Victoria Monet steps out of the jungle with Jaguar II

Although Victoria Monét has been writing songs for people like Brandy and Ariana Grande, and has released her own music since her debut EP Nightmares & Lullabies: Act 1 in 2014, she still existed somewhat in a cloud of obscurity. That’s often the case for successful songwriters who transition into performing, but Monét won’t forsake quality in pursuit of notoriety. Her debut album is a kaleidoscopic collection of songs about sexuality, pride and big dreaming.

The combination of several genres – pop, R&B, dancehall, disco, funk – results in a shimmering sound that feels authentically exploratory. Lead single Party Girls delivers rich and sultry sounds, a singalong chorus – “Can’t forget about the party girls out lighting up the world” – and a supremely nostalgic feature from Buju Banton. You can almost taste the Prince influence on How Does It Make You Feel, while Hollywood (feat. Earth, Wind & Fire) is an aspirational soul ballad glistening with high notes and airy guitar riffs.

Although Monét is still finding her voice, her production, overflowing with euphoric horns and silky melodies, fits her soft cadence and carefree lyrics like a second skin. Jaguar II sounds like checking into a swanky hotel: the arrangements are contractor-grade, rewardingly rich, and augmented with live trumpet and violin. It’s Monét’s longest release yet, with transitional moments (“Smoke Reprise”) and a track-to-track mix that isn’t quite continuous but obviously intended for fluid listening. The hooks come gift wrapped and hang around longer than Mylar balloons. “We keep it smooth like a Cadillac/With the diamond spinners in the back,” Monét coos on “Cadillac (A Pimp’s Anthem),” a dub-flavored soundtrack for low-riding ladies where a playful allusion to “five with the Black hand side”—as in “gimme some skin”—becomes a period-appropriate flirt.

Monét excels at striking this tone that’s classic, sexy, understated. Even when she makes it dirty, there’s a veneer of fantasy and metaphor, like how it still counts as a dress even if it’s mesh. “Might be too fine to hit it from behind,” she brags on “On My Mama,” a wink-wink you could almost blink and miss. “Stop (Asking Me 4 Shyt),” about hangers-on looking for unearned favors, feels like a complaint that could’ve been lodged by some jazz diva a century ago. “Stop askin’ me for money, get your own/I barely even just got on,” Monét objects, but her line readings feel more influenced by mellow ’90s R&B, so it’s easy to add a modernizing, “Don’t call my phone… bitch.” (Mercifully she does not try to rhyme anything with “Cash App,” whose brand placement is limited to those expensive-looking videos.)

Taking “Party Girls” into the Kaytranada-produced “Alright” is a play-it-straight-through flex that ends with a big-cat growl. But as brand-name producer collaborations go, the first Jaguar’s S.G. Lewis disco groove “Experience” shone a little brighter. And though these days Monét’s deep cuts are much too good to be called filler, the hook-focused writing style fosters songs that bet long on a pretty melody and a broad idea. Within the sequence, this lighter fare is pleasant, an eminently listenable update on an iconic sound; still, you wish she’d spill about some of these randos with the ridiculous financing requests, drive that Cadillac somewhere and not just spin the wheels. In Monét’s songs, love can be idealized even when it doesn’t work out. In “I’m the One,” her beau wouldn’t recognize her brilliance even if God’s own angels seated her directly on their face.

Sometimes Jaguar II kinda feels like that: Frictionless, full of instrumental flourishes so smooth they risk sailing by unremarked. Monét can sell even a slightly clunky lyric with practiced polish, sounding like the consummate performer even when you know she’s lived it. The only real unguarded moment comes at the end of “Hollywood” (“Dreaming bigger than I ever should”), with a loud giggle-squeal from Monét’s baby Hazel, who’s now 2. You’ll have to check the credits to see that it is her daughter’s voice—more meaningful and, in a way, less obvious than the jaguar growl. Even if you get the sense her best work still lies ahead, it’s refreshing to see an emerging star earn their concept album. Simply imagining you are Bruno Mars won’t take you there—but an album like Jaguar II will. It’s the rare species of pop-soul that evokes a real sense of spiritual uplift: We’re not just succeeding, we’re made for better things.