In that context, so what if ‘Together Again’ is a lament for one of Jackson’s friends who died of AIDS when the accompanying irresistible disco-tinged deep house rush could soundtrack the perfect block party? ‘My Need’ is a set of nervous bedroom instructions, sure, but its G-funk swoops and skittering percussion oozes from the stereo with no hint of unease. Who cares about the self-loathing regret of ‘Got Til It’s Gone’ when it’s so smooth, or ‘What About’’s infidelity psychodrama when it’s this banging? Indeed, so compelling is the musical construction here that there’s one possible reading of ‘The Velvet Rope’ where Jackson’s thematic input is all but absent: Jam & Lewis and Jackson’s production (with a little help from the uncredited J Dilla), all luxuriant and sashaying RnB against grinding new jack swing, is enough to sustain interest for virtually the album’s entirety, rendering the frustration and self-therapy of the lyrics as an afterthought.
It all leaves ‘The Velvet Rope’ as a sort of Schrodinger’s Cat of an album, simultaneously vibrant and morose, a state of affairs fairly unique for a huge diva pop album in 1997. (By contrast Mariah Carey’s ‘Butterfly’, a month older, demonstrates barely a pulse of subversion.)
That distinctive combination of flavour and timing is enough to warrant a revisit of the record on its twentieth anniversary. However, it’s also that exact quality that makes ‘The Velvet Rope’ feel more contemporary than ever in 2017, when issue-driven pop is not just fashionable, but the new normal. Accordingly, in an era where the world’s biggest pop stars can release curated confessionals like ‘Channel Orange’ and ‘Lemonade’, and to a lesser extent ‘Melodrama’, ‘A Seat At The Table’ and even ‘1989’, that align personal psychological unravelling to the sound of super-accessible contemporary pop, ‘The Velvet Rope’ feels entirely at home.