There are a couple of ways to tell the story of Kehlani Parrish’s ascension from a gifted hopeful to a higher R&B court. One is a story of unhindered success: in her teens, Kehlani was the vocalist of a covers band that earned fourth place on “America’s Got Talent” and placed her on the radar of Nick Cannon and most major labels. Atlantic groomed her publicly and behind the scenes for cred and stardom, from 2014 mixtape Cloud 19 to 2015’s album-called-mixtape You Should Be Here to heavy promotion at radio. By 2016, she’d scored nods from both pop and pomp culture: a trendily morose cut on the soundtrack to—brace yourself for the following phrase—the Oscar-nominated Suicide Squad and a left-field Grammy nomination for a Best Urban Contemporary Album that is still a free set on SoundCloud.
The other story is one of overcoming the system. That “America’s Got Talent” stint only panned out after several difficult years—contractual hell, homelessness, depression—and what followed was hardly fairytale. It’s pretty uncontroversial now to recognize turn-of-the-century R&B as overflowing with innovation and talent, but A&Rs remain terrible at knowing what to do with it. For every The Writing’s on the Wall or Aaliyah, there are three slept-on debuts and overlooked follow-ups, and who knows how many shelved, stalled, and otherwise mismanaged counterparts. The 2010s revival is more ephemeral in its streaming numbers and blog buzz, but not much kinder to its potential stars. Despite two hits in “2 On” and “All Hands on Deck,” Tinashe’s Joyride tour was cut short. Kelela and SZA are excellent yet still “rising.” Jhené Aiko is in a group with Big Sean. And Kehlani’s output and talent has consistently exceeded what its promotion would imply. You Should Be Here was a big-leagues album promoted like a mixtape—an increasingly common blurred “indie” and “mainstream” marketing tack—and judging by the album features (Zayn?) and tour spots (G-Eazy) she’s done since, the industry seems to be pigeonholing her with performers who are hilariously out of her league.
It’s even more remarkable, then, that SweetSexySavage is so self-assured: the work of a distinctive artist owning a style that seemingly everyone is attempting. Kehlani doesn’t even try to disinvite comparisons—the album’s title is a direct play on TLC’s CrazySexyCool, and it’s full of nods to the past, like the “Try Again” intro of “Advice.” But unlike so much R&B, SweetSexySavage neither relies on nostalgia nor falls into the traps these throwback albums tend towards: treating R&B as a costume, the musical equivalent of a belly shirt, or recreating in hazy moods and amorphous vibes a genre better known for massive hooks.