A whole three years have passed since we last heard from the British artist, save for a heartbreaking revelation that she had fibroid tumors that derailed her life. On MAGDALENE, she addresses the questions fans have had lately, singing about her hospitalized experience on “daybed” amongst other bleak ballads. The album isn’t as heavy on the sound as FKA twigs’ debut LP1, it’s a moodier record reliant on atmospheric IDM textures and fluffy vocals with a timid tongue.
Lead single “cellophane” doesn’t need any amplifications to strike deep. Holding all the cards of a gut-wrenching breakup song, it’s taken a step further coming from a woman once engaged to Robert Pattinson. The track’s not a vengeful hit back at naive Twilight stans- twigs is too busy exerting her sorrow to be angry with desperate lines like “Why won’t you do it for me/When all I do is for you?” The music video is an even greater treasure, with pole dancing portrayed as a beautiful and artistic exercise, not a lascivious occupation- a display of FKA twigs’ mission to redefine womanhood.
Feminism follows on “mary magdalene,” a guise of the biblical figure answering the call to Jesus’ crucifixion. Following the New Testament scene, the woman faded into obscurity, even being brushed aside by a future pope as nothing more than a sex worker. FKA twigs uses this story as a figurehead for women being erased from history, a dig at the perpetual patriarchy still rampant ages past the original Good Friday.
The trap shift of “holy terrain” sounds like the summoning call of someone straight from Atlanta, so it’s unorthodox to hear twigs croon the first few lines. On the surface, it’s about wanting sex and affection, except the debauchery isn’t hammered in à la a boisterous rapper’s mixtape. Instead, she uses only flowery language to describe her desires. There’s something so subtly arousing about her portraying her soul and body as a “holy terrain.” All she’s asking for is a man to “not get bound by his boys and his chains,” both the riches and jewels that invite selfishness as well as the societal restraints of lovey-doveyness being viewed as anti-masculine. The first feature twigs has ever had on a song of her own makes landfall here, but Future’s only around because of the intoxicating 808 humming in the background. An equally soft spoken male counterpart like Frank Ocean would’ve been a better fit.
Those seeking to explore the more exuberant side of FKA twigs’ sound will eat up “fallen alien” and all its glitchy goodness. The overlapping vocals, rackety mixing, and rowdy texture emanate a steroid shot poking out among the LP’s somber areas. However, the majority of MAGDALENE is about absent love. “mirrored heart,” “thousand eyes,” and “cellophane” all envelope heartbreak in some way, and while the confessions can sometimes be a bit too poetic to interpret, twigs’ anxious performance coat an extra layer of emotion. The scarce vocals come off as more human and personal than when the modifiers get shoved in from time to time. Songs like “daybed” strike the right chord with the delivery in its purest form, not when her humble voice is being foiled with.
MAGDALENE is a patient record, one meant for bedtime reflections and melancholic episodes. It has trouble breaking new ground for those eager for a musical epic with its short runtime and similarly-toned breakup cuts. It’s also lacking in a sense of rhythmic cohesion: three EPs and two full-lengths in, this playlist is arguably twigs’ least listenable project to date. Of course, when you’re as skilled a writer as the 31-year-old experimentalist, an album like MAGDALENE deserves as much praise as the woman its named after.
