When Janelle Monáe was working on her fourth album, she road-tested it where it was meant to be heard: parties at Wondaland West, her Los Angeles creative headquarters. “I was like, ‘OK, if we have a party in spring of 2022, I want to have records ready,’ ” the singer-songwriter-actor-artist told Rolling Stone. “‘I want to honor this experience, and be really specific about it.’ The best way to figure it out? ‘Let’s play that shit at the party.’”
What resulted is The Age of Pleasure, a half-hour fever dream that feels like a hazy stretch of time at a sun-dappled gathering of people whose stunning beauty is matched by their alluring personalities. Beats from all over the map flow into each other; snatches of dialogue slip into the mix; the lyrics are focused on feeling good, whether through carnal pleasure or being comfortable in one’s own skin.
On the surface, The Age of Pleasure is a departure for Monáe, whose high-concept, genre-spanning albums have made her one of the most critically acclaimed artists of the past decade-plus. If there’s an overarching concept for this album, it’s summed up by a line in the sumptuous boast “Champagne Shit”: “Don’t ask me shit about work, ‘cause I’m on my champagne shit.” Monáe has been prolific and successful in everything she’s done, whether it’s putting on energy-packed live shows, commanding movies, or pulling together head-turning looks. The Age of Pleasure is her moment to soak it all in — and to invite others to the fun.
Which isn’t to say The Age of Pleasure feels tossed-off — quite the opposite. Its 31-ish minutes are exquisitely wrought, as smoothly mixed as a top-tier set from a DJ with an infinite collection that includes Fifties doo-wop sides and cutting-edge cuts from the African diaspora. “Phenomenal,” a collaboration with the MC Doechii, shape-shifts from a skittering amapiano beat into a Latin jazz breakdown, Monáe and her guest possessing a room-ruling swagger as they declare “I’m looking at a thousand versions of myself … and we’re all fine as fuck,” the last four words slowed down for emphasis. “Water Slide” turns on a thinly veiled metaphor about various forms of wetness, but the way it opens up from tightly syncopated verses into a plush, harmony-piled chorus sells it. Other guests include Grace Jones, Sister Nancy, and CKay — Monáe’s party is one where sharing the mic is welcome, as long as the central goal of feeling good and making others feel the same way is honored.
The Age of Pleasure ends almost too soon; the breezy come-on “A Dry Red” closes out with Monáe reminiscing about the summer, until her voice is flipped and spun out in a way that feels like being time-warped out of paradise. But that’s the nature of pleasure; it’s fleeting, but it’s worth luxuriating in — and working to get back there is worth the effort more often than not.
