Santigold, “99¢”
She’s been thought of as a friendlier version of M.I.A., but for close to a decade now, has more or less been in her own hard-to-label lane. And whether or not she can be labeled, she knows she can and will be commodified, and she’s hyper-aware of it on her third album, “.”
The album art, featuring Santigold shrink-wrapped with a hodgepodge of brightly colored stuff and slapped with a 99¢ sticker, is a personality signified by objects and packaged for sale. At the shallowest level, thatap sort of what an album is, and a very cynical description of “99¢” would be to say that itap on-brand. Itap something Santigold has been fixated on throughout her career. On “Santogold” and “Master of My Make-Believe,” she asserts her authenticity and calls out fakeness again and again.
On “99¢,” she takes a more positive and playful approach, touting self-love and feminism with her vibrant, reggae-touched pop and rock. Santigold’s genre- and globe-spanning influences have always given her music buoyancy, and this time around, she’s boosted its broad appeal with a little bubblegum. But as fun as much of the album is, itap not without critical bite. Tongue planted firmly in cheek, she opens the album singing, “All I wanna do is what I do well / Ain’t a gambler, but honey, I’d put money on myself / All I wanna do is bottle it to sell / ‘Cause my brand of vainglory is much better for your health.” On the tail end, she skips across propulsive dance-rock, taunting someone for being corrupted by success: “Hey now, take a look at you / Hosed down in a million-dollar suit / But I knew you when that wasn’t you / I knew you when you had a clue.”
When she stumbles, she falls: A few of these songs are entirely forgettable. Itap not that “Outside the War” or “Rendezvous Girl” are bad songs; they just don’t leave an impression. The woozy R&B of “Walking In A Circle” could have been a hit, but lacks the oomph to push it beyond an off-key lullaby. It doesn’t help that these songs have to fight for attention after a certifiable banger like “Banshee.” At least, as they say, the lows help you appreciate the highs.
At its best, “99¢” is a reminder of why Santigold is so lovable. Her saving grace is that there’s still nothing quite like her. Itap why we keep buying what she’s selling.
