My 21st Century Blues was a vindicating triumph for RAYE weeks before it was released. The advance single "Escapism" topped the U.K. pop chart, giving the newly independent singer/songwriter her greatest commercial success after severing ties with Polydor. The label had signed her to a four-album deal and after six years had yet to green-light the first LP. Increasingly frustrated by artistic compromise as her scattered singles, featured appearances, and songwriting credits for other artists continued to pile up, RAYE ...
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My 21st Century Blues was a vindicating triumph for RAYE weeks before it was released. The advance single "Escapism" topped the U.K. pop chart, giving the newly independent singer/songwriter her greatest commercial success after severing ties with Polydor. The label had signed her to a four-album deal and after six years had yet to green-light the first LP. Increasingly frustrated by artistic compromise as her scattered singles, featured appearances, and songwriting credits for other artists continued to pile up, RAYE fought free and justified her demand for autonomy with a theatrical smash hit about an impulsive night out in the wake of a bad relationship. RAYE's debut album does have the feel of a mixtape with its abrupt changes in production style and subjects. In a way, it comes across simultaneously as an outpouring of creativity and the clearing of a backlog, maybe a prelude to something more refined and focused. Whatever the case, no list of recordings that shine a light on either industry woes or survivorship will be complete without it. Take the defiant, strutting "Hard Out Here," with RAYE nimbly scoffing, "All the white men CEOs, f*ck your privilege/Get your pink chubby hands off my mouth, f*ck you think this is?" More poignant is the chilling ballad "Ice Cream Man," detailing an incident with a sexual predator posing as a supportive producer, followed by RAYE revealing much more: "And I was seven, was 21, was 17, and was 11/It took a while to understand what my consent means/If I was ruthless, they'd be in the penitentiary." The chorus begins with an understatement: "'Cause I'm a woman/I'm a very brave, f*cking strong woman." "Black Mascara," the album's lone sleek and uptempo dance track, is addressed to a man who spiked her drink. Even the songs about distant lovers and everyday jerks have a more personal quality to them than much of what RAYE released before. Not without reason did she place a possessive determiner in the title of this album. None of these uninhibited songs could have been half as convincing voiced by another singer. That said, it's evident that she's using her platform to speak for others who have lived through anything remotely similar. ~ Andy Kellman, Rovi
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