Anti

It’s not quite the revelatory departure we might have hoped for, and has the rich but unfocused feel of something worked on perhaps too long with obsessive fervour, but it’s also subtle and interesting; an intriguing soundtrack to an era of change.

This, for better or worse, is clearly the music Rihanna likes: leftfield, stoned and strange. It is Rihanna without hits. This strange album, released without warning over the internet for free, may well be a reflection of the fact that not even her own backers really expects this to be a commercial blockbuster. It is more an exercise in rebranding, transforming the hit girl into a serious artist.

It’s hard to work out from its contents whether in a few albums’ time its author will be back to churning out neon-hued anthems or embedded even deeper into the musical leftfield, because its contents are neither the kind of unqualified success that confidently maps out a future direction or the kind of unmitigated disaster that requires her to beat a hasty retreat.

The only real ‘surprise’ about Rihanna’s eighth album is just how challenging it is, not to listen to but to enjoy. Sonically, Anti is defiantly low key with very little to quicken the pulse.

The ultimate impression the album leaves isn't just that of an artist who failed to follow through on her vision, but who never bothered to conceive one in the first place.

Anti is a chaotic and scattershot album, not the product of a committed artistic vision, or even an appealingly freeform aesthetic, but rather an amalgam of approaches, tones, styles and moods.

There is nothing wrong with Rihanna’s default dead-eyed vixen delivery--it’s one of the seven wonders of the pop world. But ironically, she actually sings the hell out of this record. If only more of these songs could actually carry the weight of Rihanna’s bid for freedom--a bid that is, ultimately, half-baked.