Madonna: Ray Of Light

Madonna, longtime sex symbol, pop icon, chameleon, is flying in the face of fashion, and she's doing it in the very latest clothes. Now a mom just shy of 40, the Material Girl is reinventing herself yet again, venturing into electronica with the fervor of a newborn audiophile. As the genre hovers just above the underground, this move could be viewed as a calculated one -- an occasion to jump on the almost inevitable bandwagon-to-be. But henna tattoos aside, the truth is that this album presents a woman less about image than ever before.

Ray of Light is being approached as Madonna's "post-baby album" and, yes, "Nothing Really Matters" and the hopeful "Little Star" are obvious tributes to her daughter, Lourdes. But what's most interesting about Ray of Light is that it chronicles the decision of this woman -- who is, in many ways, the ultimate star -- to snatch life from the jaws of celebrity. This is Madonna flouting Warren Beatty's snipe in "Truth or Dare" that the singer has no desire to live off-camera. It seems she's finally gotten real (of course, getting real could be viewed, somewhat cynically, as just another trend, and Madonna's "transformation" as just another machination of her savvy publicity machine). Nonetheless, it is hard to dismiss this album as just another exercise in Vogueing. When she sings, "I traded fame for love/ Without a second thought/ It all became a silly game/ Some things cannot be bought," in the elegantly atmospheric "Drowned World (My Substitute for Love)," it's hard not to believe her.

This is a two-listen review of Ray of Light. Because Maverick Records refused to release any advance copies of the album -- in order to prevent radio and Internet leakage before its March 3 release (albeit the first single, "Frozen," made its worldwide debut weeks ago on a Singapore website) -- all us press types had to go to Warner Bros. Records, Maverick's parent company, to hear it.

The 13 songs meld pop melodies, techno beats and trippy effects to create sonic beauty in myriad forms -- there is the millennium disco of the title track, the ambient hip-hop of "Candy Perfume Girl" and the dubbed rock of "Swim," just to give you an idea. And although this prog-dance album relies mainly on uncomplicated pop hooks, it is always interesting, sometimes even mesmerizing. If you've heard "Frozen" on the radio, you know what I mean. While it moves with an eerie, theatrical intensity, sheer simplicity is what makes it stick. There's something haunting in Madonna's voice when she sings, "You're frozen/ When you're heart's not open." This is a woman who, like many powerful and successful females, has often been on the receiving end of more than her share of "ice queen"-type slurs.

Produced by the acclaimed William Orbit (whose credits include Prince, Blur, Peter Gabriel and the Human League), the album owes its fresh sound to his contemporary sensibility and chemistry-professor approach to music. The album also marks the return of Patrick Leonard as Madonna's songwriting partner (this collaboration last took place on 1989's Like a Prayer). Though 1992's Erotica and 1994's Bedtime Stories were served, uh, well by Shep Pettibone and Babyface, Leonard contributes a charming lack of guile to the new album.

There are few similarities between Ray of Light and the mostly R&B Bedtime Stories, even though the latter did include a techno beat and an ethereal feel (most notably in the single, "Bedtime Story"). While Ray of Light is bursting with experimental sounds, it remains a buoyant, and commercial, album throughout (Madonna's vocals are as poppy as ever, although they have obviously benefited from her classical training for "Evita").

What is most engaging about the album's songs is the way they incorporate varying textures of noise. The flirtatious "Candy Perfume Girl" releases rhythmic tension while the vocals stay smooth and controlled. A ballad in drag, "Skin" (co-written by Patrick Leonard), gathers momentum that eventually culminates in a near rave-out at the end. Meanwhile, the title track bops from hypnotic disco to anthemic pop with its celebratory chorus: "And I feel/ Like I just got home." Dance music has, of course, always been Madonna's strength.

But Ray of Light has its subtler, more personal moments as well. In the techno-lullaby "Little Star," it's not hard to imagine a (relatively quiet) drum machine in the baby room right next to Lourdes' changing table. "Shanti/Ashtangi" is a fascinating song that sounds something like tribal techno (the singer chants the lyrics in Sanskrit, followed by an English translation in the second half, including the line: "Awakening the happiness of the self-revealed"). "Power of Goodbye" incorporates acoustic guitar into reggae rhythms as Madonna bids farewell to a lover. Drawn from despair, it is an altogether beautiful ballad.

Though her lyrics are still redolent of adolescence, Ray of Light is a mature album with themes of freedom, love, loss and discovery. It wears truth and vulnerability on its sleeve, bearing wisdom and pain in equal proportion. The emotional crescendo of the album comes in the last song, the bone-chilling "Mer Girl," in which Madonna once again addresses the loss of her mother when she was a child (And I smelt her burning flesh/ Her rotting bones/ Her decay/ I ran and I ran/ I'm still running today). Look beyond the sonic scenery, and you'll find that the real story of Ray of Light is the one Madonna tells, alone.