Janelle Monáe — Dirty Computer (2018) | Album Review

Her third full length album is not flawless: it finds Monáe tiptoeing on the tightrope between commercial appeal and cutting-edge, forward thinking music—a job no one has done perfectly. Still, it is bold and liberated, sexual and political at the same time.

Incorporating conceptual elements of Afrofuturism and pushing its boundaries, in her previous works Janelle Monáe created a world paralleling the world we are living in, resulting in the Metropolis concept series. In that world, there is a general Other encompassing all the minorities, or the “have-nots,” of our world represented by androids — a class entirely separate from humans. Through these works, Monáe draws attention to subaltern voices often neglected in the Afrofuturism movement. Throughout her 2013 single “Q.U.E.E.N.”, Monáe poses a myriad of rhetorical questions to oppugn the stereotypes, misconceptions, and oppression of those in these communities, before sending out an empowering message in the interlude: “Even if it makes others uncomfortable, I will love who I am”.

However, who is the Janelle Monáe, the person behind this creative body of work? We have little idea. Answering The RollingStone about her personal life, the artist pretended to be living in her imagined world, saying “I attend an Android community church in Metropolis” when asked if she still attends church. She gave a similar answer when asked about her sexuality, claiming to only date androids. In another interview with Spin, she addressed the lyrics of “Q.U.E.E.N.” that pertains to sexuality. Again, she is eloquently evasive: “A lot of what I say on this new album isn’t necessarily authoritative. It isn’t coming from, ‘This is how I experience these things.’ I’m merely posing the questions.”

That is where Dirty Computer comes in. In a recent interview with The New York Times, the singer opens up about how “it felt safer to package herself in metaphors” in earlier works: “I knew I needed to make [Dirty Computer], and I put it off and put it off because the subject is Janelle Monáe. [The public doesn’t really] know Janelle Monáe, and I felt like I didn’t really have to be her because they were fine with Cindi.” The “step into a more authentic self,” Dirty Computer can be divided into three loose categories/parts: Reckoning, Celebration and Reclamation. A large part of Dirty Computer’s smooth flow within and between parts is due to Monáe’s penchant for perfect transitions. In the first part, she uses “Jane’s Dream” as an interlude to pull up the energy level from the end of “Take a Byte” to the exploding opening of “Screwed,” a technique employed again later in the last part with “Stevie’s Dream.” She also takes the time to include outros on multiple songs such as “Crazy, Sexy, Life” and “Screwed,” which not only help wrapping up the song’s topic, but also help changing the texture of the music to allow for an impeccable transition between songs, which also connects the songs together and diversify the music.

The first group deals with Monáe’s recognition of how she is viewed by society. This group includes the titular opening track, which introduces the idea of a Dirty Computer in its complexities. Akin to Frank Ocean on “Bad Religion”, on this song Monáe draws out a troublesome relationship. To the “you” in this song, she is buggy and broken, a “dirty computer” unloved and needs fixing: “I’m not that special, I’m broke inside. Crashing slowly, the bugs are in me.” But from the other side of that relationship, there is eternal love: “I’ll love you in this space and time.” For someone who has created an alternate world and time travelled looking for acceptance and fighting against oppression, this shows significant vulnerability. She discusses the theme of “dirty computer” on The New York Times: “This is how I’m viewed. I’m a ‘dirty computer,’ it’s clear. I’m going to be pushed to the margins, outside margins, of the world.” But despite such ostracization, she still loves the world, and more importantly, this world, in this space, and this time. This is a powerful but understated statement to set up the tone of the album, backed up by grounded vocals in the lower register of Monáe’s range set in contrast to the heavenly harmonizing by Brian Wilson.

The rest of the tracks in this part further explores this relationship. “Crazy, Classic, Life” interpolates the United States “Declaration Of Independence” to jab at the irony that comes with discrimination in the US:

You told us we hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men and women are created equal; and that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights; among these are life, liberty, and the — and the pursuit of happiness

She asks for something simple: “Just let me live my life,” which sadly is a wish she knows may not be granted to her, hence the calling out to her friends to live their life to the fullest. This track is one of the very few places on the album that is less than satisfactory: the lyrics of the first verse are borderline clichéd parrrrrtay lyrics, which also feel rather out of place on this laid-back track. This track leads to “Take a Byte”, where she dares a partner to love her in defiance of social norms: “Your code is programmed not to love me, but you can’t pretend.” Still, the most well-executed track in this group is “Screwed,” which features guitar riffs so good they’re impossible not to love and rather self-deprecating lyrics that employs all meanings of the word “screwed” and its explicit equivalent. But behind those poppy grooves and nonchalant lyrics is an ominous allegory, which is hinted at throughout the song with possible references to multiple mass shootings in the US and the revelation at the end of its inspiration of the 2016 US Presidential Election.

The next group, which contains some of the best tracks she has released, finds Monáe accepting the cards she has been dealt with a raucous party, celebrating the intersectionality of her identity. On “Django Jane,” a through-composed rapping track, Monáe discusses the power of women, referencing her own and other women’s accomplishments. The lyrics interact with the dominant bass line, traditionally used to highlight conceptions of masculinity in funk music, to assert that females can be strong and powerful like the way males are portrayed in the traditional discourse. While “Django Jane” is brimming with feminist discourse, “Make Me Feel” is a slick and seductive blend of funk and R&B which finds Monáe courting with a lover, finding freedom to explore her sexuality. (More in-depth analysis of the two songs can be found here). Sandwiched between the two songs is “PYNK”, which also connects the themes in “Django Jane” and “Make Me Feel.” The verses are an interpolation of the Aerosmith song “Pink” and similarly suggest a sexual fascination with the female genitalia. Still, other parts of the song channel female unity and empowerment. This song also marks a musical departure for Monáe with its pulsating synths and soft, higher vocals, which are more characteristic of the featuring artist Grimes.

From here, the album winds down with Monáe’s reclamation and redefinition of the American identity. “Don’t Judge Me” is a slow-burning Neo soul track where the singer expresses fear that she is loved only for her disguise—the Cindi Mayweather persona—rather than who she really is: “Even though you tell me you love me, I’m afraid that you just love my disguise.” Monáe shares on her website about the track that it is inspired by

“…those vulnerable moments of in between. In between the moment you text something naughty and forbidden to them and the three replying dots appear to linger forever while you wait for the answer and your stomach curls into a ball… In between what you say publicly and what you do privately… in between the face in the red carpet photo and the face in the mirror… in between what America says about freedom but then actively does to me and my brothers and sisters…in between my mama and my loved ones and the way I live and love in my new life.

The album closes with with an anthem about being an American. Inspired by Barrack Obama’s “A More Perfect Union” speech, the track opens with with a choir calling for unification among all people, before breaking into Monáe signature funky sound. As it turns out, all the relationships she discusses throughout the album can be seen as an analogy for the relationship between Monáe and her country: “Love me baby, love me for who I am… Don’t try to take my country, I will defend my land. I’m not crazy, baby, naw, I’m American.” The song includes a powerful, all-inclusive spoken bridge:

Until women can get equal pay for equal work
This is not my America
Until same-gender loving people can be who they are
This is not my America
Until black people can come home from a police stop without being shot in the head
This is not my America, huh!
Until poor whites can get a shot at being successful
This is not my America
I can’t hear nobody talkin’ to me

The album ends with a rather ambiguous line: “Please sign your name on the dotted line.” This is not just a Prince reference, but also a call for actions to change the world, and to stick with the world for better or for worse. Even if the world rejects us, we are not going anywhere. We are here to stay.

Rating: A

Essential tracks: “Dirty Computer”, “Screwed”, “Django Jane”, “PYNK”, “Make Me Feel”

For detailed grading scale, see here.