Neither the futuristic narrative nor it’s political implications got through to me as Monáe’s effortless genre-hopping became a confusing and inscrutable jungle to navigate. I was fascinated by her as a vocalist and some songs immediately struck a chord with me, but the nuances and the ingenuity of this record remained inaccessible. It is only with time, continuous listening and a growing familiarity with Monáe’s discography that I have come to fully appreciate her debut record. (It may also be the fact that I have continuously used her work as case studies in my university papers.)
The opening soundscape of Suite II Overture makes it clear that this record is ready to tell a story and ready to demand your attention. Drama and excitement mix into the rapid string lines, a beautifully rich orchestra begs you to immerse yourself in the story of Cindy Mayweather, an android who fell in love with a human and thereby inspired social rebellion on her quest to self-discovery and love. That sounds like a handful (and it certainly is), but Monáe is a master of balancing story with musicality. Every track draws you in deeper and deeper until you find yourself caring for the fictional characters contained within the 70 minutes of the album. Her lyrics especially escape narrative limitation, a hint of contemporaneity shining through in their descriptions of social injustice and the struggle of minority classes. Monáe might be singing about futuristic android oppression to an r&b, trip hop inspired beat on Dance or Die but her awareness of social injustice is hard to mask: Sudanese and Congolose who put the roll in the rock / from here to Sudan, Metropolis to Iraq / it’s a minute to the dawn and yet the sun ain’t back / it’s a war in all the streets and yes freaks will dance or die.
But there are moments when the splendor of her voice outshines any narrative reference. Oh, Maker is one of the most magnificent pieces of music recorded in the 2010s; a folk song that starts of with the simple scent of a Simon & Garfunkel acoustic guitar riff but then advances into a tender ballad as Monáe effortlessly switches into expressive soul phrasing for the choruses. It is a masterpiece in simplicity and expressiveness. There is not much happening in terms of structure, a simple verse-chorus song that does not build towards a grand finale or over-the-top conclusion of romantic confession. Instead, it fades out into a cloud of spherical synthesiser sounds, the only hint at its Afrofuturist context. But not after leaving you with some of the most poetic and magnificently gentle lyrics of Monáe’s entire œuvre: Oh, Maker tell me did you know / this love would burn so yellow? / Becoming orange and in its time / explode from grey to black then bloody wine.
I feel a similar intimacy and tenderness in Cold War, one of the records singles and emblematic of Monáe’s talent as a writer and performer. It is a raw and vulnerable account of self-discovery and the realisation that life and love do not come easy – especially for members of social minorities facing daily oppression and injustice. Watching Monáe burst into tears as she sings I was told to believe there’s something wrong with me is only the tip of the emotional iceberg that slowly rises through the passionate intensity of her voice. It is the frustration at herself, the urge to stop this moment of weakness and the subsequent surrender to her tears that really rips my heart apart every time I listen to the song. Every scream, every syllable, every word is drenched in hope and despair and yearning and defeat. It is an endless stream of emotions that situates Monáe’s work right in the present, making her futuristic alter ego real and graspable.
There are more danceable numbers on this record. Tightrope is a funk explosion that showcases Monáe as a legend on the dance floor with its fantastically smooth bass line and stellar brass section. Come Alive (War of the Roses) has straight up pop punk vibes and reveals a more sinister and reckless side of the singers voice as she erupts into manic screams and electric guitar glory. Mushrooms & Roses, the closing track for Suite II builds into a psychedelic love ballad about nirvana and sexual freedom complete with spacey synthesisers and distorted guitar solos that leaves you asking what Miss Monáe can’t do. Lastly, BaBopByeYa makes a strong case to become the next Bond film title track – jazz and suspense galore on one of the most ambitious closing songs in recent recording history. Monáe’s voice again effortlessly adapts to the dark, seductive, completely entrancing melody of her grand finale, a final feast for your ears and imagination.
The ArchAndroid is an incredible work of art and it is mind-boggling how all of it could have sprung form the brain of one insanely talented woman. After more than 10 years since its release, the album still feels new and exceptional, incomparable to anything in popular music. It has been wonderful to see Janelle Monáe grow into a household name of contemporary popular music as well as into an activist for social justice and an advocate for the black and queer community. Just as wonderful as every return to her debut record.
The Dad Anthology 