Jhené Aiko has a knack for smooth melodies that waft over wispy production like air kisses, lithe and sensual yet frictionless. Her calling card is clear-eyed storytelling that, like the wise best friend in a rom-com, pinpoints precisely why a romance failed or succeeded. Her best songs accent that clarity with narrative or vocal contrasts (often provided by guests, but sometimes Aiko herself), but on Chilombo the formula is pushed to its limit. Despite confident, freeform performances, Aiko’s music too often lacks a pulse.
Compared to the multimedia odyssey of Trip, which was accompanied by a poetry book and short film, Chilombo is leaner and more grounded. Instead of heady explorations of grief, Aiko focuses on the standard peaks and valleys of life post-breakup. The record is loosely about a woman enduring heartbreak and emerging stronger, and the opening suite of songs wears that framework lightly. On “Triggered (Freestyle),” Aiko fumes over reminders of the old relationship: “Trying to let the time kill/All our memories/All you meant to me/All that history/All that’s history,” she croons, each riff on “all” cutting deeper. On “B.S.” she glows with self-satisfaction over a ticking hi-hat: “Flexin on my exes in my Model X/Pretty little skinny little bitty/Body Model X.” By the end of the song she’s so charged up that seeing her replacement “boosts her self-esteem.”
This suite ends with “P*$$Y Fairy (OTW),” which opens with a yearning, bass-boosted intro then blossoms into a twinkling ode to Aiko’s sexual prowess. “I know you love fucking me,” she declares, turning a passive construction into a boast. The song is full of similarly odd flips in perspective (“That dick make me so proud”), blurring who is giving and receiving pleasure like a titillating funhouse mirror.
Unfortunately, everything that makes that opening run charismatic and personable is abandoned as Chilombo stretches on. The jarring “Happiness over Everything (H.O.E.)” is a retread of “Hoe,” from her debut mixtape Sailing Souls. The verses are improved from the hokey original, but it’s weird to hear the self-proclaimed “pussy fairy” turn coy and inert. “Just don’t get the wrong impression,” Aiko pleads, her charm suddenly depleted like Cinderella at midnight. On “10k Hours,” Aiko and Nas turn Malcolm Gladwell’s magic number into a dry index of personal history. “Ten thousand hours turned to ten thousand bridal flowers,” Nas raps flatly about his marriage to Kelis, sounding bored of his own story. Against her feathery melodies, there’s no traction, no dynamism.
The production plays a huge role in that inertia. Produced almost entirely by Lejkeys and the duo Fisticuffs, the album is soft and hushed, dulled percussion and starry keys drifting in a vacuum. Aiko is clearly a student of Quiet Storm, a format that gives the voice space to contract and expand in carnal waves. And her voice certainly has that power; the vocal runs on “Surrender” are variously controlled and indulgent, evaporating into the cloudy synths and condensing beneath them as a breathy purr. But the tempo never rises above a resting heart rate, the acoustic flourishes never dictate the shapes of songs, and Aiko’s performances aren’t consistently magnetic.
There’s an audience and a market for Aiko’s atmospheric take on R&B, but the most interesting aspects of her music have always been rooted in her malleability. Like Jeremih, Ty Dolla $ign, and other R&B artists who straddle genres, she’s got the fluency to provide more than a big hook or play foil to another star. Whether she’s cooing, humming, or rapping, she brings an easygoing grace and playfulness that tends to open up songs. Chilombo gestures at this larger skill set, but settles for good vibes. It’s very chill, and nothing else.
Buy: Rough Trade
