Victoria Monét: Jaguar review – R&B's backroom genius breaks the rules
Traditionally, the jump from writers’ room to centre stage has been complicated. The likes of Sia and Pharrell have deftly glided from backroom hitmakers to pop behemoths. Others, such as Keri Hilson and Julia Michaels, have struggled to find their footing in the upper echelons of the charts where their songwriting credits so often appear, instead forging fruitful careers as pop underdogs. Nine years into his career as a solo artist, the UK’s MNEK finally scored his first No 1 last week.
This is the precipice on which Victoria Monét finds herself. Despite releasing a number of EPs since 2014, the 27-year-old is best known for her writing credits, specifically her seven-year collaborative relationship with Ariana Grande. Their work together on the latter’s Thank U, Next album netted them Grammy nominations and gave Grande her only two solo US No 1 singles to date. As Sia did with Rihanna, Monét’s distinct melodic phrasing helped to shape Grande’s instantly identifiable, skittish cadence.
For her next move, Monét could have easily made a naked bid for the big leagues. But her latest project (she’s avoiding the term “album”), Jaguar, is something of a side step. Unlike the wide sonic berth of her previous EPs, which left her struggling to break through the stripped-back R&B, dancehall rhythms and beats reminiscent of Timbaland’s heyday, Jaguar is as sleek and refined as its namesake, the production luscious with live instrumentation and brass. By eschewing pop’s current see-what-sticks approach, Monét can build a luxury brand of her own design.
She demonstrates her self-assurance by lacing Jaguar’s poppier moments with striking idiosyncrasies. After a languid intro of stacked, reverbladen vocal harmonies, the title track slides into a chugging groove punctuated with jubilant horns a la Bruno Mars. Experience, clearly indebted to Off the Wall-era Quincy Jones, finds Monét brushing up against 2020’s appetite for disco nostalgia. But amid the plush retro production of SG Lewis, who also aided fellow sequinned revivalist Dua Lipa on her latest album, Monét and guest vocalist Khalid find their voices smothered with a cosmic, phasing filter that blurs their sound until they become almost indistinguishable from the production – a bold, beautiful choice. Punchy immediacy is key to success on streaming and social media platforms, but Monét refreshingly gives each song space to breathe.
Similarly, she declines to soften her lyrics. “Life is but a dream / Here we are inside of it and you’re inside of me,” she sings on the hazy, X-rated bedroom R&B of Moment, before suggesting that her partner “land it like a plane on my back if you can’t hold it”. Oral sex is paradisiacal on Dive, which cascades like a waterfall. “I just wanna see what your head game like,” she purrs over a chorus of squeaking bed springs and orgasmic groaning, directing her lover to: “Lick the beach / Fuck the shore / Make me scream / All aboard.” The practicalities of getting sand in delicate areas notwithstanding, Monét makes what could be cringeworthy sound genuinely sumptuous.
And more often than not, the hyper-sexualisation is pointedly fun: Touch Me, a mix of Janet Jacksonstyle confessional and SZA slow jam, winks at queer women (“Girl it’s been too long / And when you rock them short nails that’s lowkey sentimental / No keep ’em cut though so there ain’t no incidentals”). On the sultry Ass Like That, she sends up the fetishisation of black women’s bodies by giving herself full autonomy over her own. These glimpses of Monét’s wry personality are Jaguar’s secret sauce, demonstrating the clear division between her work as a songwriter and her identity as a solo artist. Commercial viability feels besides the point: Jaguar’s assertiveness suggests an artist laying the foundations for her legacy, pop’s fickle game of favourites be damned.