Review Summary: Grace Jones blurs the lines. All of them.
In any medium there's often a distinction between art and artist. The extent of it varies, sometimes they're synonymous, sometimes wholly separate, but you can still see the two as individual entities. Grace Jones is a curious subject -- in her case, it's a bit more complicated. Much of her career she struggled to define herself in a way that felt true, constantly brushing up against the innovative and unorthodox but never landing totally on-target.
Her previous effort, Warm Leatherette, was the closest she had come. The album marked a substantial shift in tone and maturity from her straight-laced disco work, with her image and music revitalized under a dark, harsher form. The sound blended genres of punk, raggae, and new wave, coming together as thick, murky concoction that paved the way for Nightclubbing -- an album that took those newly-introduced ideas a step further to bring about what was undoubtedly her finest hour.
The album strikes even prior to its music -- its iconic cover art, a painted photograph by Jones' longtime collaborator (and-then boyfriend) Jean-Paul Goude portrays her in a fierce, stark, almost impossibly sharp smolder. It is a withstanding work of androgyny and detail, a force that persists and hangs over the entire record from its start to finish. The ethereal quality of Jones is wholly pervasive -- she now seems less like a woman and a songwriter, more like some godly force, like art itself.
It brings about an interesting concept. By all means, Nightclubbing is art created by art. This is important to note because the album’s many, many strengths hinge on Jones’s presence. The songs themselves are incredibly impressive if only for the extent of fused genres, taking Warm Leatherette’s sonic experimentation (and danceability) to new height. It’s ethereal yet groovy, funky yet hypnotizing.
“Walking in the Rain” is an excellent starter and impeccable cover, with a clever twist of the original’s lyrics. “...Feeling like a woman, looking like a man”, Jones coos. Slowly the listener is drawn into her world, as tracks like “Pull Up to the Bumper” and “Demolition Man” are like a wild barrage to the senses. They go beyond this Earthly realm, belonging to some nocturnal wonderland that Jones herself is the ruler of.
The end result is gripping. And there's no more confusion either -- rather, a strict identity that hangs over every blurred line, every meticulously-placed new-wave raggae beat. Jones has finally found herself, but at what cost? Truly, to be transformed into art is bittersweet. Jones both references and laments this in the album itself. The entirety of “Art Groupie” appears to be about the loss of individuality for taking on this larger-than-life persona of hers, a theme further explored in “Use Me”. But there is also an implied sick, sly sense of satisfaction to it -- something that one both revels and suffocates in. Jones only invites us to join her along for the ride... And to dance a bit, of course.
