Review Summary: Jay-Z ropes Beyonce into his futile quest to make Tidal happen; she agrees but under the proviso that she can spend three quarters of the album's runtime calling him out as a no-good, cheating bastard.
Obviously, whilst it plays into what is probably a generally accepted, Jay-Z-denigrating narrative, the summary above is just me being pithy. Think what you like about Tidal-exclusivity (Kanye West already turned that concept into a joke with the Life of Pablo debacle), Beyonce's 'Lemonade' transcends the practicalities of how you actually get to listen to the thing. Whether you caught the "visual album" premiere on HBO (and thought you were watching a True Detective rerun when "Carcosa", a.k.a. Fort Macomb showed up), or signed up for a free Tidal trial to listen to Prince's back catalogue (R.I.P. Purple One) the week before 'Lemonade' unexpectedly dropped, or grabbed a pirated copy from Leaks'r'Us; it doesn't really matter. Hell, it doesn't even matter if Beyonce is genuinely railing against Jay-Z's genuine infidelity with "Becky with the good hair", or if it's all a metaphor for how American society treats black women. What matters, when all is said and done, over and above any celebrity gossip-mongering or culturally-astute opinion put forth on music blogs or broadsheet newspapers, is that 'Lemonade' is the first Beyonce album that I have managed to sit through, front-to-back.
Seriously. Even 2013's self-titled critical darling failed to rouse me from my indifference towards Queen Bey. So what is it about 'Lemonade' that made me sit up and take notice? Beyonce devotees that I have spoken to are suspicious of some of the styles and sounds on the record, some are even put off by the righteous anger and vulgarity ("Suck my balls balls!"). I guess that would make sense: I like a Beyonce album that fans of old-school Beyonce are put off by. Plus, I ***ing love the *** out of vulgarity, so, you know, figures...
As a pasty, white, middle class, English music nerd, I have always found that there isn't an easy "in" to Beyonce's ouevre; to put it simply, it feels like it’s not aimed at me. And I've been ok with that, and never felt like I was missing out. However, 'Lemonade' gives a pasty, white, middle class, English music nerd like me several easy "in"s.
For one, there's that much-discussed list of lawsuit-evading songwriting credits, with its cavalcade of indie and alternative music stalwarts (Vampire Weekend's Ezra Koenig, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Father John Misty, Animal Collective, James Blake, Jack White). Am I guilty of sub-conscious preferential treatment on racial grounds? Like "hey, these white dudes contributed, so maybe I can relate?" I sure hope not. I think it's just that I really like those guys, and trust that their involvement in the project is a de facto endorsement of the project. So in the same way I'd be interested in a music festival curated by or featuring those musicians, I should be interested in an album featuring them, even if it's ultimately the work of an artist I am not all that keen on.
Secondly, the album isn’t very long. It feels like a brisk, unintimidating 12 tracks, and Beyonce genre-hops (mostly) with ease and authority. ‘Pray You Catch Me’ is an understated opener, that begins with a prologue of pretty vocal abstractions. This leads into what, at first, seems like a typically sappy ballad, but the just slightly off-sounding piano chord that immediately precedes the chorus at the 0:57 mark makes it plainly clear that James Blake was involved with this track. If I were a music theorist I could identify exactly what it is that Blake does that makes it so distinctly his sound. Regardless, the production touches he adds turn the track into something special and genuinely affecting.
That track’s gorgeous orchestral coda leads us to ‘Hold Up’; a song which sounds exactly like how you imagine a Vampire Weekend/Diplo production would and features genuinely fantastic lyrics. It would be the Song of the Summer, if it wasn’t about the emotional fallout of infidelity. While it’s a simple composition built on an Andy William’s sample, there are enough sonic flourishes to keep interest levels high; that fairground horn, for one, is hilarious. This song makes me imagine myself strutting down the street smashing up cars with a baseball bat dubbed “Hot Sauce” and on that basis alone, it must be deemed a success.
Next up we have a Dead Weather song with Alison Mosshart having been shoved away from the mic by a rampaging Beyonce in full-on rage-mode. It’s a typical Jack White blues rock production that could easily slot into any one of said side projects albums, but it’s still a thrill to hear it in this context. You will not soon forget Beyonce screaming “Who the *** do you think I is?” Although, having her command that her in-trouble beau “suck [her] balls” on ‘Sorry’ may well displace that memory. The track featuring that reference to Beyonce’s transgenitalia is a flat-out brilliant pop song that is essentially #sorrynotsorry transposed into song form. By the end of this four song run you’ll be thinking, “jeez, how many iconic-sounding moments can one global popstar fit into one album?” Honestly, Beyonce’s status as Queen of meme generation is surely secured at this stage.
But, she’s still only human. And keeping up the quality of the first third of this album proves to be too big an ask. ‘6 Inch’ features the ubiquitous octopus/pineapple-haired Post-RnB drug and sad sex aficionado, The Weeknd, who Beyonce makes a point out of singing in a lower register than. It’s a super dramatic instrumental, but as a complete song it’s not all that interesting. Still, it’s a veritable work of genius compared to the risible country and western/New Orleans big band pastiche of ‘Daddy Lessons’. The song sticks out like a sore thumb stylistically. And while I can see how it gels nicely with the Louisiana visuals of the accompanying HBO film, it’s just a jarring misstep on the album. I guess the brassy breakdown at the song’s conclusion is fun in a hokey kind of way. I get that she’s drawing a through line from her deadbeat father to her cheating husband and that’s quite a Country and Western trope, but it feels like the musical equivalent of cheap fancy dress.
‘Love Drought’ sounds like Bey’s attempt at a FKA Twigs track, and when she yelps “up” in her highest register it’s a nice moment, but the song is a pleasant listen at best that doesn’t have a hook that lodges itself in my memory banks. But you could ask the next Joe Bloggs in the street and he’d probably be like “duuuuude, that’s totes my sex jam.” Which would be ironic given the song’s title.
Now. ‘Sandcastles’. What to make of this song. It ostensibly marks the point when Beyonce begins to think about what’s next after the promises of marriage have been washed away like the titular sandcastles. So a moment of emotional honesty, right? So why is it presented in the form of the most derivative ballad imaginable with a melodic line that could have been lifted from any of the sappier Disney films? Could it be that she’s not being entirely sincere? That’s the only level that I can enjoy this on; if it’s meant ironically. The “bitch I scratched out your name/and your face/what is it about you” bit where Beyonce’s voice stretches and breaks is exciting, but I can’t stand the way she mispronounces the word “promise.” The song leads seamlessly into James Blake’s solo number, which takes the conventional piano ballad form and puts it through the patented Blake sound-grinder to create the most unsettling minute of music on the whole album, despite it being the moment in the album’s narrative when Beyonce’s cheating partner is welcomed back.
‘Freedom’ drags the album kicking and screaming back to life and makes it clear that ultimately the album’s concerns are greater than Beyonce’s heartbreak and anger about a marriage on the rocks. This is a track that addresses broader issues of America’s historical and contemporary treatment of black women and of social justice; which is why it couldn’t feature any rapper other than Kendrick Lamar – it’s exactly what he’s all about right now and, as per usual, he kills his verse. This song could be 2016’s ‘Alright’. But Kendrick, great as he is, by no means steals the show; this is a big, soulful vocal performance that recalls Adele’s more uptempo numbers in its old-school bombast. Make no mistake, this is a strong contender for Song of the Year so far.
After Jay-Z’s grandma helpfully explains the album’s title, the final track proper (‘Formation’ feels like a bonus cut, a contractual obligation to include the single, but hey! It’s a great single) ends the album on a note of hopeful contentment, underscored by hard-earned wisdom. Sure the lyrics are a tad cringe-worthy, but it’s a gorgeous song with some inspired vocal flourishes, seriously funky SpottieOttieDopaliscious horns on the chorus, and, finally, Jon Brion’s string arrangements serve to cap off the album beautifully.
And there you have it: more words than I ever thought I would commit to paper about Beyonce. There is no denying that ‘Lemonade’ is an all caps CULTURAL EVENT, which has already invited more think-pieces than I could shake a stick at. Hell, even I am chipping in. At the end of the day, a Beyonce album will always be about more than the music, especially when the subject matter so explicitly plays into gossip rag rumours that have circulated for the best part of a decade. However, if you find that that whole aspect of things is putting you off from listening to the thing, please reconsider: because this is about as good as ultra-mainstream pop music gets. Swag.
