There’s a lot of industry chatter about the diminishing power of the album format, as playlists on streaming services start to become what many people reach for. Expect howls of outrage from musicians who want to present a body of work, and from marketing departments and awards shows who want a neat way to package that work up. But someone who might bid a fairly muted goodbye to the album is 25-year-old pop-R&B star Tinashe, who has spent an excruciating two-and-a-half years waiting for her second one to be released.
She announced it in September 2015, then said it was being held up while her label focused on Zayn Malik, then had to contend with someone trying to nick the title track for Rihanna’s album. In the meantime, she released companion piece Nightride, which, for all its interesting alt-R&B touches, lacked the songwriting chops that had previously earned her big hits such as All Hands on Deck and 2 On. Joyride clearly didn’t have good enough songs. So does it have them now?
You might have expected the big lead-off single, No Drama, to be an absolute diamond, having waited this long, but it’s a damp squib. Made contemporary with a guest rap from a typically skrrt skrrt-ing Offset, Tinashe gives the verses some bad-girl pep, and rather admirably wants to have her cake and eat it by shagging one man as well as a second “side piece”, while retaining the lack of drama named in the title. Unfortunately, any man would have their zeal for strings-free polyamory snuffed out by the desperately dull chorus. “If my life was like a movie I’d need 50 sequels”, she says. On this evidence, they’d be pre-sold in a package deal to Amazon Prime Video to avoid box-office losses.
You can almost feel the shoulder tension in the RCA execs’ offices on hearing it, but it is massaged out by second single Faded Love, a stoned-sex classic co-starring that icon of chemically altered lovemaking, Future. Over bongwater-warm synth tones and a quietly sensual dancehall beat, Tinashe has her voice looped into a catchily lulling stutter; Future, meanwhile, drops some high-stakes psychology, reasoning that it’s her fault he hasn’t yet given up his promiscuity: “Before I give my half-Dominican girl up, I need real love … You can’t hold it against a king, baby / You shoulda made me better, what I need.” Tinder users: do not attempt this approach if you aren’t an incredibly rich and handsome rapper.
The rest of the record falls somewhere between these two poles. Tinashe, with eyes set to hungry and thirsty, is convincingly lascivious on stage or video, and yet sometimes struggles to generate a unique voice on record. He Don’t Want It is coiled and serpentine, with the alt-R&B tendencies of Nightride beautifully fleshed out, but the way she reaches for her higher register is very reminiscent of FKA twigs. Perhaps spooked by Rihanna’s interference, meanwhile, she ends up channelling her, just as Rihanna herself channels Sia whenever she comes near her songwriting credits. The title track’s “na na na” intonation is Bajan-accented, and the other single, Me So Bad, recalls Rihanna’s delivery of “naked naked naked” on Wild Thoughts. The latter song also suffers from generic tropical house production and a guest spot from French Montana, who, by always writing verses about seducing women with cash or goods, no matter what the actual topic of the song he is appearing on, is the rap equivalent of the cuddly meerkat earned with a Compare the Market purchase – something you don’t need that has nothing to do with what you originally came for.
Tinashe works best when she embraces her cool yet focused sexuality, such as on Stuck With Me (featuring Little Dragon), whose restricted melodic range makes it riveting; her suggestion to “bring an icepack for the weekend” is a drily witty entreaty. That come-hither mode is explored to catchy and frankly bizarre effect on the Marmite jam Ooh La La, where a number of very appealing elements – strong melodies, lyrics seeming to champion cunnilingus, the “oh!” vocal sound last heard on Nelly and Kelly’s Dilemma – are paired with the constant squeak of bed springs on the beat. Tinashe plays it completely straight, as if pretending not to hear the neighbours going at it next door. For some, it will be an annoying aural gag, though it is well written and could become a fan favourite.
Given its gestation period, it’s hard to not feel a little disappointed with Joyride, where, in a painful irony, there are just too many “album tracks”. Instead, it might work best with its highlights scattered across a bedroom playlist. Considering the filler, and the difficulties in getting Joyride to market, perhaps Tinashe is one of those stars who would be better off without albums altogether.
