There are a couple of ways to tell the story of Kehlani Parrish’s ascension from a gifted hopeful to a higher R&B court. One is a story of unhindered success: in her teens, Kehlani was the vocalist of a covers band that earned fourth place on “America’s Got Talent” and placed her on the radar of Nick Cannon and most major labels. Atlantic groomed her publicly and behind the scenes for cred and stardom, from 2014 mixtape Cloud 19 to 2015’s album-called-mixtape You Should Be Here to heavy promotion at radio. By 2016, she’d scored nods from both pop and pomp culture: a trendily morose cut on the soundtrack to—brace yourself for the following phrase—the Oscar-nominated Suicide Squad and a left-field Grammy nomination for a Best Urban Contemporary Album that is still a free set on SoundCloud.
The other story is one of overcoming the system. That “America’s Got Talent” stint only panned out after several difficult years—contractual hell, homelessness, depression—and what followed was hardly fairytale. It’s pretty uncontroversial now to recognize turn-of-the-century R&B as overflowing with innovation and talent, but A&Rs remain terrible at knowing what to do with it. For every The Writing’s on the Wall or Aaliyah, there are three slept-on debuts and overlooked follow-ups, and who knows how many shelved, stalled, and otherwise mismanaged counterparts. The 2010s revival is more ephemeral in its streaming numbers and blog buzz, but not much kinder to its potential stars. Despite two hits in “2 On” and “All Hands on Deck,” Tinashe’s Joyride tour was cut short. Kelela and SZA are excellent yet still “rising.” Jhené Aiko is in a group with Big Sean. And Kehlani’s output and talent has consistently exceeded what its promotion would imply. You Should Be Here was a big-leagues album promoted like a mixtape—an increasingly common blurred “indie” and “mainstream” marketing tack—and judging by the album features (Zayn?) and tour spots (G-Eazy) she’s done since, the industry seems to be pigeonholing her with performers who are hilariously out of her league.
It’s even more remarkable, then, that SweetSexySavage is so self-assured: the work of a distinctive artist owning a style that seemingly everyone is attempting. Kehlani doesn’t even try to disinvite comparisons—the album’s title is a direct play on TLC’s CrazySexyCool, and it’s full of nods to the past, like the “Try Again” intro of “Advice.” But unlike so much R&B, SweetSexySavage neither relies on nostalgia nor falls into the traps these throwback albums tend towards: treating R&B as a costume, the musical equivalent of a belly shirt, or recreating in hazy moods and amorphous vibes a genre better known for massive hooks.
The production helps. In addition to longtime producer Jahaan Sweet, SweetSexySavage brings in Pop & Oak—among the more promising of pop-R&B production teams (Usher’s “Good Kisser” is a highlight)—and it avoids many diluted Top 40 names. “Escape” is a sweet mid-tempo ballad that flirts and flutters around the edge of saying “I can’t make you love me,” but it’s also kind of like a Jordin Sparks album cut. The soundtrack cut “Gangsta” is a clever update of 2000s thug-love tracks, like “Soldier” or almost any Ja Rule duet, to the glum mien of movie and radio pop, but it’s rightly relegated to the bonus tracks.
Good production is relatively easy to find, though; voices like Kehlani’s are not. Her closest Y2K peer is probably Kandi Burruss: a consummate songwriter equally adept at hitmaking and candor. Kehlani is a talented vocalist, but on record she’s conversational, with a lot to say. Much of SweetSexySavage is about reclamation: taking all the shit women receive from men, shrugging, and asking, “What about it?”
“If I gotta be a bitch, I’mma be a bad one,” she taunts on “CRZY,” and the track isn’t resigned but an anthem. “Distraction,” arranged like a one-woman girl group, walks the independent-woman walk by setting clear, disinterested boundaries for its come-on: “I can’t say I give my all... are you down to be a distraction?” “Not Used to It” is unflinching in its fear of commitment. On “Do U Dirty,” Kehlani’s a player and proud of it; the dreamy production makes lines like “I’m cold and yet life is colder.../I could fuck you now and years later on you’re going to be stuck just reminiscing” catch listeners off-guard. The bluntness is welcome in today’s music world, full of men reveling in such scumbaggery and women exploring, in song after despairing song, codependence and the wounds it causes. Kehlani’s adept at the latter as well; “Everything Is Yours” is a moody love song steeped in loathing. Kehlani sings “my ring is yours, everything is yours,” and it’s just as much a confession of love as of giving up.
But Kehlani can be more optimistic. She told Rolling Stone that, where Cloud 19 proved “I can sing!” and You Should Be Here showed “I can write!,” her new album says, “I can chill! And have fun!” The single “Undercover,” for one, captures perfectly the delirious headspace of having the most disastrous and unlikely of your crushes reciprocated: “They don't wanna see it happen,” Kehlani sings, “But we say fuck it.” Refreshingly, SweetSexySavage is at its best when it’s most exuberant, giddy in the face of haters and common sense alike.
