In the first weeks of 2016, the Los Angeles producer Jennifer Lee, who performs as TOKiMONSTA, quietly underwent a pair of surgeries to treat the rare brain disease Moyamoya. In the months following the procedure, she lost, for stretches, her ability to produce language and to hear music—traumatic, to be sure, for a person whose identity and livelihood are inextricable from sound.
Lune Rouge, Lee’s third studio album, was written following her recovery, but doesn’t attempt to directly narrativize her illness or posit anything so dramatic as a reinvention of sound or self. Rather, it serves an affirmation: The songs here have a pleasantly everyday quality, folding the eclectic—but sometimes grating—glitchiness of Lee’s older work into streamlined pop compositions. Featuring vocals from a number of artists including MNDR, Selah Sue, and Isaiah Rashad, the record remains something of a grab bag of influences; still, it feels like Lee’s most unified work to date.
The album opens somewhat gravely with a cinematic pair of tracks: its primary nod to the context in which it was written. “Lune” builds an orchestra of pretty strings and woodwinds before relaxing to make way for a post-rock guitar line; “Rouge” picks up that guitar and introduces a more familiar beat. Its lyrics sketch around something that never comes into focus: “I see the light/In your feeling,” she sings. Such is the emotional timbre of Lune Rouge: charged, to be sure, but vague enough for listeners to project a range of feeling onto its songs.
As is often the case with this sort of smartly-made EDM-lite, the glossy melancholy that introduces the album is quite effective in hooking in the listener. “Rouge” gives way to the somewhat blander “Thief,” an R&B track about romantic ambivalence featuring vocals from SAINTS; even as things get less interesting, Lee’s production has a narcotizing effect that invites tuning out. Citing a generational shift in the dominant modes of arranging and consuming music, Lee described Lune Rouge in a recent interview as “a playlist of songs for one person.” It’s funny to think of this collection of songs as a playlist, rather than an album proper—the distinction suggests it as a set better suited to affect management than expression.
In any event, being affect-managed can feel good, and the album’s high points are warm reminders of how music can smooth over hardship and sweep us into an easier mood. The danceable “We Love,” with vocals from frequent collaborator MNDR, is bouncy and spacious. Featuring Joey Purp, Isaiah Rashad, and Ambré, “NO WAY” exemplifies the generally relaxed disposition of this collection of songs, even as collaborators bring in lyrics about breakups and rejection. On “Don’t Call Me,” a kiss-off delivered with a sort of pastel dreaminess, Lee’s orchestral electro provides gently icy ground for Yuna’s vocals. The producer skillfully folds in oddball details (acoustic clattering and rounded abstract vocals form a beat on “Bibimbap”; sharp-edged strings give the otherwise conventional choral ballad “Estrange” satisfying texture) without superseding her familiar pop structures.
Lune Rouge doesn’t push hard stylistically, but it’s a comforting and confident album. It entertains life’s ups and downs while remaining faithful in our ability to ultimately have a good time. Things might be more complicated when the song is over, but it’s hard to turn down an offer of such soft-focus solidity.
