Next comes “Haunted,” in which Beyoncé is treated to tableau after tableau of infirmity, corruption, and sexual perversion. The way the fabric alternately covers her head, her face, her whole body, and then reveals them again, nods astutely to the various archetypes she evokes throughout the album: bride, mother, superwoman, queen. I’m not too convinced by Queen Bey’s attempt to speak for the working man, but the shots of her gyrating in fabric as it presses against her whole form or billows behind her are visually stunning. In “Ghost,” a fresh-faced Bey intones a barely interesting rap about the monotony of a daily routine. Instead, we learn that this body-beautiful, perfect-is both prize and price of a life spent in front of a panel of unimpressed judges. Bey knows you won’t be able to take your eyes off her, so by beginning her album with this song, she’s refusing the viewer the option of watching these videos in a haze of greed, or lust, or envy. Though throughout the album, she often snarls a feminist takedown of the beauty norms she manifests, the visual album is preoccupied Beyoncé’s beautiful, perfect body, her beautiful, perfect face, and her beautiful, perfect hair. An attentive watcher will see an impressive alchemic performance with Beyoncé as a powerful magician, turning her beauty into power: over her life, over her work, and over her audience.ĭon’t believe me? Keep reading. “Beyoncé” as visual album is a smart, complicated investigation of viewer and viewed, performer and performance. But these videos aren’t only standard pop music video fare. While I’m still not exactly sure what that means, I know I can’t listen to “Drunk in Love” without envisioning Bey’s windmilling arms or hear “Partition” without picturing Joan Smalls’ red lips forming the word “Yoncé,” so, whatever it is, it works. Part of the reason “Beyoncé” surprised everyone was that it was not only an audio album released without fanfare, but a “visual album”’ as well.

Beyonce jay z music video review