Aaliyah

Of a Love (I Don't Have)

Then again, maybe it isn't even real love, perhaps it's just a frivolous, fleeting infatuation sparked by a mix of loneliness, unspoken affection and a spring of hormones in turmoil. But whatever it is, every time that person walks into the room, you're hit with an enormous hollow feeling in your stomach. And that hollow feeling gets even deeper when that person turns to you with a knowing smile, looks you in the eye and tells you about their heartache and their problems, because by now they trust you blindly, since you're always so willing to listen and always know just the right advice to give. But how on earth do you always manage to say the right thing? Wait a second though, maybe this time you're actually getting somewhere! It almost seems like that person is about to finally recognize your true worth, say those two famous magic words and give you a ki... no, it all resolves into a friendly hug, and those absurd castles full of happy princesses and choreographed flying teacups you'd built up in your head come crashing down with a dull thud.

History is full of scenarios like this one, you can ask anyone in the fields of literature, film, dance, painting and music: can Art ease the pain of heartbreak? (put in modern terms: can Art turn into a warm towel to soothe the shivers of a cold shower in the friend zone?). Ask Dante and Petrarch, ask Canova, ask Joni Mitchell. Or ask Stephen Ellis Garrett, also known as Static Major and former member of the vocal r&b quartet Playa, who found fame in the late '90s with the ultra-smooth hit "Cheers 2 U". Granted, the latter might not be the most fashionable name among the great critics of Art, but his contribution to the theme of heartbreak shouldn't be dismissed either, because we know for certain that the poor soul was enlisted in the service of the tenderest, sweetest and most enigmatic Muse of popular music of the last twenty years. For Garrett, that person came to life through the body and voice of Aaliyah Dana Haughton. Take a closer look at the faded old polaroid below: the expressions of the duo speak for themselves, even from behind dark sunglasses.

We'll never really know what the true terms of their personal bond were, and we never will, since both have already left this world some time ago (as far as everyone who knew them was concerned, the artistic/working relationship was strictly professional). But the various shades of emotional and erotic tension the two managed to conjure up were among the tenderest and most powerful ever put on record, a synergy that flows thick and unstoppable like the blood-red of the cover photo.

If Garrett was an inspired lyricist – and here he's responsible for much of the writing – Aaliyah was the only one on earth able to interpret those lyrics the way she did, sending them right back to him in a masochistic game of roles, something like: I – Garrett – think about you every day but I can't have you, so – since you're a singer – I write a love song dedicated to you and you sing it right back to me, so that at least I can imagine you're dedicating it to me. Morbid, isn't it? Humanity's capacity for emotional self-harm never ceases to amaze, we've all been there one way or another, and that's exactly why records like "Aaliyah" never age.

But even if we want to keep pushing the theory of an impossible, tortured love, sweet Aaliyah herself certainly wasn't some heartless femme fatale. It's just that, in her all-too-short career, she was almost unwittingly capable of making anyone who stepped into the studio with her fall for her. Whether it was her (seemingly) fragile side that stirred protective instincts as if she were a little sister, or that dazzling smile and sinuous, ebony body, or that calm, gentle nature laced with steel, or the way she moved with such quietly seductive, never vulgar grace – R. Kelly wanted to marry her by force when she was only fifteen, while the equally smitten (but far more respectful) Timbaland & Missy Elliott crafted a whole new production style for her with "One In A Million" and singles of the caliber of "Are You That Somebody?" and "Try Again", all of which immediately set the standard for contemporary r&b in the late '90s, turning the singer into one of the most beloved faces of the era. But while "One In A Million" has remained a (excellent) relic of its time, "Aaliyah" sounds more contemporary and influential today than it did at the time of its controversial release.

The silken anvil: the beat as the linchpin of new-millennium r&b

The album's iconic opener still bears Timbaland's signature: "We Need A Resolution" coils around a serpentine Middle Eastern ostinato underscored by a velvety synth, while the measured, walking rhythm sets the pace that will define much of the album: here there's no running or shouting, just a steady, confident stride from someone who has nothing left to prove to anyone. In fact, Aaliyah is comfortably seated on the couch, tapping her foot on the floor, waiting for an answer:

What's your problem?

Let's resolve it

There's everything in here: anger and frustration, but also the need to keep in check that stinging sense of betrayal that's spilling over into a haughty self-assurance. To bring this whole array of emotions to life, the songwriting "fractures" itself; you know those concentric frames in a puzzle magazine? Well, the song's rhythm is like the little black square at the center of the page, a mighty pivot of hi-tech keyboards planted firmly in the ground, around which everything else locks into place, forming circles that orbit without ever touching yet all find their spot in the finished picture: there's the light soprano of her voice painting languid melodic lines, the soft backing choirs whispering in unison like the proverbial voices in one's head, the refrain that keeps looping back, and Timbaland himself muttering away in a corner. Everything enters and exits, repeats and chases itself; the result is a track where the arrangements organically fill every space, top and bottom, left and right, giving the production an unprecedented sense of three-dimensionality. The secret to its overall success lies in the nonchalance with which it's all assembled, carefully making sure never to divert attention from either the singer or the unfolding of the lyrics.

The following "Loose Rap" illustrates even more clearly just how effective a simple, well-placed beat at the center of a track can be; this time it's Garrett aka Static Major himself playing the guest role, offering his apologies to the lady of the house, but she's had enough, and her thoughts splinter into a myriad of vocal lines and counter-lines that seem to mirror the stammering excuses of the loose rapper in question. More a "collage" of thoughts than a "song," assembled amid cybernetic r&b/hip-hop textures. We're veering well outside the realm of simple radio fare here; the attention to detail and the sonic layering meticulously built in the studio with Rapture, Bud'da and Eric Seats make the whole of "Aaliyah" a far less immediate listen than one might expect, and that's precisely the litmus test for much of the rest of the tracklist. See also "Those Were The Days," which offers a look back at the past drained of all nostalgia through a minimal synthetic wash and the delicate inlay of an ethnic flute.

The album's central trio of tracks pushes the idea of r&b toward new territory, with Aaliyah keeping a firm grip on her delivery while the music around her shifts from electro-pop to electronica to hip-hop's sampledelia.

The irresistible "Extra Smooth" moves like a cat prowling window ledges in the dead of night, the rhythm tightening the moment prey is spotted, then loosening again to draw out the sadistic game of the hunt at its own leisure — Aaliyah is more than capable of ensnaring the listener with barely a whisper and two lines of distorted keyboard. "Read Between The Lines," on the other hand, gets a dash of salsa for a dance that oozes sensuality from every pore — though it actually tells of the sweaty, nervous tension of a man juggling more than one woman. Written by the other half of Playa, Benjamin Bush, "U Got Nerve" rounds out the picture with another moment of r&b deconstruction and emotional uncertainty streaked with anger and a desire not yet fully worked through. Had she been born in eighteenth-century France, Aaliyah could have inspired Laclos's famous "Liaisons dangereuses."

Also worth noting is the rock pairing of "I Can Be" and "What If," two songs united by the rhythmic pivot of a roaring electric guitar; the first is defeated and resigned in its lyrics, with Aaliyah playing the fragile mistress begging for the impossible love of a taken man, while the second is fiercer and more aggressive. Both are credited to Durrell Babbs aka Tank, a renowned colleague and labelmate who, just like Garrett, inevitably falls for a moment under the spell of the enigmatic Aaliyah, picturing her as languid in bed as she is ready to fly off the handle like the synth-rock-era Janet Jackson.

There's still room, though, for the evergreen "More Than A Woman," credited to Garrett/Timbaland: one of Aaliyah's most iconic and beloved tracks, whose title went on to become part of the American vernacular. The song skips along on syncopated hi-tech propulsion, wrapped in a fabric that breathes synthetic contractions and releases for a gloriously cinematic effect — though that dark, wobbly bassline, sped up just right, wouldn't it explode like acid-house debris?

The silk violin: neoclassical ballads of the new millennium

But "Aaliyah" wouldn't be what it is without that handful of tracks that break free from the rhythmic pivot to settle into leaner, linear solutions more in keeping with the soul she grew up listening to as a child — one of her very first singles was in fact a modern reworking of "(At Your Best) You Are Love," the 1976 classic by the Isley Brothers. But here we've reached a fuller expressive maturity; take "It's Whatever," a halfway point between the typical r&b groove and a whispered lullaby as fresh as sea breeze, with that lush piano sample stitched over the top pointing the way toward the album's more "live-played" side.

"Never No More" finds Garrett slipping into a female persona with astonishing ease, and together with fellow writer Bud'da he builds a wrenching soul melody, performed by Aaliyah using the full timbral range at her disposal — the resulting interplay between her falsetto and the string frames sounds better than a beachside embrace at sunset. Written by the deft pen of Missy Elliott, the other intense ballad, "I Care 4 U," shows a fiercely feminine devotion that at times tips into the maternal, but this time the slow, bloodless pace is propped up by a stop-and-go drum pattern borrowed from the '70s, garnished with castanets and a lingering bassline, while her voice recalls the most fluty moments of Mariah Carey.

It is with "I Refuse," however, that the album reaches its compositional peak; the circling piano intro soon takes on the shape of a neoclassical ostinato, joined by a Björk-esque digital rhythm and a flamenco guitar. But the beat soon swells, the guitar turns from acoustic to electric, and by the time it reaches its climax well into the fourth minute, a full symphony orchestra is thundering away in the background amid bursts of strings and percussion — yet the brilliant production choice synthesizes its sound, stripping away the big-band effect and laying it gently beneath Aaliyah's delicate falsetto. The result is a song out of time, a kind of irreproducible sonic fragment through which "Aaliyah" reveals itself to the world for what it is: an r&b record of remarkable melodic craft and meticulous sonic care, performed with tremendous class and pathos by a woman who hardly seems her mere 22 years of age.

Epilogue

"Aaliyah" debuted high on the charts in July 2001, but within a month sales were already dropping sharply. Released back in April, the lead single "We Need A Resolution" was a modest flop compared to her previous releases — its strange, sinuous groove struggled to capture the imagination of longtime fans, left puzzled by sounds blending hip-hop undertones with a distinctly European, cybernetic electronica. The shift from the girl of "One In A Million" to the woman she'd become was all too apparent. The label decided to shoot a couple of promotional videos, and it's here that the iconic image of Aaliyah, clad in leather, was born, teasing one of her most iconic dance routines to the strains of "More Than A Woman."

But the other chosen single is "Rock The Boat", the most diaphanous and ethereal track on the record, an electro-tropical treat that invites lascivious dance moves and caresses on a hammock strung between two palm trees – a song that, incidentally, has aged beautifully even alongside the endless summer anthems that accompany us every blessed year. To suit such vibes, in August 2001 Aaliyah flew to the Bahamas with a team of eight people, and filming proceeded swiftly under the guidance of famed director Hype Williams, who crafted lavish, hyper-realistic visuals for her, complete with the iconic strut in white on the deck of a catamaran out at sea.

But on the day of the return flight, things took an unexpected turn; at first Aaliyah refused to board the tiny plane provided, which was overloaded with luggage and crew, and the pilot himself seemed agitated and hardly inspired confidence – alcohol and cocaine flowed freely in the record industry, no secret there. The plane took off regardless, but just minutes later it suddenly lost altitude and crashed to the ground without even reaching the sea. There were no survivors. The footage you see below, salvaged from the wreckage and edited into a video as planned, is effectively the final visual testament of our subject, captured just hours before her death:

Naturally, the media impact of such a tragedy would be enormous: the first TV airing of the "Rock The Boat" video drew a staggering audience. "Aaliyah" shot back up the charts, going on to sell millions of copies, and paved the way for a reissue and the release of the posthumous compilation "I Care 4 U".

In hindsight

Despite all the outcry over the premature death of a beloved twenty-two-year-old, the story soon seems to sideline "Aaliyah", not helped by family members left managing her estate without clear direction, and by the lack of agreements between Blackdoor Records and the streaming platforms of today, on which the album would only appear in 2021. A few years later, fate also claimed Garrett, who died of a rare blood disease; his only solo album remains unreleased to this day. Rapture, Bu'dda and Seats would carry on as session musicians (the last of the three is also Patti Labelle's partner). Timbaland would find new life producing million-dollar hits for artists such as Justin Timberlake, Nelly Furtado and Madonna – all artists as capable as they are diametrically opposed to Aaliyah's subtle personality.

And the rest of the r&b landscape in the 2000s would become a genuine battlefield, won by whoever elbowed hardest; first, the arrival of Beyoncé Knowles with the hip-swaying strut of "Crazy In Love" brought back the image of the curvaceous, vocally provocative popstar; then came the versatile but more dance-oriented Cassie, the brash but popular crunk of Usher and Ciara, the midtempo grooves of Ne-Yo, the foul-mouthed Christina Aguilera alongside Lil' Kim, and the lively productions of The Neptunes for artists of the caliber of Kelis, Britney Spears and Gwen Stefani. Will.I.Am would make the border between electro-dance and hip-hop the trademark of the reinvented Black Eyed Peas and of Fergie as a solo artist, and in no time at all we'd reach the fusion of EDM and r&b embodied by Rihanna and the hyperactive Kanye West, a blend in which the line between pop and hip-hop, between indie and mainstream, is definitively lost – "My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy" can be seen as the zeitgeist of that changing of the guard.

But with the arrival of the 2010s, something not-quite-new starts peeking out from the wings again, something that recalls, quite uncannily, Aaliyah's elegant bearing; the introverted Frank Ocean records a new version of "(At Your Best) You Are Love", Tink reworks "Million", James Blake uses several old samples on the experimental EP "CMYK", and the ultimate sad boy Drake samples her on almost every record he releases (not to mention the tattoo of her face on his back). R&b and soul grow ever more synthetic and futuristic in texture, and performers find themselves working with a subtler expressive range: the shadow of "Aaliyah", in short, once again looms over the landscape, like a benevolent godmother who, from beneath lowered lashes, still shoots you a knowing "I told you so" look.

Tinashe moves like a siren on "All Hands On Deck" but also delivers an inscrutable, nocturnal performance on "Bet"; Kelela perfectly fuses the cybernetic sound of synths with a pronounced feminine intimacy, at once fragile and steel-veined, while FKA Twigs is as carnal in her vogue moves as she is ethereal in her vocals – and in the gorgeous video for "Two Weeks" she openly pays tribute to the look Aaliyah sported in "Queen Of The Damned". There's no escaping it: the influence of the album reviewed here today lives on in the music of H.E.R. and in the delicate phrasing of Jhené Aiko, in the electro-soul atmospheres of Nao, and in the electro-acoustic textures of Solange – who even paid her an open tribute on "Borderline (An Ode To Self Care)".

Despite the thousand unanswered questions about what might have become of her career had she not died so young, time has been kind. "Aaliyah" continues to glow with its own red light and remains a truly great record, sonically unshakeable and rich in nuance even in the most remote corners of the soul. A small but essential piece for anyone who wants to look closely – and above all, with the heart – at the developments of r&b over the last twenty years. I told you so...

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15/07/2018