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HAPPYPERSON said:
New York Times: Sorry, Ms. Jackson: You’re Underrated.
Janet Jackson’s “Control.”The standard for planet-stopping artistic statements in pop music is now so high that you need a pilot’s license to compete with the Beyoncés, Kanyesand Kendricks of the world. But when Janet Jackson craved ascent, she didn’t go to flight school. She went to Flyte Tyme. That was the Minneapolis production company Jimmy Jam and Terry Lewis operated and where the three came up with “Control,” Ms. Jackson’s third record and the first of their subtly strange, sonically complex thematic carnivals. The album turned 30 in February, peaked in popularity right about this time that year (hitting No. 1 in July) and still sounds today as much like 1986 as it does 2056. Some producers make hooks. These three made wedgies.
“Control” is a work of confidence, cleverness and justifiable irritation. It’s also full of weird, amazing sounds that, 30 years later, it’s easy to take for granted as the way latter-day pop music has always been: polished in a factory to a gemlike gleam. But most of the nine songs on this album — nine songs! — weren’t just factory-generated; they were performed by almost entirely aggressive, attitudinal heavy machinery that was new for both Top 40 and the outer limits of mainstream R&B. Meanwhile, for any number of reasons (that Super Bowl scandal, the long shadow of other stars, our cultural amnesia), the woman behind the wheel has been demoted to the back seat. And that, of course, warrants a correction.
Ms. Jackson was around 20 when she entered the recording studio after a stint as a sitcom star (poor Penny on “Good Times,” richer Charlene on “Diff’rent Strokes”), an annulled marriage and a split from her notoriously oppressive father, Joe. So a decree was in order: “When it’s got to do with my life/I want to be the one in control.” That’s from the opening song, “Control,” which begins with a spoken proclamation of self-emancipation: “This is a story about control.” Jimmy Jam and Mr. Lewis orbited Prince, and that opening has always sounded like a counterpoint to the mania of “Let’s Go Crazy,” which had just completed devouring America the year before. In the face of collapse, Prince demanded chaos. Ms. Jackson’s idea of anarchy was, well, control.
In the middle of the title track, Ms. Jackson sings, “First time I fell in love/I didn’t know what hit me,” and you can hear a car screeching into a collision. The next song starts with a demand: “Gimme a beat!” And the beat she gets is like no beat you’ve heard. It’s a bunch of drums punching themselves silly, then five notes of metallic, pipelike noise, joined by a strange, constant click. This is “Nasty,” and its violence is delicious. If the song has one climax, it must have four. Here was America’s Penny sounding like the proudly nasty funk artist Millie Jackson (no relation; not biologically, anyway). The song is part antichauvinist call to arms, part street fight, part “had it up to here” exasperation, part wink — each a mood Ms. Jackson would deploy for most of her career. That constant click starts to make a lot of sense. It’s the first No. 3 hit built around the sucking of teeth.
For two happy weeks, my favorite song on “Control” was also America’s. “When I Think of You” hit No. 1 in October 1986, but it began its hike toward the top in July and sounds the most like summer. It’s wearing the lightest clothes of any of the tracks and it dons them very slowly: first a plink of keyboard, then some jabs of bass, drums and percussion, hopscotching vibes, and, finally, a blast of artificial horns that sound an alarm that Ms. Jackson is going to do some of her prettiest singing. Hearing her here is like being able to see the seafloor from the shore.
Released 30 years ago, Janet Jackson’s album “Control” was a polished, confident work, a statement of emancipation. Over time it has also become an argument for her impact on pop culture.
[COLOR=#333333][FONT=nyt-cheltenham]Ms. Jackson has a soufflé of a voice — thin, delicate, pleasurably sweet. Sometimes she, Jimmy Jam and Mr. Lewis could bury it with layers of sound, but not here. After about three minutes and 18 seconds of straightforward, daydreaming pop, she says, “Break,” and the bottom falls out, leaving just the keyboard and percussion, and a new, primal energy takes over. Then the bass reappears, some chanting builds to a squawking wail, the music explodes, and Ms. Jackson laughs and sings, “Feels so good/When I think of you.” Seconds later, the song’s over. So what’s it about? “You,” but probably what Ms. Jackson does when she, uh, thinks of you. Continue reading the main story
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