Jigsaw

Cure-sampling single So Human proves ingenious, Jigsaw effectively swaps swearing for singing and Britney songwriter Dr Luke earns his keep. Alas, though, the backchat of Let's Be Mates proves as edifying as the top deck of the 43 bus.

The surprisingly poppy, chiming well with the times, and redolent of Betty Boo injected with Harman's back-of-the-bus humour result.

Sov's downfall is the occasional repetitiveness on songs like 'Pennies,' where cyclical beats and lyrics begin to grate. [May 2009, p.96]

This may be a much welcomed return for Lady Sovereign from the wilderness, but in the case of Jigsaw, it would seem that she's missing a few pieces to make this comeback a complete success.

Pleasingly, it's much better, not to mention poppier. [May 2009, p.115]

Sov never quite recaptures the brash personality and cutting-edge sound of her first album. The beats here are more pedestrian, the lyrics more tentative, and for all her talk in the press notes about resuming her career (after a six-month break) with a sense of control over her music, Jigsaw sounds more like an album without a firm direction than the wide-ranging statement of purpose she meant it to be.

The album--which, like its predecessor, was produced by Medasyn, another Londoner--merely strikes a few new poses.

Jigsaw tries to find common ground in a now-ubiquitous strain of electro-flavored club rap. It's sonically a good fit for her nimble and still undeniable flow, but the wheels come off whenever Sov's newfound earnestness undermines her insouciant appeal.

Without the instantly gripping singles, Jigsaw is as scattered as its title implies.

Lady Sovereign celebrates her freedom from Def Jam not by leading with the (middle) finger, but instead by showing her vulnerability....[But after the first three tracks,] the old Lady Sov returns. [May 2009, p.123]

The ska bounce of 'Student Union' is the closest Jigsaw comes to the familiar Sov sound of nasal bleats over agressive beats. [Spring 2009, p.77]

Her singing voice all across Jigsaw, like Eminem singing, makes you shudder slightly. She indicates tenderness by multitracking the vocals and aching earnestness, and when she breaks into sing-song rap in the middle of a slow ballad, the juxtaposition with her aggressive rap style shocks.

Producer Medasyn's beats are uneven, and so is Sov's hood-rat humor: weak on what should be a layup college-pub rant, inexplicable on a song about sex with food.