In 2019, Beyoncé and Jay-Z won GLAAD’s Vanguard Award, given to allies who have made a difference in the LGBTQ+ community. In her acceptance speech, Beyoncé said, while choking back tears, “I wanna dedicate this award to my Uncle Johnny, the most fabulous gay man I ever knew, who helped raise me and my sister. He lived his truth. He was brave and unapologetic at a time when this country wasn’t as accepting.”
She went on to say that his struggle with, and ultimate passing from, HIV was among the “most painful experiences of [her] life.” She hoped that what he went through wasn’t in vain for this generation of LGBTQ youth—the one she continuously moves and celebrates with her music.
The distinctly queer spirit and culture that Uncle Johnny instilled in Beyoncé is what animates Renaissance, her seventh solo album, out Friday. He gets a shout-out in the album’s physical booklet (he was “the first person to expose me to a lot of the music and culture that serve as inspiration for this album,” she writes) and even on the album itself (on “Heated,” she rap-sings, “Uncle Johnny made my dress”). It’s a deeply intimate touch, especially on an album that mostly shirks the explicitly personal narratives that made her last LP, 2016’s Lemonade, so transcendent.
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Renaissance is an ode to the Ballroom scene of the 1980s, paying musical homage to the many styles grounding the queer, Black and brown-dominated underground community. All the recent whispers about Beyoncé making a disco, dancehall, and/or house album were true; she’s done all of the above, just as Ballroom encompasses all of those genres and then some.
Songs like “Alien Superstar,” “Move,” and “Cozy” feature explicit references to the dance floor, as Beyoncé beckons the listener to put on their million-dollar stilettos and groove. She raps and sings against a clatter of samples, from spoken-word to DJ call-outs to disco songs of yore. A propulsive, persistent drum beat grounds even the more traditionally R&B-style choruses, where she flaunts her strong-as-ever vocals.
Lyrically, these songs are like Renaissance’s topic sentences: “I’m one of one/ I’m number one/ I’m the only one,” she sings on “Alien Superstar.” “Don’t even waste your time trying to compete with me.” She’s not wrong about any of this, of course. But this is the exact kind of braggadocio that can be found in Ballroom, where dancers prowl the catwalk and bust out the sexiest, most impressive moves anyone in the room’s ever seen. Even when Beyoncé turns the self-aggrandizement down a notch on “Cozy” (“Comfortable in my skin/ I’m cozy”), the message is clear: Join House Renaissance, and feel the overwhelming self-esteem pour over you.
The album sounds better in this context; otherwise, some songs, particularly in the back half, come across like B-sides. “All Up in Your Mind,” “Thique,” and “Heated” fail to make good on their excellent credentials when heard and considered individually. (That A. G. Cook, an all-star hyper-pop producer who’s worked extensively with Charli XCX, landed his first Beyoncé credit with something as ephemeral as “All Up in Your Mind” is especially disappointing.) While these tracks keep you out on the floor if you’re already there, they won’t motivate you to get out of your seat otherwise. Beyoncé growling about her “ass getting thicker” on “Thique” will make you laugh, but only because you’ve been at the dance marathon for hours and you could use a little wake-up call. As the production slows the beat down in favor of sleepy, industrial-style bass, Renaissance finds itself in a sleepy lull.
The best moments come when you’re jolted awake, and they’re the ones that will help this album claim its spot as the soundtrack to every party for the rest of 2022. “America Has a Problem” and “Cuff It” are undeniable, with the former’s scale-climbing synths and the latter’s classic disco groove. “Pure / Honey” keeps you guessing as to what kind of song it even is throughout its nearly five-minute runtime. While the “Pure” half is built around a dark, minor-key beat suited for an underground club, the “Honey” half switches seamlessly into a much brighter tone that’s sweet as… well, you know. (It also boasts some amazing lines: Get me “Four, three/ I’m two, fucking, busy” on a mug please.)
The centerpiece of all of this—perhaps Renaissance’s greatest encapsulation—is “Virgo’s Groove.” At six-plus minutes, it’s an anthem for the lovers and the loved, the dancers and the art of dance itself. “Your love keeps me alive,” Beyoncé sings again and again, a synthesizer conjuring a disco ball right over our heads. When she’s not breaking into her unbelievable falsetto, she’s snapping her fingers to the beat, ceding the floor to the funk. As badly as she wants her lover to come over and be with her tonight, Beyoncé also has her trademark sense of humor: “You can hit this/ Don’t be scared!” It’s intoxicating and transportive, with enough energy to sustain 100 albums—and kinetic energy is ultimately what keeps Renaissance afloat.
The hyper-detailed production work—from the likes of Tricky Stewart and The-Dream—fills the songs with textures and sounds that compellingly flow from track to track. “Break My Soul,” the album’s first and only pre-release single, is a somewhat uninspiring dance bop on its own. But on Renaissance, the afrobeat-style “Energy” drives directly into it—making “Break My Soul” an essential piece of a stronger two-parter. The sequencing feels more intentionally designed than almost any individual song does; Renaissance, as the first “act” of a proposed three-album cycle, is meant to be taken as a complete piece.
Renaissance’s cohesion, then, is crucial to understanding and appreciating it. If you’re listening to these songs simply to claim a favorite and update your summer playlist, you may be left disappointed. There are no lyrically vulnerable songs that jump across wildly different genres, à la Lemonade. There’s no interest paid to national or global politics, like on The Gift. You won’t find the X-rated naughtiness that’s all over Beyoncé. The fact is that, at 40 years old, happily married mother-of-three Beyoncé is choosing not to probe the heavier stuff here.
But the memory of Uncle Johnny is inescapable. As a way of processing the grief she still holds over losing her beloved relative, Beyoncé has created a personal work in unique fashion: It’s implicitly meaningful and explicitly moving. Now get up and dance.
