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D'Angelo in 1995

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I Met Her in Philly: D'Angelo's 'Brown Sugar' Turns 25

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Like Marvin Gaye and so many '70s heroes before him, D'Angelo imbued easy listening with urgency on his studio debut
Dan Weiss
GRAMMYs
Jul 9, 2020 - 9:28 am

It's hard to believe there was a time when R&B wasn't exactly described as "loose," which is a very subjective term. But if you can imagine, like most '80s music, R&B had become rather "tight," and became nearly claustrophobically so as New Jack Swing was introduced, with the likes of Janet Jackson and Bobby Brown riding steely new rhythms, vocalizing on beat, making entire tics out of their voices' response to the rhythm. Michael Jackson made entire songs, entire languages out of those tics. This stuff wasn't grooveless in the slightest. But it was highly choreographed, syncopated, squeezed into form-fitting outfits for mechanistic dance routines and informed by hip-hop beats, house, electro-via-Kraftwerk, all kinds of "hard" structures that forced traditional singers to constrict and contort their presences to fit into the spaces between all this busy, futuristic new audio innovation. So if you're wondering where neo-soul came from, that’s your ground zero.

Of course, there was quiet storm too, but unlike the 2010s, which found New Age and other soft, conservative genres being reevaluated as something extraordinary, the respected likes of Luther Vandross et al. were not seen as revolutionary like Public Enemy or Prince in the 1980s. What Michael "D'Angelo" Archer did a quarter-century ago was simple enough—like Marvin Gaye and so many '70s heroes before him, he imbued easy listening with urgency. Not that subtlety was about to overpower the steamrolling megapopularity of grunge or gangsta rap in 1995. But D'Angelo’s debut album Brown Sugar was vital and newsworthy enough that it arguably birthed the whole damn neo-soul movement, a year before Maxwell’s Urban Hang Suite, two years before Erykah Badu’s Baduizm, five before Jill Scott's Who Is Jill Scott?, and you can hear more of it today in Noname and Solange and Keiyaa and countless other contemporaries more than most music turning 25 this year.

That's the backstory, really. The legendary follow-up Voodoo gets all the attention, and rightfully so, but Brown Sugar gets somewhat overshadowed by default, for not having an epic wait like its five-year follow-up or 2016's Black Messiah, the critics' poll-annihilating mirage which materialized 14 years after that. But besides nabbing D'Angelo four GRAMMY noms at the time and almost singlehandedly opening the doors for a genre, it’s just a flawless album.

Which is not be taken for granted in any era, but especially not the '90s, a great decade for R&B singles, and not-exactly-canonized efforts from its heaviest hitters: Boyz II Men, Mariah Carey, maybe TLC. Only Mary J. Blige and Prince were routinely making strong top-to-bottom albums at the time that could be slotted as soul. But they had so much hip-hop and other things in the mix, whereas D’Angelo was something of a purist. Anything new about Brown Sugar was old. Well, except for "Cruisin'," which to this day could very well still be his finest moment.

Ever heard of grooves? Not exactly a new idea. But when we talk about "loose," we talk about weed freeing oxygen to the brain, intimacy-inspired serotonin, an extreme level of comfort from a debut artist in the astoundingly calming, funky properties of his not-really-songs, and the deeply layered vocal shapes he laid over them without any particular dissonance or chaos. The Geto Boys-worthy drum loop of a vamp like "Jonz in My Bonz" was all that really tethered it to the Earth, the rest sounded like three or four Ds improvising at once, a crooner with more than one head, which in this genre has been a reality in more than a few instances. Brown Sugar is still easy listening, not that any D'Angelo is even close to difficult. But like Fela Kuti, it's simultaneously sprawling and simple-sounding; except for the intricately jazzy "Smooth" and its attendant piano, you don’t come away from these songs being convinced that they existed before the recording session.

The hooks are just mantras: "I want some of your brown sugar," "Why are you sleeping with my woman," "Look at you, you’re so smooth." They get stuck in your head without trying too hard, and they don’t sound forethought. D'Angelo is an expert arranger, player and definitely singer. But as a songwriter, you really just hear his talent molding and drawing these ideas out before your ears. And yet the avoidance of waste is shocking: just ten songs, no skits, most hovering around the extraordinary heights of the six-and-half-minute "Cruisin'" and the bluesy, bewildered cheating reveal "Shit, Damn, Motherf**ker." Voodoo is widely acknowledged as the best R&B album of the 2000s, but there’s no reason not to award the same consideration to its naturalistic, unhurried predecessor for its respective decade. He’s one of those icons like Kurt Cobain who makes it sound so easy when dozens of not-quites prove it certainly isn't. But listening rarely gets easier than Brown Sugar.

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Janelle Monáe performing in 2010

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These Dreams Are Forever: 10 Years Of Janelle Monáe's 'The ArchAndroid'

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The Recording Academy revisits the singer/songwriter's wildly ambitious debut studio album
Jordan Blum
GRAMMYs
May 18, 2020 - 9:24 am

Over the past 15 years, Afrofuturist artist and activist Janelle Monáe has arguably become the Renassiance woman of modern popular culture. After all, she’s achieved a virtually matchless amount of professional success and eclecticism in several fields, such as acting, business and fashion. Clearly, she's a multitalented tour-de-force whose ambitions, skills and perseverance know no bounds. That said, while those ancillary achievements are undeniably remarkable, it’s always been her dazzlingly varied, targeted and clever music that reigns supreme.

In particular, her debut LP, The ArchAndroid, set the stage for all that’d she’d come to be. Released in May 2010 through a partnership between her label Wondaland Arts Society, Bad Boy and Atlantic Records, its fusion of star-crossed sci-fi chronicle, genre-splicing wonderment and interwoven social and personal commentaries signified Monáe as not only a wildly imaginative and capable creator, but also as a fearless spokesperson for external progressivism and internal agency. Unsurprisingly, it resonated with people from the get-go, and although she’s subsequently continued the narrative on 2013’s The Electric Lady—before abandoning her cybernetic veil to fully own her identity with 2018’s Dirty Computer—The ArchAndroid remains her magnum opus.

Conceptually, the record picks up where 2007’s Metropolis: Suite I (The Chase) EP—itself a brief but brilliant appetizer that overtly alludes to Fritz Lang’s 1927 film—left off. At this point, Monáe has already introduced listeners to the plight of her central protagonist and real life alter-ego, Cindi Mayweather (an android who faces oppression and termination in the midst of falling in love with a human, Anthony Greendown). Therefore, she expands Mayweather’s role as both victim and vindicator on The ArchAndroid, with Mayweather continuing to fight against bigotry, tyranny and inequality by becoming a messianic champion of unbridled love, co-existence and free will. Fascinatingly, scholars Daylanne K. English and Alvin Kim—in their text "Now We Want Our Funk Cut: Janelle Monáe’s Neo-Afrofuturism"—suggest that the even character’s surname is symbolic, as it "combines sunny spring and the possibility of death (she ‘may’ or may not ‘weather’ her trials)."

Of course, Monáe is far from the first visionary to tackle such storylines, parables and apperances. In terms of both plot and presentation, her early 2010s aesthetic mirrors that of David Bowie’s 1972 classic Ziggy Stardust, when he also wrote about a dystopic world through the eyes of a sexually fluid savior. (Likewise, his "look" was perhaps just as provocatively prophetic as Monáe’s; however, her famous tuxedo variants are rooted in her upbringing, as they represent a stylish nod to the working class jobs—janitor, maid, trash truck driver, etc.—she and/or her parents had). Similarly, you can’t overlook the parallels to George Clinton’s Parliament-Funkadelic, whose visuals, sounds and messages were similarly colorful and liberating. Also, films like Terminator 2, District 9 and Blade Runner had previously explored the relationship being us and aliens or androids, all the while centering on the central question of what it means to be human. Hell, Monáe’s electronic/alt-rock hodgepodge "Make the Bus"—which also wears its Prince influence on its sleeve—directly references the last film’s inspiration, Philip K. Dick’s 1968 novel Do Androids Dream Of Electric Sheep?

Beyond that, Monáe has never relented from her messages of acceptance, understanding and redefinition regarding the phenological Self and Other. Self-identified as bisexual and pansexual, Monáe’s main goal with every endeavor is to champion civil rights for all marginalized people, be they connected to race, patriarchy, class, faith, or the vast LGBTQ+ spectrum. In a July 2010 interview with The Guardian’s Hattie Collins, she even stipulates: "The ArchAndroid is a mythical figure who went around for centuries, similar to the archangel, or a Neo from The Matrix . . . [it] represents the minority, whether it's a black person, an immigrant, or coming from another country." Thus, the LP follows in the footsteps of other creative benchmarks—like the heavily allegorical X-Men—and solidifies Monáe’s aforementioned prominence in Afrofuturism.

It’s also worth noting the importance of Monáe helping to reestablish the concept album format as beloved and viable. Sure, the artform was quite popular from the late 1960s to the late 1970s; yet, outside of niche subgenres like progressive rock/metal and a few major exceptions (namely, Green Day’s American Idiot), they’re largely absent from the zeitgeist. With its immediate and sustained popularity, though, The ArchAndroid bucks that trend. Not only does it alternate between a multitude of styles—funk, pop, hip-hop, rock, neo-soul, R&B, and a bit of folk—as it houses weighty themes beneath a compelling narrative, but its use of symphonic "Suite" overtures and recurring motifs are just as striving and uncommon in mainstream music. Thus, The ArchAndroid evokes artists like Kate Bush, Madonna, Michael Jackson, James Brown and Simon & Garfunkel while connecting to everything from The Who’s Tommy and Quadrophenia to Kendrick Lamar’s To Pimp a Butterfly and Kid Cudi’s Man on the Moon series.

It’s no shock that a lot of work went into making the album. In fact, it was recorded between 2007 and 2010 at Wonderland Studios in Atlanta; produced by five people (Monáe, Nate "Rocket" Wonder, Roman GianArthur, Chuck Lightning, and Kevin Barnes); and featured many guests, including Saul Williams, Deep Cotton, Of Montreal, Big Boi (with whom Monáe worked on Outkast’s 2006 disc, Idlewild), and a host of orchestral players. As for its cover, John Calvert—in his Quietus write-up "Janelle Monáe: A New Pioneer of Afrofuturism"—wisely sees Monáe’s Egyptian headdress topped by the golden Metropolis as an "homage to free-jazz pioneer Sun Ra . . . who also declared himself a messianic savior and whose aesthetic was the first example of a black musician overtly appropriating sci-fi iconography."

Naturally, all of that effort—as well as the elaborate and intensive promotional period, which included many TV show apperances and a thought-provoking music video for "Tightrope"—paid off, as The ArchAndroid received praise from outlets like The A.V. Club, Entertainment Weekly, NME, Spin and Pitchfork. As a result, it earned her a GRAMMY Award nomination for Best Contemporary R&B Album, the top spot on several end-of-year music magazine lists, and her highest Metacritic score to date, 91. True, it didn’t dominate sales charts at first, but it nonetheless debuted at a respectable #17 on the Billboard 200, and it did comparatively well in Europe.

In hindsight, The ArchAndroid seems even more special and triumphant. Although every piece of the puzzle is essential, some certainly stand out the most. The Wizard of Oz-esque "Suite II Overture" is a marvelous and mysterious nugget of classical imperial instrumentation that foreshadows bits and pieces of the ensuing trek (such as the heavenly gospel fable “57821”). Smartly, its closing handclaps—which conjure another exceptional modern concept album series, The Dear Hunter’s Acts pentalogy—give way to the ingeniously hooky hip-hop/synth pop/R&B mash-up duo of "Dance of Die" and "Faster." We’re only three tracks into The ArchAndroid and it’s already showcasing a superlative level of songwriting, production and sequencing.  

Later, "Sir Greendown" feels like Monáe put a mid-1960s Beach Boys backing behind a classic Motown ode. In contrast, follow-up "Cold War" presents its battle cry of underground revolution ("All the tribes comes and the mighty will crumble / We must brave this night and have faith in love") via an irresistibly peppy and elegiac blend of new wave and Afro-funk. Its vocal-centric ending is beautifully harrowing, too. Delightfully, the LP takes another sharp turn with "Tightrope," a celebratory soul and rap declaration (with help from Big Boi) about keeping a level head throughout the ups and downs of life. Next, the surreal sound collage "Neon Gumbo" cleverly reprises "Many Moons" from the Metropolis EP.

There’s wonderfully folky and hip-hop sorrow within "Oh, Maker," whereas "Come Alive (War of the Roses)" is a sleek and raucous rocker that really swings. Then, "Neon Valley Street" adds delicate strings, invigorating beats and Hendrix-esque electric guitar licks to its core piano ballad yearning before the irresistible “Wondaland” adds intellect and innovation to what might otherwise be mere sugar pop excess. The penultimate "Say You’ll Go" is peppered with the melodic fluidity and altruism of Stevie Wonder, while closer "BabopbyeYa" wouldn’t be out of place in a 1940s jazz piano bar, especially with its interwoven noirish symphony. It absolutely works as a grand finale that leaves you eager to see and hear where The Electric Lady will take you next.

Ten years on, The ArchAndroid is as potent and poetic as ever, capitalizing on the potential of the Metropolis EP to reveal Monáe as master of her craft. The sheer amount of variety and novelty inherent in its arrangements and production is magnificent, perfectly complementing the splendor of her motivated melodies and lyrics. Best of all, her plot never falters from its dual purpose as totalitarian fiction and cautionary tale. Hence, she honors a longstanding tradition of using pop culture to educate and incite her audience, transporting listeners to a breathtaking fantasy so that they’re better equipped to fight injustice upon their return to reality.

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Take That in 1995

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Someday Soon This Will All Be Someone Else's Dream: 25 Years Of Take That's 'Nobody Else'

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The Recording Academy looks back at the English pop heroes' third and final album before disbanding in 1996
Ana Leorne
GRAMMYs
May 9, 2020 - 6:00 am

The single mix of "Never Forget," the last track extracted from Take That's third studio album Nobody Else, appropriately begins with "Tuba Mirum" from Verdi's Requiem followed by an intro by the Henllan Boys Choir. Their last LP before disbanding in early 1996, Nobody Else (and "Never Forget" in particular), would mark the departure of Robbie Williams, who left the band precisely during the promotion of this single.

The track's impromptu opening would prove to be weirdly fitting in the short run, not only because a Requiem always presumes some sort of death or loss being publicly mourned, but also due to the choir used as the track's prologue eerily evoking the Rolling Stones' Let It Bleed closer "You Can't Always Get What You Want"—curiously their last album to feature fifth element (and founding member) Brian Jones. Uncannily enough, both albums were released amidst a series of tumultuous events that turned both 1969 and 1995 into anni horribiles for those who had once been considered fundamental and arguably the most charismatic members of their respective bands: Brian Jones would be found dead in his swimming pool before Let It Bleed even hit the shelves; Williams would mercifully have better luck, but for a moment there it certainly didn't seem like it.

Although he had always been the most difficult to "tame" by manager Nigel Martin-Smith, by 1995 Williams' increasingly erratic behavior and public drug usage (just like Jones) had become a nuisance to the band. After a near-overdose in November of the previous year on the eve of the MTV European Music Awards that almost led to the cancelation of the band's performance altogether, Smith, Barrow and Orange confronted Williams, eventually leading to the latter's departure from Take That in July. He would remain virtually idle music-wise, not releasing anything until the following year—this not only due to a clause in his contract that prevented him from dropping any solo material until Take That's disbandment, but also (if not mainly) because of a direction-less, self-destructive attitude that could've easily costed him his life.

Nobody Else—and "How Deep Is Your Love" as its inevitable epilogue—would probably have been the honorable final opus from one of the greatest boy bands of the 1990s had Barlow succeeded in having the solo career he had always dreamed of, and apart from the occasional reunion whenever royalties' money happened to run low should've been the last we had seen of Take That as an active group. Although the album is by no means of the careless, constant quality of its predecessor—Everything Changes takes itself much less seriously, which arguably makes it superior in the Pop department; it encapsulates a powerful symbolism regarding the self-undoing of a phenomenon that would be impossible to replicate (or even create) on purpose. Where "Sure" and "Back For Good" lead as two of Take That's greatest singles ever, "Never Forget" follows as a prophecy by bringing the band full circle and referencing their roots in the weird, untimely tribute that constitutes the music video, but also by marking the exact time their deterioration would begin: following Williams's departure, the remaining quartet would also go their separate ways in less than a year. The fact that the song features Howard Donald on lead vocals also evokes a replacement, again unpremeditated and prophetic, and a bitter aftertaste is left unresolved until the reprise of the Bee Gees' classic.

Suddenly, they sounded so old. By 1995 it seemed they'd been about it for too long, reaching that critical point between freshness and consecration most acts find increasingly hard to overcome the bigger a phenomenon they are. In Take That's case, this crisis also derived from what is tactfully put as "personal and artistic divergences," with Williams wanting to embark in a new musical direction by growing dissatisfied with the puppy-eyed ballads that seemed to propel the group forward—but how could he even begin to argue with the insane explosion that was "Back For Good"? At the tender age of 21, Williams was given the choice of either get with the program or quit it altogether—the latter being what he ended up doing, not without a grudge against his former band colleagues he'd hold for many years to come, preventing him from rejoining the group or even agreeing to the odd appearance (remember he bluntly refused to meet the gang for the 2005 iTV documentary For The Record). His feud with Barlow in particular would feed a tabloid thirst for blood when, at first, "Forever Love" and "Love Won't Wait" seemed to allow Barlow to hold the upper hand—unsurprisingly so, since he had been Take That's main songwriter. But with "Angels" the tables turned, and the rest is history. The hatchet would nevertheless take a while to bury: the publicly reconciliatory "Shame" wouldn't arrive until 2010.

Nobody Else is a solid album that in spite of lacking the freshness commonly associated with boy bands delivers exactly what Everything Changes had promised two years prior: the maturity of a phenomenon that would implode if forced to remain static. But it is also terribly melancholic and fragmented, not so much in terms of style but in the way it seems to address a lost youth dream when most members were still in their mid-20s. For what it's worth, Take That as we knew them stopped then and there, and the revival over ten years later just felt like a completely different band.

Celebrating Nobody Else as the closing piece of the band's original trinity (Take That & Party and Everything Changes complete the lot) seems easier now that 25 years have gone by and we are granted the appropriate hindsight to appreciate it as more than a frivolous ephemeral fad. An essential bridge to understand the road U.K. Pop music carved between '80s Hi-NRG and '90s Britpop explosion, Take That predictably bowed out as the infamous Oasis/Blur single battle showed both the press and the public had long shifted towards a different focal point: after having filled a very specific gap in time and place, Nobody Else sounded like the proper goodbye. Ideally, with no reprises.

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Alicia Silverstone as Cher Horowitz in 'Clueless' (1995)

Alicia Silverstone as Cher Horowitz in 'Clueless' (1995)

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How 1995 Became A Blockbuster Year For Movie Soundtracks

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From 'Clueless' to 'Dangerous Minds,' soundtracks were big business in 1995, but the year's hits offered no clear formula for success
Jack Tregoning
GRAMMYs
Aug 9, 2020 - 4:00 am

Mariah Carey, Alanis Morissette, 2Pac and The Smashing Pumpkins all had No. 1 albums in 1995. Despite such hallowed competition, four movie soundtracks also topped the Billboard 200 chart that year. Two were family-friendly Disney behemoths: Pocahontas and The Lion King, the latter still powering from the previous year. The other chart-topping soundtracks, for the Michelle Pfeiffer vehicle Dangerous Minds and the stoner comedy Friday, were no one's idea of kids' entertainment. 

Beyond those No. 1 spots, 1995 marked a fascinating midpoint in a soundtrack-heavy decade. According to a New York Times report, a new release CD that year typically cost anywhere between $13-$19. At that price, a soundtrack needed major star power or an undeniable concept. 

For movie studios and musicians alike, the format was rich with opportunity. However, there was no certain formula for success. Some soundtracks were guided by a single producer, while others drew on a grab bag of then-current songs. Several featured one clear hit that eclipsed the soundtrack, or occasionally the movie itself. For all their differing approaches, the soundtracks of 1995 epitomized the energy and audacity of the decade, while also establishing tropes for the next 25 years. 

The Bodyguard: Original Soundtrack Album (1992) set the bar high for the decade. With a 20-week reign at No. 1, it remains the biggest-selling soundtrack of all time. Whitney Houston performed six songs on the album, including the titanic power ballad, "I Will Always Love You." (At the 1994 GRAMMYs, the track won the GRAMMY for Record Of The Year and Best Pop Vocal Performance, Female, while the soundtrack itself earned the Album Of The Year award.)

While The Bodyguard magnified their commercial potential, movie soundtracks like Quentin Tarantino's Reservoir Dogs (1992) and Pulp Fiction (1994) framed the medium as an artistic showpiece. Throughout the '90s, Tarantino and fellow indie auteurs Paul Thomas Anderson, Richard Linklater and Spike Lee made music a key character in their films. (The latter continues the trend on his latest movie, Da 5 Bloods, alongside six-time GRAMMY-winning composer and trumpeter Terence Blanchard.) Both instincts, for commercial returns and artistic validation, were well-represented in 1995. 

Read: 'The Bodyguard' Soundtrack: 25 Years After Whitney Houston's Masterpiece

Batman Forever (1995) epitomized the big-budget, mass-appeal mid-'90s soundtrack. Spanning PJ Harvey to Method Man, the 14-track set employed some tried-and-true tactics. First, only five songs on the track list appear in the movie itself, ushering in a rash of "Music From And Inspired By" soundtracks. Second, its featured artists largely contributed songs you couldn't find on other albums: According to Entertainment Weekly in 1995, U2 landed a reported $500,000 advance for "Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me, Kill Me," an offcut from the band's Zooropa album sessions. 

Most significantly, Batman Forever backed a surprise smash in Seal's "Kiss From A Rose." Originally released as a single in 1994, the ballad blew up as the movie's "love theme." In its music video, Seal croons in the light of the Bat-Signal, intercut with not-very-romantic scenes from the film. Outshining U2, "Kiss From A Rose" reached No. 1 in 1995; one year later, the song won for Song Of The Year, Record Of The Year and Best Male Pop Vocal Performance at the 38th GRAMMY Awards.

Both Bad Boys and Dangerous Minds had their "Kiss From A Rose" equivalent in 1995. Diana King's reggae-fusion jam "Shy Guy" proved the breakout star of Bad Boys, transcending an R&B- and hip-hop-heavy soundtrack. Meanwhile, Coolio's "Gangsta's Paradise," featuring singer L.V., the key track on Dangerous Minds, became the top-selling single of 1995; it won the rapper his first, and only, GRAMMY for Best Rap Solo Performance the next year. 

Other soundtracks from 1995 endure as perfect documents of their time and place. Clueless compiled a cast from '90s rock radio to accompany the adventures of Alicia Silverstone's Cher Horowitz and her high school clique: Counting Crows, Smoking Popes, Cracker and The Muffs. Coolio, the everywhere man of 1995, contributed "Rollin' With My Homies." 

From the same city, but a world outside Cher's Beverly Hills bubble, came the Ice Cube- and Chris Tucker-starring Friday. Its soundtrack took a whistle-stop tour of West Coast hip-hop and G-funk via Ice Cube, Dr. Dre, Tha Alkaholiks and Mack 10. True to the era, the music video for Dr. Dre's "Keep Their Heads Ringin'" is half stoner comedy, half cheesy action movie. 

Waiting To Exhale, the 1995 drama directed by Forest Whitaker, boasted a soundtrack with a clear author. Babyface, the R&B superproducer with 11 GRAMMY wins for his work with the likes of Boyz II Men and Toni Braxton, produced the set in full. Following Babyface's co-producer role on The Bodyguard soundtrack three years prior, Waiting To Exhale featured two new songs from the movie's star, Whitney Houston. 

Read: 'Score': Soundtracks take us on an emotional ride

Houston's "Exhale (Shoop Shoop)" and "Why Does It Hurt So Bad" led a track list that also featured Aretha Franklin, TLC, Chaka Khan, Mary J. Blige and then-newcomer Brandy. A powerful showcase of Black women across generations, the soundtrack has prevailed as a standalone work, going on to receive multiple nominations, including Album Of The Year, at the 1997 GRAMMYs. In a crowded year for soundtracks, which also included Dinosaur Jr. founder Lou Barlow's work on Larry Clark's contentious Kids, Waiting To Exhale demonstrated the power of a singular vision. 

For the most part, the soundtracks of 1995 tried a bit of everything. The previous year, The Crow: Original Motion Picture Soundtrack went all-in on covers, including Nine Inch Nails overhauling Joy Division's "Dead Souls." That trend continued into 1995, from Tori Amos covering R.E.M.'s "Losing My Religion" for Higher Learning to Evan Dando's update of Big Star's "The Ballad Of El Goodo" in Empire Records to Tom Jones gamely taking on Lenny Kravitz's "Are You Gonna Go My Way"' for The Jerky Boys movie. (Is there a more '90s sentence than that?) 

Elsewhere, the Mortal Kombat soundtrack blended metal and industrial rock (Fear Factory, Gravity) with dance music (Utah Saints, Orbital). For every Dead Presidents, which zeroed in on '70s funk and soul, there was a Tank Girl, which threw together Bush, Björk, Veruca Salt and Ice-T to match the movie's manic tone. 

Continuing from their '90s winning streak, grown-up soundtracks have proven surprisingly resilient. In an echo of Babyface's role on Waiting To Exhale, Kendrick Lamar oversaw production on 2018's chart-topping, multi-GRAMMY-nominated Black Panther: The Album, uniting an A-list cast under his creative direction. On the same front, Beyonce executive-produced and curated The Lion King: The Gift, the soundtrack album for the 2019 remake of the Disney classic, which spotlighted African and Afrobeats artists. In 2016, Taylor Swift and One Direction's Zayn recorded "I Don't Wanna Live Forever (Fifty Shades Darker)," pitching for the movie tie-in bump enjoyed in 1995 by Seal and Coolio. (The millennial stars stopped short of including scenes from the movie in their music video.) 

Like Batman Forever back in the day, the DC Universe continues to put stock in soundtracks. Both Suicide Squad (2016) and its follow-up, Birds Of Prey (2020), are packed tight with to-the-minute pop, R&B and hip-hop. Each soundtrack reads like a who's who of the musical zeitgeist. In 1995, Mazzy Star, Brandy and U2 grouped up behind Batman. In 2016, Twenty One Pilots, Skrillex and Rick Ross powered the Suicide Squad. In 2020, everyone from Doja Cat to Halsey to YouTube star Maisie Peters form Team Harley Quinn. 

As 1995 taught us time and time again, nothing traps a year in amber quite like a movie soundtrack. 

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Victoria Monét 

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Victoria Monét On 'Jaguar', Working With Brandy & Having GRAMMY Dreams

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After years of songwriting for marquee music names—Ariana Grande, Fifth Harmony and Nas, just to name a few—the singer/songwriter is ready to step into the spotlight on her debut project
Emma Madden
GRAMMYs
Aug 5, 2020 - 8:46 am

Victoria Monét didn’t realize her connection to the jaguar until after she recorded the titular song for her new project. A powerful, rosetted cat, the jaguar camouflages itself well. And, although it’s a present, integral part of the jungle, it’s seldom seen or registered. Monét, who's been a requisite part of the music industry for the past decade, having worked as a songwriter for Nas, Fifth Harmony, and most famously, Ariana Grande (for which she received two GRAMMY nominations), is finally getting her opportunity to be seen. This is, as she sings on Jaguar, her motherf**king moment.

On August 7, she releases part one of the Jaguar trilogy, with part one and two due to follow sometime in the near-ish future. This introduction to the new, uncamouflaged Monét, is a melting pot of sounds from the ‘70s and ‘90s, which she sops up and repackages into a sexy, kaleidoscopic trip. It’s filled with natural highs (the psychedelia of seeing your dreams come true) and boasts some of the year’s tersest and most dynamic songwriting. GRAMMY.com spoke to Monét about her anti-ego approach to music, her love of Beyoncé, and her future GRAMMY dreams.

You've been promoting for a while now. When was the project itself completed?

The album was pretty much done in February 2019, so I've had a majority of the music for a really long time. With some songs, I'd go back and add harmonies, but the vocal bit has been done for a minute. Only one song and one interlude were new this year, and I think that’s just me trying to finish the parts that follow part one, part two and part three—to be prepared for the next wave and have new music. But also, since I’ve gotten so used to these songs, I’ve gone back to them and added some things to keep them fresh.

So did the Khalid feature come after the project's initial completion?

Yeah, that was something that was recent. He joined maybe three or four weeks before we put it out, but I also had that song done in 2019, so he just added his verse. He was such a great feature and a perfect vocal for the song.

Did your team put any pressure on you to add a feature?

No, I actually planned to put this album out without features, but I also just looked at this as an introduction to a new version of me—giving people a chance to just hear me was fine with me—but Khalid ended up being the perfect fit, and became the only feature on the project.

Since you completed the project, has your time mostly been spent trying to figure out how you're actually going to present this project and the "new version of you" to the world?

Yeah, I’ve been just giving myself time to develop and go through different ideas creatively. I started filming things for the project in September of last year, so I had a lot of time to live with the music and see what it would mean visually, and to kind of rebrand. I know I was still doing the same color scheme—I've been wearing brown for the past two or three years, so it was just really easy for me to incorporate more '70s elements to match the music and really fall in love with that era. I've really been going into the style and the rhythm of it—how people were feeling and dressing [in those decades]. 

The project feels really psychedelic. I'm curious to know whether you ever took psychedelics to help with the creative process?

"Psychedelic" was one of the words I used to describe the music I wanted to make before I even made it, so I'm really pleased that comes across. I wanted to make something trippy that would take people into this other world. But I haven't experimented with any psychedelics myself. The furthest I've gone is weed, so some of the songs are marijiuana-enhanced. It's a really cool way to just relax and have some sort of freedom, to just release anxieties and be honest. If people are listening to this album on psychedelics, I wonder how it will sound to them. And also I hope sober people can listen to this and get that same feeling

Why did the date keep getting pushed back?

Initially, the album was supposed to be released on my birthday—May 1. When we were talking about that date it was mid-March, and we'd just entered the pandemic and believed that we'd probably be out of lockdown by then—we could do the release party, we could travel to New York and London by then. But seeing how the world was playing out, we thought it seemed a little insensitive and premature to release an album then, so we decided to take our time. And I'm glad we did that because that allowed us to release "Experience" with Khalid. And this most recent pushback from July 31st to August 7 is just me being a real Beyoncé fan and realizing that the internet is going to want to give her her flowers, just like I do. [Editor's note: Beyoncé's visual album Black Is King was released on July 31.] I want to be able to enjoy that day too. It's just a Beyhive respect move. I was also thinking about how Beyoncé’s album is animal-themed because of the lion king, and mine's called Jaguar. Plus, I also have releases as a songwriter on [July 31]. I have a song on Brandy's project. Then mine will come out the following week.

Something I love so much about your songwriting is how ambiguous it is. The songs on this project could either be about sexual and romantic success or your specific success as a musician. Do you see a link between the two?

Yeah, I do. I think it all comes into manifesting something for yourself. When something you've dreamed of comes true, there’s nothing but positive vibes. I think developing success and envisioning who you want to be, and being unapologetic in that process, while getting to put something out there that influences people and has an affect on them—makes me feel really, really good.

Did you write poetry before you started writing songs?

Yeah, I did. It was really brief, but that's how I got into writing. I used to love reading out loud in class, I think that was early proof of my love of performance—performing the lyrics, performing words that mean things. I definitely carried that into the songwriting.

I ask because there are millions of songs about sex, but I've never heard it being described the way you describe it on this project.

I feel that might be because I'm an only child and have a really big imagination, just being able to compare certain things—that's where it comes from. It’s not a planned thing, I just say whatever I’m thinking, then i realize that it’s something interesting after people listen.

How do you know when you've written a great song?

It takes a long time, after listening to the song over and over. If i really can’t stop listening to it then I think it’s a good song. But I also have a hard time deciding, because I’m really hard on myself too. I’m my worst critic. It’s hard for me to know when a song is done and if it’s better than I think it is. Maybe that’s a good thing, that I’ll never get big-headed about it. I just have the urge to make things better, and to always keep working.

As someone who writes songs for other people, you must be used to bringing out people's best and most interesting assets. Can you do that with your own music?

Yeah, and I think maybe even a little harder. I'm in my own brain so I'm thinking about my own thoughts—processing those thoughts. That's a part of art—figuring out what you love and what you don’t love, and making the best art from both of those places. I critique myself and try to make myself better, but I also give myself self-love and affirmation. You don't have to speak to yourself a certain way. All of it is about developing and becoming a better human.

Does asserting yourself come naturally to you?

I think, growing up I was more passive. If other people wanted to do a certain thing, even if I wanted to do something else, I’d be the one to sacrifice my own desires. But now, I've become firmer and more assertive with what I say. I'm strong and outwardly opinionated, but also willing to listen and to change my perspective. I'm more willing now to just be honest and say what I feel.

Do you know what your purpose is as an artist?

I feel like there's purpose in being an artist. Just having your experiences as an individual become something that the world can see and relate to, I feel like that's a purpose. Just giving people the opportunity to learn from your own experiences, or be inspired by them, or even join you in the feelings that you have through music. Music really has a certain influence over people that we don't even realize, from the slang we use to how we feel. We listen and it makes us wanna move. It's a language of its own. That's a way that musicians and artists and songwriters have purpose, just by communicating that language to people through song—the things that you can’t really express with words or actions.

When and how did you learn about songwriting, and all the technicalities therein?

I really just learned through trial and error. I didn't go to a music school. I mean, I took piano lessons for a really short amount of time when I was young, and at a point I could read music a little bit, but then I forgot all that and started out from scratch. I guess I just learned by listening and collaborating with other people. I've been watching and learning through touching. I could have gone to school and heard about the ways in which music is made, but I think I went to school in life instead—going through it and making things happen.

How does it feel to now work with your influences, like Brandy?

I didn’t go into the studio with her to make the song, I recorded the song at home and sent it to a friend of mine who is a producer who was working on the project. Then when she cut the song, she had me come to the studio to help record. It was a really beautiful full-circle experience, because when i first moved to L.A. I was in this girl group that was being produced by LaShawn Daniels, and he wrote all the songs for us, as well as "Full Moon" by Brandy, so just to hear her now recording something that I've written feels really beautiful. I'm so thankful because she has one of my favorite voices.

I love your mix of influences on Jaguar. You've got the wide space and textures of '70s soul couching those ‘90s Janet harmonics. How did you bring those two sounds together?

I brought some of my influences to the producer—specifically ‘70s influences—and was like, let's try and dig into this sound, by suggesting horn lines and string melodies and stuff. But i don't really have a classic ‘70s voice so i think that's where the ‘90s, the era I grew up in, is most prominent. You can hear my direct influences. I heard Janet growing up, I heard Beyoncé all the time. Not that i didn't hear ‘60s and ‘70s music too, because that's what my grandmother was listening to, but as far as vocalists and performers, ‘90s artists were the ones I was gravitating towards. I try to explore through melody choices as well, but I think that's where the combination of influences comes in. I like that. I don't think I’ve ever heard that combo either—a really on the nose ‘70s reference with a classic ‘90s R&B sound.

Is that how you assert yourself as an artist in your own right, by taking a little bit from all your influences?

It’s not something I even think about. I think of those artists as my parents. They’re in my DNA, because I’ve been so absorbed in what they’ve done throughout my entire life. It feels like a natural thing. Even when I just think I’m being myself, people are like, "You sound like Janet, you speak like Janet." I’m really not thinking about the mathematics of how to put stuff together, it just flows out that way because it’s what made me. I just want to be myself and let other people decide what they hear that’s familiar, because I think that lets people relate. I'm fine with all the comparisons, but in the studio, I'm not calculating what I'm going to bring to the table.

Are you going to take a backseat from writing songs for others to focus more on your own art and more projects like Jaguar?

I'm always in the middle of writing stuff for other people, while keeping my mind open for myself too. I already have a Jaguar part II and Jaguar III. The tracklist is already there but I'll probably be adding or changing things, because for me, nothing is finished until it comes out. So now I'm thinking about and working on the projects to follow that, so I just wanna be extra prepared, and really advance the timeframe so i can always have the next thing ready, while putting out new releases, so that there won't be a huge lull.

Do you ever take breaks from music at all?

Oh yeah. This pandemic has been the break for me. It's really forced me to sit down. People aren't making as much music and there isn't as much studio time, so there's a lot more in between time to just be a human, which I appreciate. I’m taking this as a refresher, then I’ll be back when the world comes back, although i don't think the world will ever be quite the same.

Do you feel hope for the future and your success as an artist in your own right?

Yeah, I do, and I feel really excited to just be able to share these parts of myself with the world, while not trying to put too much pressure on expectations, but of course I do want the accolades. I have GRAMMY dreams, I have award show performance dreams, I have world tour dreams. But really just being able to make music a career, and doing what I love—it’s a privilege. I think I’m just trying to keep that perspective, because you can really become wrapped up in this.

If your expectations fall short, is there a chance you might become cynical?

No, I dont think I’ll feel any kind of spite. This already feels like a dream and an opportunity to celebrate, considering where I’ve come from and how long it’s taken for me to get to where I am today. I’m not taking any of the current success for granted and I’m definitely not comparing my artist career to anybody that I’ve written for. It wouldn't be fair to me. I'm just really happy to be where I am. That's the kind of fulfillment that I want—not constantly comparing myself to others, and looking at where I am on the charts. If I get that kind of success I’ll be happy of course, but I won’t define my success on those things. I'm just trying to find the success in happiness.

You're clearly a very nice person, but have people in the music industry treated you as kindly in return?

Well, I try to surround myself with people who I really feel connected to, so I think I’ve been pretty good at protecting myself from any of the darker energies. As a person, I run from that—whether that’s friendships or professional relationships. I separate myself from that darkness quite naturally. So I think that everyone I do surround myself with is very nice, but I’m also very aware that I am in the music industry, which is kind of like a mafia, with the contracts and how things work. You know, contractually speaking, I've definitely been through the wire and have had hard times getting myself into certain deals, just because I love to do this. So, I've learned my lessons and I think on a day-to-day basis, I’m surrounded by a really great team. I love that most of them are women, by the way, but every single person on my team is someone that I really love. I feel surrounded by light, and maybe other people can’t say the same, but this is after years of trial and error. Now, I think I have the perfect group of women around me to take this thing where I want it to go. We’re all good people, so it makes me really excited to do this with them.

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