Janelle Monáe - The ArchAndroid (2010)

Any misgivings about Janelle Monáe's Bad Boy deal are nullified by the briefest contact with this, an extravagant 70-minute album involving more imagination, conceptual detail, and stylistic turnabouts than most gatefold prog rock epics. Credit Bad Boy's Diddy for allowing Monáe to fully explore the singularity on display through Metropolis, Suite I: The Chase, and work with their Wondaland crew on a bigger budget. The ArchAndroid not only picks up where The Chase let off, but contains both the second and third Metropolis suites in one shot with no discernible "let's make some hits now" intervention. The packaging alone -- the elaborate crown, the inspiration listed beside each song, etc. -- provides much to process. Liner notes from the vice-chancellor of the arts asylum at the Palace of the Dogs, Monáe's residence, outline the (possible) situation fleshed out in the songs. In short, Monáe was genoraped in the 28th century, sent back to the 21st century, and had their organic compounds cloned and re-purposed for the existence of ArchAndroid Cindi Mayweather, whose directive is to liberate Metropolis from a secret society of oppressors. Understanding all this stuff enhances the enjoyment of the album, but it is not required. A few tracks merely push the album along, and a gaudy Of Montreal collaboration is disruptive, but there are numerous highlights that are vastly dissimilar from one another. "Tightrope," the biggest standout, is funky soul, all locomotive percussion and lyrical prancing to match: "I tip on alligators, and little rattlesnakers/But I’m another flavor, something like a Terminator." Just beneath that is the burbling synth pop of "Wondaland," as playful and rhythmically juicy as Tom Tom Club ("So inspired, you touch my wires"); the haunted space-folk of "57821" (titled after Monáe’s patient number); and the conjoined "Faster" and "Locked Inside," packing bristling energy with a new-wave bounce that morphs into a churning type of desperation worthy of Michael Jackson. Monáe might not have much appeal beyond musical theater geeks, sci-fi nerds, and those who like their genres crossed-up, but no one can deny that very few are on the artist's level. They can sing, sang, and scream like hell, too.© Andy Kellman /TiVo