Kelis is back to music after several years in the celebrity spotlight for all the wrong reasons (an unfortunate marriage, a reality show [which was apparently so boring it never aired], some culinary training, a baby [Knight], a divorce, a massive alimony, and a bitter spat with PETA). Her new album, Flesh Tone, is a slight change in direction, a taut collection of dancefloor fodder. But the music, itself, has always been just the cherry on Kelis' milkshake.

I first heard Kelis by way of a joke. I was dating someone with self-admittedly bad taste in music (Aerosmith) who compiled a mixtape of pop provocations and opera. I don’t recall much of what was on it, but one tune made a startling impression. “Caught Out There” was a fascinating and delightful shock. You’ve probably heard the song; it’s clunky production sound and rather average opening verse are brilliantly interrupted when the is-this-for-real chorus hurls a threatening megaphone chant “I HATE YOU SO MUCH RIGHT NOW” and the singer releases a baleful “AAAAHHH!” I went back to then-boyfriend and marveled, WHAT IS THIS SONG? WHO IS THIS KELIS (and, for the longest time, like most, I mispronounced it kel-is instead of the correct Kah-leece). “Oh, you liked that?” his brow furrowed. “That was a joke.”

This was no joke, however. This tape got burnt out, on repeat. In an era of The Cranberries and the bratty tantrums of Fiona Apple, Kelis’ sneering scream tore through the tepid Lilith fair garbage. 'Cause Kelis had agency. And she's always relied on her image to do most of that work. At the time, she rocked this huge left-field mane of curly hair died like one of those rainbow-flavored snow cones. “Caught Out There” has a spoken backing track so non-musical, inarticulate and matter-of-fact against these canned-sounding beats (“You know what I’m sayin, yo…this is how it goes yo… pfsh… damn"). Her production crew, The Neptunes, would soon bring this intentionally cheap sound to the loftier ranks of Justin Timberlake, Britney Spears and Snoop Dogg, but for Kelis, the computerized rhythm seemed to epitomize her homespun attitude. Sound and image congealed for this message of insouciant self invention, like the songstress just traipsed into a room, got this shit off her chest in time to catch the newest summer blockbuster, afterwards. The song was pure swagger - it seemed to transcend the effort that goes into most careers (“uh-uh…bitch… yeah, you been caught…”). Incapable of finding the words to express her feelings (or disinterested?), “Caught Out There” was carried by just screaming. That scream conveyed what waited in the wings of countless ‘my man’s been stepping out’ songs: bald rage. It was the sound of someone coming apart at the seams but maintaining control. She cocks a gun in the song (“I got somethin’ for y’all”) but by then we know she’ll be using her hands.