She looks like the most eager beaver on the block, so it’s little surprise this is the peppiest song of the year, a barrage of pure joie de vivre set to the funkiest sproing this side of the Collins brothers. There’s obviously a huge debt to James Brown, but it’s not as if Monae hides it, and she has the knackering enthusiasm for it, the soul to suit and the suit to soul. I’m chucking these words out, something like a terminator.
The only sane response to ‘Tightrope’ is to fling yourself about the room like you’re five years old. Hey presto! Here’s one I prepared earlier, and she’s got the pen again: “Junior [she wrote her real name – but I have to keep some mystique. Yeah, believe, Junior’s not her real name] likes it.” “Four, three, two, one, zero!” she shouts before tipping on alligators. And rattlesnakers.
Jukebox Junior 
being 1958 is so 2003.
All these retro-warblers need to fuck off now. At least Robyn fails on her generations terms.
This sort of damning proclamation is purely kneejerk if you’ve only heard one song – or did you just read it? I doubt anyone would tag Monae a mere “retro-warbler” if they heard The ArchAndroid, unless they were determined to back up their own preconceptions. Give it a go.
Robyn fails? Neither commercially – not really – nor artistically. She ticks those great pop boxes: hooks, honesty, performance. She’s a diamond. But I’m preaching to the never-to-be-converted, aren’t I?
Ah well. Come back on Monday for something a bit different*.
*(or more of the same; let me check…)