Grace Jones - Slave to the Rhythm

A caged animal. Naked, her lean body polished to a shine and a ravenous sneer on her face as she stares into the lens as if she wanted to devour it. Scattered on the ground around her, bits of chewed raw meat. And a sign hanging on the cage reading:

Do not feed the animal

That's how Jean-Paul Goude portrays Grace Jones on the cover of his book "Jungle Fever" in 1982. A blatantly controversial vision of its subject: a white man portraying a Black woman in that way could only stir up heated discussions along racial and sexist lines. But his daring imagination continues to unfold inside the book, where, through photos, texts, drawings and collages that play as much with the human body as with fashion and geometry, the artist offers an essay in art and graphic design to tell his own personal love/hate story with his subject, whom he considers beautiful, wild, at times impossible in temperament and sexually "superior". In that same 1982, Goude and Jones were in fact in the midst of their long and stormy relationship, and had already had a son, Paulo.

Judging by his book, then, it can't be easy to keep up with someone like Grace Jones, a woman who intimidates with just a look, gorgeous and androgynously "macho", a personality that is demanding yet at the same time icy and detached, at times damn hard, but also ironic and endowed with a personal philosophy of life that scoffs at social conformity. Interviewing her, too, seems to be no simple feat; chronically late, she plays hide-and-seek with David Letterman, and slaps Russell Harty live on air during his show, when he "dares" to turn his back on her to speak to the other guests on the program. She laughs uproariously when there's no need to, and answers questions at random, only to suddenly pull out a dry, biting sarcasm at the last moment. It's hard, too, to forget that statuesque physique ("sculpted by Michelangelo", some will say), that androgynous face marked by fire-red lipstick, and haircuts copied by hundreds of men and women. Her stage presence, and her unrivalled gift for transformation, would be emulated by dozens of popstars to come, among whom we should certainly count the most famous Madonna, Lady Gaga and Rihanna.

These qualities would make Grace Jones's fortune, backed by a long career that, since the 70s, has ranged across fashion, film and music. In a word: a Diva.

But if image is her strong point, at times it will also be her limit; Grace Jones remains a cult figure who has almost never managed to reach the immense success one might expect watching her move on stage or on the catwalk. It is in the musical field, then, that most of her success lies. Because many of Grace's works can be counted among the ranks of a refined popular avant-garde, thanks to the marked originality that sets them apart — clear-cut snapshots, in short, of a dazzling era like the early 80s. Her detractors, for their part, are quick to argue that Grace Jones is more form than substance, and that behind her lies a host of producers, musicians, graphic designers and photographers of great calibre, without whom the Jones phenomenon would never have existed. What remains beyond doubt, however, is that her stage persona and her blend of musical styles can still be felt today in much pop music. Just watch her perform on stage even now to grasp a charisma and energy unknown to other singers half her age.

Following Grace Jones's long recording career, from her beginnings in the 70s through to her most recent albums, means tracing a fascinating musical history, one that starts out from the disco music most tied to alternative nightclubs, running parallel, that is, to the celebrated figureheads of the genre such as Giorgio Moroder, Donna Summer, Gloria Gaynor, Sylvester and the Bee Gees. We will therefore try, as far as possible, to bring some order to the chaos of her output and to focus attention on the musical side of things, without neglecting her forays into other, parallel arts.

From Jamaica to the clubs

The beginning of rebellious Grace Jones's story is, on the surface, "normal". She was born in Jamaica into a fairly well-off family, with strong political and religious ties. When her parents moved for work to Syracuse, in New York State, Grace and her two siblings, Chris and Noel, stayed behind with their grandparents, until they were old enough to move to America themselves to study. Of her childhood, Grace has repeatedly recalled in interviews a strict and stifling religious discipline imposed on her by her family: no radio, television or cinema, shirts buttoned up to the neck, and no sandals because "feet must not be exposed".

When, as a teenager in America, she studies drama, a new world opens up before her. After just one semester, she drops out, swept up in the urge to pursue a career in performing art, whatever that might mean. In the midst of full-blown teenage rebellion, she starts hanging around New York's more libertine venues, where she radically changes her image, shaving her head. She discovers the world of nudist clubs and even tries her hand as a stripper. Her singular beauty allows her to stand out and land her first modelling contract. The designers of the time instantly fall for that sinuous, lithe ebony body. So, before long, Grace finds herself following in the footsteps of her brother Chris, who is already working as a model in Paris.

It's the mid-70s, and a decent career begins for Grace Jones, one that will land her on the covers of famous fashion magazines like Vogue, Elle and Essence, and see her walk the most prestigious runways in Europe. Yet the fashion world soon proves too small for her, and the very limits of her image quickly emerge, perhaps too strong for the conventions of the time. To many, Grace Jones is an alien, and there are even those who, given her resemblance to her twin brother, go so far as to question her femininity. But just watch her prowl the catwalk with that ravenous black panther's gait to realise that whatever she's wearing becomes a secondary detail.

In short, she's not a conventional model, not a mannequin there for the benefit of whichever designer happens to be in charge: Grace Jones eats clothes for breakfast.

At the court of Tom Moulton

And so legend has it that during a party after a show, Grace Jones, in a moment of pure exhibitionism, climbed onto a table and belted out "Dirty Old Man" by the female r'n'b trio The Three Degrees. A friend of hers was deeply impressed and told the story to her boyfriend, who, as it happens, was a record producer, and who got her a first contract in France. The deal doesn't take off, but it's enough to get her noticed by Island, who bring her straight back home to New York, into the orbit of the legendary producer Tom Moulton, the father of the disco mix, who crafts the recipe for the first incarnation of Grace Jones. These are reworkings of classics of various kinds (mainly Broadway musicals, but later also many other surprising forays into assorted musical genres) recast in disco-music form. Critics, at first, are content to label her a cabaret singer with no particular originality, but in New York's gay discos Jones is already causing a sensation, swiftly earning the title of Queen of gay disco. While spending time in the studio recording her first demos, she becomes a muse to none other than Andy Warhol, who takes her along to the most exclusive nights at the legendary Studio 54. It will be Richard Bernstein (Warhol's friend and collaborator), however, who takes charge of the graphic look of the covers of her early records, small but far from minor works of pop art, given the figure involved.

When Portfolio hits stores in 1977, Grace Jones is already extremely well known among the New York club crowd it's aimed at, and in that context success is guaranteed. For the rest of the world, however, she's simply a lovely surprise. Beyond the full-blown image that brands her videos and live performances, Grace Jones proves to be an atypical singer, outside any mould. Perhaps the only Black woman in the world without a soul voice, and the only Jamaican not to adopt reggae as her personal style (it will take another couple of records before she returns to those roots), here she takes on a seven-track album made up entirely of covers.

Side A offers a medley of Broadway classics, enjoyable even if rather green, which highlights her strange vocal quality and divides opinion. Her strong contralto register stands out for its charismatic timbre, but also for being harsh and none too flexible, a quality inevitably laid bare when she tackles songs already made famous by singers like Frank Sinatra, Shirley Bassey and Judy Collins.

Side B, however, immediately delivers two instant knock-out classics. The first is the propulsive gay anthem "I Need A Man", a true butt-shaking smash, a worthy precursor to Gaynor's "I Will Survive", which would come out only two years later. The icing on the cake, though, is "La Vie En Rose", a daring cover of Edith Piaf's classic of classics, in which Grace Jones finds herself magically at ease, immediately delivering one of her finest vocal performances ever. The track will also bring her great success in Europe, climbing the charts and considerably widening her audience.

From a purely musical standpoint, Portfolio coins a light and pleasant disco sound, with sunny orchestral flourishes and funky, Motown-style arrangements mixed with vague bossa nova and calypso influences that mesh well with Grace Jones's gleaming black skin.

The following year comes Fame, which picks up exactly where Portfolio left off, but in addition to the usual assortment of covers (among them a fine, melodramatic reworking of the classic "Autumn Leaves", sung in French, chasing the glories of "La Vie En Rose"), it also offers a handful of original songs written specifically for her, among which the enormously successful "Do Or Die", "Fame" and "Pride" stand out, all confirming themselves as new classics of pure disco in full Jones style.

The album also marks a vocal maturation, sealing a style that develops step by step. For the Italian market, the tracklist was given a bold and rather disorienting addition: a version of "Anema e Core" sung in Neapolitan, which convinces no one but helps this strange, intimidating-looking figure become known in Italy too. Still in Italy, in 1978 Grace Jones took part, alongside the equally talented Patty Pravo, Mia Martini, Anna Oxa, Amanda Lear, Gal Costa and many others, in the television mini-series Stryx, broadcast for six episodes on Rai2 before being suspended, partly due to accusations of obscenity over its blasphemous themes (it dealt with hell and the afterlife) and over the nudity displayed by the singer-performers. It's great fun to rediscover today, though: Stryx is a piece of highly gay-friendly television memorabilia with a sumptuously kitsch tone, combining music and narrative segments in a futuristic, otherworldly set. Grace Jones cuts quite a figure when she sings "Fame", appearing (barely) covered in a leopard skin which she quickly sheds to dance in front of the camera in a metallic bodysuit.

Her other live performances from this period are certainly no easier to forget. These were years of endless, wild club parties, psychedelic experimentation and strong sexual transgression. Grace Jones forged her image as a sensual and terrifying "man-eater". She would appear half-naked on stage with a whip in hand, and between songs she would "capture" unlucky audience members from the front rows, stripping them in front of everyone in a little sadomasochistic show that would make the Genitorturers' performances pale by comparison.

Muse (1979) closes out the trilogy and the partnership with Tom Moulton, once again serving up a light, tropical-flavoured disco sound. Side A is made up of four songs ("Sinning", "Suffer", "Repentance (Forgive Me)" and "Saved") that form a mini-concept of their own on the theme of sin, while Side B offers, among others, the single "On Your Knees", yet another hip-swinging gay anthem.

The format, however, was starting to show its age and look a little tired: what had been all the rage just a year earlier already seemed outdated, such was the frantic pace of change in the disco scene of those years.

The public seemed to overlook Muse in favour of catchier releases in the genre, among them the already-mentioned Gloria Gaynor and, above all, Sylvester, who was still dominating with "You Make Me Feel (Mighty Real)".

Hurt by poor sales and regarded as Grace Jones's "dark" album, Muse is the one chapter of her discography that remained unreleased on CD for a long time, until the release of the "Disco" box set.

On Top Of The World

In short, she needed to reinvent herself, and fast. Island certainly didn't want one of its flagship artists to miss the boat just as a new decade was dawning, and Grace Jones returned to the scene with Warm Leatherette (1980), which represented a significant change of direction and image, as well as a solid step forward for her musical career. Even the cover photo, blurred, with sunglasses hiding her face, marks a sharp break from the glamorous image that had always accompanied her. The album was recorded at the legendary Compass Point Studios in the Bahamas, with musicians of the calibre of Sly and Robbie, Mikey Chung and Uziah Thompson involved in its making. At the production helm was another storied producer, Alex Sadkin, with Chris Blackwell overseeing everything — not only the founding father of the Island label, but also renowned for having worked with Bob Marley, helping reggae break out of Jamaica's borders and reach a worldwide audience.

These were also years synonymous with a more electronic sound, developed by artists such as Roxy Music, David Bowie, Peter Gabriel, Japan, Talking Heads, and Warm Leatherette masterfully crosses an imaginary bridge that casually combines her early disco sound with dub, reggae, the most minimal electronics, rock, and above all the dominant new wave. The album's brilliant touches still sound fresh today, and even though we're technically dealing with the usual collection of covers (barring a couple of exceptions), this is a work that finally gives Jones's music real substance.

The reggae approach is immediately apparent on the excellent "Private Life" (originally by the Pretenders, and today a cornerstone for Grace Jones fans), a long, lean electronic dub backing over which her charismatic spoken delivery, sharpened by her strong accent, drives home lyrics quite different in character from the original version. "The Hunter Gets Captured By The Game" (a cover of William "Smokey" Robinson) and "A Rolling Stone" (one of the original tracks) coin a spacey, lunar-beach electro/reggae, while the splendid title track (written by Daniel Miller of The Normal, and founder of Mute Records) perhaps doesn't differ much from the experimental electronics of the original, but Jones's interpretation is far more compelling.

We then move from the sheer pleasure of "Bullshit"'s r'n'r to the apotheosis of new wave fusion with "Love Is The Drug" by Roxy Music, here reworked at a faster tempo and with a frenzied delivery that becomes one of the staples of her live shows. Next comes a fine rendition of "Breakdown" by Tom Petty, which strips back the rhythm while keeping the bluesy guitars within a metaphysical atmosphere. The closing track, meanwhile, once again seals her love for French chanson, with "Pars", a delicate, almost Oriental-flavoured vignette.

As one would expect from such a group of musicians and from Jones's commanding presence, we're faced with eight flawless tracks. Warm Leatherette is a little gem well worth (re)discovering.

Further confirming her glory, 1981 brought Nightclubbing, a worthy continuation of the previous work — an even more ambitious album, and one rewarded by the public. The format doesn't stray far from that of Warm Leatherette: recorded once again at Compass Point Studios under Chris Blackwell's supervision, with the usual alternation of covers and original songs, but with an extra edge that would make it the most famous album of her career, propelling Grace Jones to the top of charts worldwide and cementing her status as a star. Even the title is telling: if Warm Leatherette took its name from a song by the little-known The Normal, with Nightclubbing Grace Jones now aims straight at the sanctity of David Bowie and Iggy Pop, and the title track says it all. "Walking In The Rain" becomes another instant classic, while Sting gifts her "Demolition Man", which Grace Jones makes the most of, but it's a single like "Pull Up To The Bumper", with its strong sexual overtones (“Pull up to my bumper baby/ In your long black limousine/ Pull up to my bumper baby/ Drive it in between”), that will scandalise and conquer the charts.

Once again poised between reggae and r'n'r, "Use Me" delivers a perfect, building chorus, while "Feel Up" seems to play, amused, with jungle rhythms and African beats. Among the original songs, standouts include the splendid "I've Done It Again", her first true pop ballad, with a sweet bossa nova rhythm and a delicate vocal recalling Astrud Gilberto, and the autobiographical "Art Groupie", which skilfully blends reggae with Nintendo-style electronics.

The true gem — and the crowning achievement of her entire career — is the now-legendary "I've Seen That Face Before (Libertango)", an electro/reggae/weird reinterpretation of Astor Piazzolla's tango classic, featuring French-language interjections and melancholic, Paris-style accordion, conjuring a gorgeous atmosphere that would prove hugely influential in the years to come (the Gotan Project were essentially conceived here). It also confirms Jones's astonishing growth as a vocal interpreter, in spite of all her early detractors.

One WoMan Show

With the huge critical and commercial success achieved worldwide comes a tour that would be ironically dubbed "The One Man Show" (later immortalized in a documentary). Having abandoned the sado-masochistic concept of her earlier shows, Grace Jones enlisted the help of her partner Jean-Paul Goude in pursuit of the performing art she had always been chasing.

Having by now fully honed her vocal delivery, Grace Jones commands attention with her magnetic stage presence, establishing herself as a charismatic performer who moves effortlessly from refined chanteuse to unbridled, raucous rock star. Her constant flirtations with high fashion gift her sculptural outfits that only her body could wear, and extraordinary headpieces that would put to shame Lady Gaga draped in raw meat or Madonna with tampons woven into her curls, while the stagecraft — lighting effects and metaphysical sets — adds a layer of theatricality in which the Diva reigns supreme. Anyone who saw one of her concerts during those years swears they'll never forget it, such is the visual and sonic impact unleashed from the stage. Without wishing to sound blasphemous, it's fair to say that the Grace Jones persona of the early '80s operates, in terms of imagery and stage power, on the same orbit that Prince would occupy a couple of years later.

These are intensely busy years for Grace Jones, who also becomes a mother and releases five albums in five years, on top of concerts, television appearances, forays into film (still minor at this stage) and fashion, glamorous parties around the world, and a fair amount of drinking and drug use. The Island machine, however, has no intention of slowing down — certainly not now, with Grace Jones at the peak of her career. There's a real risk of being crushed under the weight of it all, but a woman with such an explosive personality decides the best defense is offense, and rather than being dragged along in the back seat, she jumps straight into the driver's seat. The result is Living My Life (1982), the first album on which Jones manages to put her name to every song but one. The other hand belongs to trusted collaborator Barry Reynolds, a songwriter she had already worked with on scattered tracks on previous albums.

This brings the Compass Point Studios trilogy, and the partnership with producer Chris Blackwell, to a classy close, with an album that in some ways changes direction. On the cover, a photo on a white background shows her face without makeup, cropped at the edges and made more angular, her brow glistening with sweat and a plaster over one eyebrow, telling us that Grace Jones is tough, but not invincible, and that living her life isn't easy. Musically, the record drifts even further toward reggae and dub, with the fine single "My Jamaican Guy" and the lengthy "The Apple Stretching", with seductive tropicalia touches, while the remaining tracks lean more toward Moroder-esque sounds, where slow rhythms and ethereal keyboards create glossier, but still impeccably tasteful, atmospheres. A telling example of this new sound is the excellent "Inspiration", which already seems to draw on the influence of the brand-new Eurythmics, who had just released "Sweet Dreams (Are Made Of This)", and especially on the vocal style of Annie Lennox.

The key track on Living My Life, however, is "Unlimited Capacity Of Love", with cosmic keyboard work and lyrics that, for the first time, lay bare Grace Jones's vulnerability. It's a fairly significant sidestep for the queen of disco music, who only really shows her usual colors on "Nipple To The Bottle" and "Cry Now, Laugh Later", thanks to that light funky rhythm on the surface, reminiscent of her Portfolio-era beginnings. What stands out most, though, is the more heartfelt vocal delivery on the slower songs, which sets this record apart from its predecessor, Nightclubbing, leaving audiences somewhat disoriented. Perhaps less "spectacular" than her two previous albums, Living My Life still delivers a handful of strong songs and adds a new, more reflective dimension to the artist's already ever-shifting image. It's also odd that the title track, "Living My Life", with a new wave rhythm more in keeping with her persona of the period, was cut from the tracklist at the last minute (it would only be released as a single a year later, to very little success — though the video is still worth a watch).

The time has come for a well-deserved break, but only on the recording front. She's offered the chance to appear in the films "Conan The Destroyer" and, most notably, the James Bond entry "A View To A Kill", an opportunity she obviously seizes, thereby launching a film career that will run parallel to her music from here on. Granted, these aren't prestigious films, and her presence is more about visual impact than acting chops: a series of cameos designed to cement her image as a tough, formidable woman.

Slave to the rhythm

So nobody expected her return to music to take the form of yet another work so different from her previous output and so thoroughly over the top as Slave To The Rhythm (1985), which critics rank alongside Nightclubbing as the best album of her entire career. The commercial success it achieved (passing the million-copies mark) is emblematic of the popularity Grace Jones had reached by that point, a status that allowed her to release her most hermetic, least radio-friendly work ever and still comfortably chart.

According to the description given in the liner notes, Slave To The Rhythm is a highly personal "musical biography", in which each track rather creatively represents a specific step in her career. Musically, this unusual album occupies a unique position within the landscape of the period, and the first clue comes once again from the cover photo, where Jones's face, captured mid-scream, is sliced up and stretched to extremes, resulting in various "versions" of itself. Slave To The Rhythm, in fact, contains only one actual song — the title track (which would go on to become the hit single) — while the remaining tracks are reworkings of that same song, in a modern take on the theme-and-variations format, ranging freely from electronics to spacey guitars, by way of jungle rhythms and moments of pure avant-garde, in a sonic orgy that both disorients and fascinates. Backing Grace Jones's voice throughout the album is a host of musicians, led by none other than Trevor Horn, one of those legendary producers it's quicker to list who he hasn't worked with. For the purposes of this record, though, it's enough to mention his work on "Welcome To The Pleasuredome" by Frankie Goes To Hollywood, which in some ways shares a kinship with the sound of Slave To The Rhythm. That song, incidentally, had originally been conceived by Horn as a b-side for the single "Relax". "Slave To The Rhythm" takes on an epic quality that still makes it one of Jones's best-known songs today, moving her somewhat away from her early disco sound.

The rest of the album largely follows the same path. There's really very little to dance to now, and Grace Jones invites us (or rather forces us, given her persona) to follow her through an unprecedented sonic odyssey, marked by free-flowing imagination. How else to explain a track like "Operattack", a disjointed delirium of sampled voice alone, worthy of Laurie Anderson's vocal avant-garde? Or "The Frog And The Princess", with its long spoken-word excerpt from "Jungle Fever"? Only "The Fashion Show" seems to offer a moment of more traditional R&B, with keyboards in the style of Stevie Wonder, though even here there are constant detours from the standard song format. "The Crossing (ooh the action...)", meanwhile, is a strange instrumental piece, all ambient atmospheres evoking a rainforest at the dawn of a new era.

In conclusion, Slave To The Rhythm is a wonderfully schizophrenic concept album straight out of the art world, one that only reveals its rewards after repeated listens. Its one flaw is the baffling fact that the CD version, compared with the original vinyl, cut out nearly all the spoken interludes and interview excerpts inserted between tracks — pieces that were in fact vital to conveying the sense of a musical "biography".

Also in 1985, sealing the end of her contract with Island (which would not be renewed), comes the compilation Island Life, which revisits every album from Portfolio through to Slave To The Rhythm with a couple of key songs apiece, and comes warmly recommended to anyone wanting a panoramic tour through Grace Jones's long and varied discography. As well as being one of her best-selling records, Island Life also wins the prize for best album cover ever, featuring a photo of Grace Jones, essentially naked, balanced on one leg while holding a microphone plugged directly into a wall socket behind her.

The decline of the kingdom

1985 also marks the high point of that vibrant, colorful gay scene, because from here on a dramatic chapter begins, one that would ideally culminate, on November 24, 1991, with the death of Freddie Mercury. The scourge of HIV was starting to spread, having already been quietly circulating since the early '80s. An entire movement built on absolute, carefree sexual freedom suddenly found itself confronting a season of anguish and pain.

Musically speaking, there's a split underway. With the arrival of new technologies and more powerful-sounding synthesizers, disco's melodic side loads up with a heavy, baroque structure, very catchy even if at times cloying. Impossible teased hair and pastel-colored eyeshadow are now the new look to imitate. Sure, there are those like Boy George or the Pet Shop Boys who still manage to dispense a decent dose of irony. And there are those like Madonna, who manage to pair disco's sensual beat with a new, provocative redefinition of the female popstar's role. But the charts are also dominated by blatantly commercial phenomena, whether it's someone with the precious pipes of Whitney Houston (who broke through in 1987 with "I Wanna Dance With Somebody") or trashy one-hit wonders like Samantha Fox with "Touch Me" (1986), Tiffany with "I Think We're Alone Now" (1987), Mel & Kim with "Respectable" (1987) and so on.

In Europe, meanwhile, there's a progressive decline of italodisco, that particular movement which, since the late 70s, had delivered catchy dance music with a strong creative stamp, still influential today. Disco's more rhythmic side will instead find a new goldmine in house music (which had already existed for some time, but hadn't yet broken out of Chicago's borders), with harder, tighter sounds that push dancefloor crowds to dance themselves into exhaustion, also laying the groundwork for the emerging rave scene.

Grace Jones's two albums from this period — Inside Story (1986) and Bulletproof Heart (1989) — show a sense of disorientation, as if the queen of gay disco found herself, in effect, with no kingdom left over which to exercise her power. That blend of music, art, fashion and theatricality that had made her famous needed to transform once again, but it wasn't yet clear which was the right direction to follow. Among the singles from Inside Story (released under a new contract with Manhattan), "Party Girl" lives up to her usual standards, but the other three singles aren't exactly memorable. "I'm Not Perfect (But I'm Perfect For You)" found success thanks to a catchy but overly formulaic refrain, "Crush" suffers from the ever more dominant Jackson-mania without ever quite nailing it, while "Victor Should Have Been A Jazz Musician" is an unlikely, and ultimately futile, attempt to ride the wave of rising star Sade.

The political invective of "White Collar Crime" is completely out of character for Grace Jones, and stands out mainly for the various bans it collected from radio and TV stations around the world, since the piano-bar sound accompanying its controversial lyrics is almost soporific. The sentimentality of "Scary But Fun" and "Barefoot In Beverly Hills" also pass largely unnoticed, while "Hollywood Liar" flaunts the kind of plastic-coated sound befitting the most decadent of Eighties excess.

The contribution of a figure of Nile Rodgers's caliber to the production, in short, isn't enough to lift what is a rather forgettable record, and the furious arguments between the two during recording will end up driving Grace Jones away from the Manhattan label.

A rather difficult period follows for Grace Jones, during which she'll even be forced to declare bankruptcy and will stay away from music for a couple of years, until the following Bulletproof Heart (1989), released on Capitol. We're nearly at the threshold of the 90s, and the sounds typical of the coming decade are already visible here and there, albeit still in embryonic form. Just the opening of "Driving Satisfaction" is enough to remind us that, whatever happens, the singer of "Slave To The Rhythm" is striving to stay current. "Seduction Surrender", for instance, is still steeped in that now-familiar late-80s sound, but layers on top a keyboard production with a vaguely primordial trip-hop feel. That said, it must be noted that this new sound isn't always a natural fit for her, and her performance ends up a bit flattened by the newer, slicker, faster, tighter rhythms. "Crack Attack", complete with a cameo from rapper Freedom, is a trendy track, as is the single "Love On Top Of Love", which is also accompanied by a video in which Grace Jones is, as ever, in great shape, but one can't deny a certain exhaustion of ideas. It's a shame, too, that the title track (besides cloning Michael Jackson's "The Way You Make Me Feel") somewhat dilutes her vocal charisma, while the thoroughly predictable remake of "Amado Mio" is a serious misstep for an artist who first became famous precisely by singing other people's songs.

It seems Grace Jones has truly reached the end of the road. After all, having released nine albums in twelve years, appeared in films and fashion shows, gone through several turbulent romantic relationships, and traveled the world far and wide, living it all very intensely, some signs of fatigue can be forgiven. She could have reinvented herself once again at the dawn of the new decade, as fellow artists Cher and Madonna successfully did — both fairly close to her in knowing how to forge ahead and survive within the music business — but in the end her more impulsive, less calculating nature ended up winning out. It's no surprise, then, that when Bulletproof Heart irrevocably faded into obscurity (as had already happened with the previous Inside Story), Grace Jones decided to take a recording hiatus that would last nearly twenty years.

(Like a) Hurricane

Throughout the 90s, Grace Jones mostly chooses to focus on other things, at times disappearing from the scene altogether. There will be a couple of attempts to refresh her discography — a work with the announced title "Black Marilyn" in 1994, and in 1998 another called "Force Of Nature" on which Tricky also collaborates — but neither will ever see the light of day. The only songs officially released during the decade will be "7 Day Weekend" (from the soundtrack of the film "Boomerang", in which she co-stars alongside Eddie Murphy), "Evilmainya" (another soundtrack contribution) and "Sex Drive", but all of them are fairly negligible.

Grace Jones's talent is dormant, but far from spent. One need only recall, for example, when in 2002 she took the stage at Pavarotti And Friends. Unlike the usual, often cringeworthy skits of these performances, Grace Jones, rather than forcing the Maestro to sing, say, some unlikely version of "Pull Up To The Bumper", ventures fearlessly into classical territory with the aria "Porquoi Me Reveiller?" (from Jules Massenet's opera Werther, of which Pavarotti is, among other things, a famous interpreter). With her powerful contralto voice, Grace Jones portrays the most dramatic, brash and androgynous of Charlottes, shaking her head spasmodically and hitting notes lower than Pavarotti himself, but in the end she's visibly moved, and the result is a duet worth remembering.

It's therefore a surprise when, in 2008, Grace Jones finally breaks her silence and releases a new album. Almost twenty years on from the rather unfortunate Bulletproof Heart, and around thirty years after the debut of Portfolio — a mirror of an era of plastic, excess, mutant-disco suggestions, primal fear and yet an immediate acquisition of icon status — the panther of avant-garde pop returns, armed with a new, elegant riding crop, to amaze once again with Hurricane (2008), born from a collaboration with Sly & Robbie, Brian Eno and Ivor Guest, with contributions from Bruce Wolley, Tricky and Tony Allen.

Animal essence, the agility to vanish both within the meanders of an urban grid as fast as a video game and within a forest during the mating season, tar mixed with silver to mark out territory, a futuristic hallucination: these introduce the urban reggae of "This Is Life", a discourse that continues, in the dark heat radiating from the half-light of "Well Well Well", the soundtrack to afternoons spent as an underground diva on some cool island.

If by pop(ular) we mean an innate ability to stir up the emotional fabric without beating around the bush with pointless, phony mannerisms, then "William's Blood" has it in spades, bolstered by a sonic fabric held up by Eno's providential hand, able to electrify and chill a magnetic soul. But that same ability to spread unease, using an icy, enigmatic, martial vocal register, returns with the single "Corporate Cannibal", complete with a distorting black-and-white video, a warped mirror of a provocative, elusive identity, as it wraps itself around a trip-hop sound that, loaded with Tricky-esque alienation, on "Hurricane" serves as the backdrop to a fashion show for à-la-page mutants.

The trope of the tango returns, more sticky than ever, pulling the strings of what is, in every sense, a discourse of the senses ("Love You To Life") and a languid chase, velvety winking, an intertwining of unsettling urges ("Sunset Sunrise"). The dramatization, picking back up with "I'm Crying (Mother's Tears)", closes out this journey around vertigo, brushing against the high yet mesmerizing tension of "The Devil in My Life".

Having sailed past sixty with ease, then, Grace Jones opens another chapter in her book of shocks and excess, ideally staking her claim over a new generation of popstars jostling in the shadow of her marble, unsettling silhouette.

Contributions by Mimma Schirosi (“Hurricane”)

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