I hate agreeing with Jody Rosen but boy is she so right on point in that paragraph. Some peeps, even including hyves were moaning earlier on (friday/saturday) about Bey being too explicit in her lyrics and how this would make her ratchet. As if Beyonce is singing about cold casual sex. They completely missed the mark because Bey is expressing love making and being a happy-in-bed wife (evidently stuff dem bitter complainin' bitches know nothing about.
Nnnn.... how tru is that? It has very clear context, these songs are not "when you **** them other girls" type of boasting or "I make myself so much wetter" nasty faux sexual freedom songs
And then there’s “Rocket,” which begins, “Let me sit this ass on you” — a lyric that has edged ahead of “I read the news today, oh boy,” in my personal tally of Greatest Opening Lines.
And there's the obligatory appearance by her husband Jay Z, who she proudly claims “can't keep your eyes off my fanny, daddy”, over a cavernous sub-bass groove as billowing and bountiful as that legendary booty.
In “Drunk in Love,” she even out-raps her husband, drawling double-entendres — “I fill the tub up halfway then ride it with my surfboard … Grinding on that wood” — in the thick Texas twang than she reserves for her more lowdown moments.
But that enthusiasm echo-chamber also creates an ideal circumstance where we can collectively overrate an album like this. And after a few days of intense listening, I’m delighted to report that I don’t think that’s happening. This thing is legitimately amazing in ways that have nothing to do with the context of its release, and these songs are sticking. Every Beyoncé solo album has been, at the very least, pretty good, but this one already feels like a huge leap beyond all of them. Every song is worth hearing and focusing on, and the videos-for-every-song approach just reinforces the reality that there’s no one immediate focal point. The movie moves quickly and fluidly among moods and textures and ideas and mini-genres, but it goes after every one of them with absolute ferocious self-assurance.
With this, though, I could know that all my friends, around the world, were either staying up all night with the album, or they were waking up Friday morning, checking their phones, muttering “whoa” to themselves, and immediately pushing “buy.” My parents asked me about the album, and my parents never ask me about albums; I think the last time they bought something new was an Enya CD in 1993.
UNIVERSAL