Janelle Monáe claims she is not fully human. Throughout her recording career so far, which includes two full-length albums and an EP, Monáe has positioned herself as a part human, part android character who falls in love with a human.
Monáe’s half-woman, half- machine aura extends outside her lyrics and into her performances and public persona. She recently told “The New York Times,” “I’m a woman, I’m African-American, I’m part android. I have to make sure I’m speaking for the underdog.”
Monáe’s most recent album, “The Electric Lady,” continues to take up the flag of weirdos, freaks and underdogs, just like its machinated protagonist.
The album dropped last Tuesday, in the midst of the current cultural upheaval surrounding twerking, female sexuality in pop music and whether male desire in songs like Robin Thicke’s “Blurred Lines” reinforces a rape culture.
Now is the perfect time for “The Electric Lady.” Monáe, as a musician and a celebrity figure, stands as a strong counterpoint to the exploitative sexuality of artists like Miley Cyrus and Lady Gaga.
While pop musicians like Cyrus and Gaga display themselves as sexual objects, the question should arise: are they objectifying themselves, or are they in complete control of their own sexuality? When they take off clothing, do they control how people view them or are they falling victim to an unfair, misogynistic, hyper-sexualized culture?
With Monáe, exploitation is not a pressing question. She is crafty and does not allow for it. I would argue Monáe’s power lies not in her display of sexuality, but her discussion of it. She talks about sex and love in her lyrics instead of wearing thongs on live television  using a foam finger as a phallus.
Monáe bears her heart in songs without bearing her body. She leaves her body hidden behind stark, crisp black and white suits. A listener concerned with Monáe as a sexual object could only wonder at her physicality, and this is part of Monáe’s control. By relegating her power through her music and lyrics, and not her body, Monáe keeps the ball in her court.
With questionable nudity and sexualized controversy absent from her aura, Monáe’s music and lyrics take precedence. Her personality and live show supplements her lyrical message, rather than detracts from it.
Artists like Gaga and Cyrus could learn from Monáe. Monáe’s pulsing, explosive music is as engaging as any contemporary pop artist’s. Yet Monáe allows no one to sexualize her. She instead indicates what a female artist who resists the societal push to succumb to explicit sexuality can look like. She can be attractive, sexy, funky, relevant, socially conscious and clothed.
Female musicians need not fall to using their bodies as ways of attracting attention to their music, their message or themselves. They also need not be berated for filling the role our society puts them in. For those who haven’t figured it out, Cyrus’s sexuality and nudity fulfills Thicke’s requests in “Blurred Lines.” Cyrus is no more to blame than Thicke.
It is time our society stops using these gendered, sexual double standards.
It is time more artists follow the example Janelle Monáe sets.
At the iTunes Festival in London Saturday, Monáe introduced “Cold War,” a song about fighting for what you believe in, by telling the crowd that, “No matter who you are, what you look like, you’ve got to love you, love yourself, because sometimes life is a cold war.”
Monáe’s music is joyous, funky, eclectic and packed with a long list of influential collaborators (Prince, Solange, Miguel and Erykah Badu, to name a few). Her music does not overpower her message, though. Monáe calls for equality, strength and individuality from her listeners.
And when Monáe makes statements, they ring loud and clear. Unencumbered by American society’s gendered, sexualized popular culture, Monáe’s voice can be heard above the din of arguments concerning nudity and sexuality. She fights for the underdog while avoiding exploitative sexuality, one futuristic, grooving tune at a time.