Lorely Rodriguez has created an album that moves like oil in water. I’m Your Empress Of is more elegantly constructed and beats-focused, yet no less imaginative than the noise-pop wedgie she gave listeners on her 2015 debut Me. Muffled snatches of chatter, the voice of Rodriguez’s own mother, and a zesty club pulse bind the 12 tracks of her third album together to create a short, ambitious song cycle that reinstates Rodriguez among electronic pop’s auteurs.
Empress Of’s scattered previous album, 2018’s Us, took two and a half years and a cast of collaborators to make. In contrast, all but two of I’m Your Empress Of’s songs were produced and written by Rodriguez alone over two feverish months. Reeling from a recent break-up and the zig-zagging adrenaline of a relentless tour schedule, Rodriguez would wake early and set to work in her home studio in Los Angeles, using songwriting to release trauma and confusion. In purging emotional extremes, Rodriguez rises from the embers of heartbreak to hit on a personal and artistic truth: She is better off alone.
Thriving in solitude is cause for celebration, as a triumvirate of bangers makes clear. “Bit Of Rain,” the album’s first track proper, is a stormy flirtation with trap snares and imagistic fragments. “You closed your eyes/Heavy blinds to a house/I want everything inside to spill out,” she sings, like Pablo Neruda at the club. At other times, she is more direct. In the chorus, a forthright declaration is accompanied by a clap of thunder: “I want you under me.” Even more carefree is “Love Is A Drug,” a breathless, buoyant ode to carnal hedonism, while the dancefloor confection “U Give It Up” (produced by Jim-E Stack) feels like a poison-pinkie text dashed off to an ex on the way to the dancefloor. “When something bites/You pull back scared to fight,” Rodriguez intones. You can imagine her raising her hands to laser lights as she sings.
I’m Your Empress Of is a vivisection of heartache, as if Rodriguez is working through the five stages of grief in real-time. She beats herself up for her choices in “Should’ve” among blasts of static and high-pitched squeaks that sound like a moth’s legs stuck in molten rubber. At its most extreme, her self-examination evokes violence. “I get off on being awful to myself,” Rodriguez sings plainly in the album closer “Awful,” in which sharp thwacks bring to mind the slam of flesh into metal. “I need some help.” It’s a chilling moment delivered with flair, the kind of eureka moment that could take a year of therapy to hit on.