Erykah Badu

Erykah Badu has a mission: “freeing the slaves and the slave masters.” Her fourth album, “New Amerykah Part One (4th World War)” is loaded with socio-political jibes designed to instigate and agitate its audience. If you’re looking for the sugary sentimentality with which Badu sang “Love of My Life (An Ode to Hip-Hop),” you should probably steer clear of everything but the final track and lead single “Honey.”

The 11-song album doesn’t give listeners anything to play while jogging on a Sunday afternoon or standing idly in a steamy shower stall. Instead, chant-like singing and eerie electronic sounds mixed with syncopated drumbeats are used to reinforce Badu’s politically charged lyrics. While the album successfully provokes listeners, it sacrifices some musical quality to its political aims.

The “New Amerykah” cover art serves as a blaring warning that the fainthearted and “Hill-Duff” fans should probably sit this one out. Fetuses, cellular phones, black power fists, whips, dollar signs, and a double helix caught in Badu’s afro immediately signal that she has a lot to sing about.

In album opener “Amerykahn Promise,” a robotic voice instructs passengers to leave their valuables at home. It declares, “We love to suck you dry,” while a Motown female troupe relays that this is, in fact, the “Amerykahn promise.”

Badu here establishes the unsettling tone that continues throughout. She simultaneously evokes and subverts President Lyndon B. Johnson’s 1965 speech “The American Promise.” In Badu’s opinion, its promise of dignity for all men remains unfulfilled.

The rest of the album continues in this vein. “New Amerykah” discusses everything from racial inequality to the Iraq war.

“Twinkle,” which starts as a soulful rap about a lack of socioeconomic progress in the African American community, ends with Howard Beale’s words from the 1976 movie “Network.” His speech is first reversed to produce a sort of poetic rhythm set against sped-up, mixed-down audio effects that convey a distinctly weird feel. Beale’s unaltered vocalizations ring out: “All I know is you got to get mad. I’m a human being, dammit! My life has value!” Harmonically, “Twinkle” is one of the more bizarre cuts on the album, and it certainly doesn’t lend itself to easy listening. Yet its profound lyrics are typical.

For most of the tracks, Badu successfully combines Motown, hip-hop, and electronica with confrontational songwriting to create an old school sound with a futuristic feel. Perhaps the synthesis of her artistic and political goals works best on “Master Teacher.” A simple hip-hop beat and her clear, soulful voice weave together a song that details the struggle to find beauty in the world. Four minutes in, the track becomes smooth-jazzy, as Badu croons over a melody appropriate for any elevator. A track that is initially about the struggle of social agitation turns to lovers sleeping under shady trees. The message is unmistakable: activism continues in the face of blissful ignorance.

“New Amerykah” is one of Badu’s most mature projects to date. Like most provocative artwork, the album is jarring at first. The broad array of subjects it covers and its lack of musical continuity make for a challenging listening experience, but subsequent spins reveal a rich, varied sound and ample food for thought. As Badu chants, “Hip-hop is greater than religion, greater than the government,” and it becomes clear that she’s chosen her music to move the masses.