Do not call her a rhythm and blues artist, because Janelle Monáe cannot be categorized into one genre. It’s almost impossible to categorize her as anything, really.

Playing her alter ego, an android named Cindi Mayweather, in her most recent album, “The Electric Lady,” Monáe’s music is just as eclectic and creative as it’s ever been, and this time she is collaborating with equally fascinating artists.

In a very funky and bass-heavy style, she opens up the album with “Givin’ Em What They Love,” reintroducing herself and playing with a poetic lyricism East Coast rappers wish they had. Prince is featured in the song, and he not only lends his vocals in the chorus, but he also harmonizes along with Monáe during the verses. Their voices work amazingly well together, and the song sounds futuristic while still paying tribute to classic ‘80s Prince.

In “Q.U.E.E.N.,” Monáe collaborates with the queen of neo-soul herself, Ms. Erykah Badu.

The song is the first single off the album, and it received a lot of hype and acclaim, as Monáe fans were prophesying this collaboration before it actually happened. Badu’s verse is slightly disappointing, though; it’s short and feels like an afterthought. While Badu’s part is still catchy and infectious, the real gem of this song is Monáe’s socially conscious rap at the end.

Miguel, an up-and-coming artist with hits like “Adorn” and “Beautiful,” is also featured on the album, singing a duet with Monáe on “PrimeTime.”  This song has a slow dance feel and is one of the first times listeners hear a more romantic and raw side of Monáe’s voice. “PrimeTime” portrays two sides of a relationship, and the dynamic between Monáe and Miguel works well.

With so many featured artists, it can be very tricky balancing all that talent in one album while still acknowledging Monáe’s personal artistry. She manages to keep the focus on her, though, in “The Electric Lady” as her Cindi Mayweather alter ego.

What makes Monáe different from other artists is that her albums are meant for more than just listening. She wants to take her audience on a journey, revealing parts of Cindi Mayweather through different songs. Throughout the album, there are little theatrical interludes in which a radio disc jockey is talking to Monáe’s fans about her whereabouts and whether she is the infamous android after all.

Another song worth taking note of is “Dance Apocalyptic.” Performed with a vintage 1960s feel and complete with a quartet harmony in the background vocals, it’s obvious that Monáe would have been just as fabulous in another era. The song is reminiscent of a Jackson 5 tune, and at times, her voice even sounds a bit like a young Michael Jackson.

“Ghetto Woman,” a beautiful tribute to Monáe’s mother, is the heart of the album. Monáe tells her mother’s story: how she dropped out of school to raise her children while balancing different jobs to keep a roof over their heads. It’s in the spirit of “Dear Mama” by Tupac and is one of those songs we listen to that makes us appreciate those who have sacrificed things to get us to where we are.

While a stellar album, this is definitely not the type of playlist to listen to in one sitting. The album at times feels long, but that’s because of the story that is being unraveled.

Monáe is not an artist to dance to mindlessly in the club. She demands our attention — all of our attention. And she engages us in an electric way.

Published on September 16, 2013 at 11:11 pm

Contact Elaina: ekcrocke@syr.edu