——
This work is protected by SACD
(Société des Auteurs et Compositeurs Dramatiques)
——
Andy Warhol said in the 1960s that in the future, everyone would be famous for 15 minutes.
He was right about one thing.
… As for the fifteen minutes, it turned out he had greatly overestimated our attention span.
Episode 1 // Goodnight Gotham
Rihanna cracked her eyes open as the housekeeper entered the room.
« Rain again… I told you so, Carla. »
« It’s true, Madame. I covered the pool. »
« You did the right thing… RZA loves to play around too much. »
« The little one is lively. You have a beautiful child. And Aaliyah is following in her footsteps. »
A melancholic smile graced the star’s lips. She pushed aside the covers. Her gaze grazed the crib. Despite the five-bedroom property, she had insisted on having the child sleep in her room. She wanted to watch over her during the rare moments spent at her Los Angeles mansion.
Six o’clock chimed, a notification reminded her of what she already knew: her video meeting was starting in thirty minutes. Rihanna wrapped herself in the blanket, trying to steal a few extra minutes of sleep that would never come. She had tossed and turned all night. She didn’t feel well. A headache ricocheted through her thoughts. She swallowed a painkiller, aware that this migraine was just a symptom of the broader, underground malaise that had been gnawing at her for weeks. Gurgles rose from the crib, and a wave of love dammed the pain. Aaliyah slept peacefully and dreamlessly.
The singer had been alone for a month, Asap was in Europe for the second part of his « At. Long. Last. ASAP » ten-year anniversary tour.
Carla opened the blinds and left the room. A pale sun had risen, stretching its elongated shadows against the walls. A gust of air infiltrated the room. Drowned in the drizzle, the muted sounds of cars – few at this hour – emanated from Coldwater Canyon Drive.
Rihanna slipped out of bed, and the headache solidified its grip; she staggered into the bathroom. The marble glistened in the violet twilight. She stepped inside and recoiled. An unfamiliar object lay in a corner. It was an umbrella. Or maybe a parasol. Either way, it didn’t belong to her. How had this thing ended up here? The star shrugged, contemplated taking a bath, even thought she might attend her meeting while luxuriating in it. A modern Nefertiti. Queen of Egypt at the helm of an empire sporting a unique symbol: the dollar sign. She dismissed the idea and hummed under the shower:
« Got me looking so crazy right now, Your love’s got me looking so crazy right now. »
Crazy in Love. This song haunted her, over and over again. The lyrics had taken on bitterness. Something was aggregating in her gut. She no longer felt quite like herself. As if, after all these years, success, money, and fame were no longer enough to fill that small empty room inside her. She wondered where one was supposed to go when they already had it all. And she thought that despite the triumph of her latest album, « Robyn, » she had never managed to recapture the powerful simplicity of her first hit: « Crazy in Love, » a duet with Jay. Because « crazy in love » with life, with music, she wasn’t so sure anymore.
Minutes passed. Her tears were washed away by the water. In the mirror’s reflection, she scrutinized her body, the tattoos that had blossomed through the trials: « Rebelle fleur » on her neck. Her best friend Melissa Forde’s birthdate in Roman numerals on her left shoulder, the friend she had left Barbados with at the age of fourteen. The goddess Isis under her chest, in memory of her grandmother. A rain of stars on her neck, done with Chris Br…
A composite assembly that the whole world had taken care to decompose, imitate, without understanding the meaning… She found them everywhere, on social media, inked on the bodies of girls she didn’t know. And she wondered for a moment if this flesh still belonged to her.
When she stepped out of the shower, her still-dripping brown skin, the phone was vibrating on the bedside table. She put on a robe and leaned over to avoid wetting the carpet. It was Jennifer Rosales, her project manager at Fenty Corp, calling from New York.
« Hello, Riri? »
« Hey, girl, what’s up? »
There was a pause.
« …Ri… Riri, is that you? »
« You called my phone, who did you expect? »
Her associate nervously chuckled:
« … Ha ha… well, we’re ready, how about you? »
« I just got out of the shower. Let me put on something, and I’ll join you. »
« See you in a bit! Oh, and Riri?… Are you okay? »
Rihanna paused. Why did Jennifer assume that something was wrong? Had her growing inner turmoil become so apparent? She twisted her lips, managed a half-smile, a marble icon, the flawless, interchangeable image that she and her communication teams had spent years perfecting. Rihanna was thirty-seven, and she wondered how high one could climb when they had already been everywhere.
« … I… Yeah, a little headache, but I’m good. Why? »
« I don’t know, » Jennifer hesitated. « You sound weird, deeper than usual. Like Beyoncé. »
« Aw, come on, Jennifer. Don’t call me that. I’ll be down in two minutes. »
They both laughed. Rihanna put on jogging pants, grabbed her MacBook, and descended the stairs to the small poolside lounge. Three minutes hadn’t passed when she called Jennifer back, who shifted the call to the Fenty Corp video conference.
Three other women were already online: Ciarra Pardo, her creative director; Michelle Cornielle, her executive assistant; and, of course, Melissa Forde, her best friend. A flash of memory crossed her mind, and she saw herself running, singing, and dancing on a beach with unclear boundaries. She wondered if that carefree little girl still existed somewhere within her.
« Hey, ladies! »
« Hey, Riri! »
« Hi! »
« Terrible weather in LA… »
« Unbelievable… »
« How long has it been going on? »
« About a week… since Robyn was released, I think… »
« Do you hear us okay, Ri? Is everyone visible? »
« Ciarra, girl, I love what you’ve done with your hair, » she teased, observing her colleague’s tousled locks in the tiny window on her MacBook. « Did you wake up like this, or is it a new style? »
They laughed, exchanged vigorous banter. It was half-past six. None of them were coiffed or made up. When the calm returned, Rihanna cleared her throat:
« Okay, um… Thank you all for being here for this first Fenty Hair meeting regarding the launch of our hair extensions. Before we begin, I just want to say how incredibly happy and grateful I am to embark on this exciting new journey with all of you. We’ve made it, ladies, and it’s thanks to all your hard work and… »
« Blah blah blah, » Melissa interrupted. « Tell us more about how RZA and Aaliyah are doing. »
« They’re still sleeping. »
« Are you managing okay on your own? Isn’t motherhood exhausting? »
« Yeah… can’t wait for Jay to get back… »
There was silence. Her partners blinked. None seemed entirely sure of what they had heard. On the video mosaic, resembling large open parasols over a pond, they exchanged puzzled glances, confirming the remarkable slip.
« … Jay? » Melissa laughed after a while. « You said ‘Jay’—’Jay is on tour,’ that’s what you said. »
« Jay, yes, Jay is on tour. Did I not tell you? To promote his new album, ‘The Blueprint 4.’ »
There was silence on the AirPods. Rihanna took one out of her ear to check that the Bluetooth connection hadn’t been severed, turned up the volume, but there was nothing but silence, and the faces of her colleagues who continued to stare at her through the mirror-like expanse of the screen.
« Uh… I’m not following you, Riri, » Ciarra finally said. « You’re talking about Jay… uh, Jay-Z? »
« Jay, my man, yes. Who else, damn it? »
After a few seconds, Melissa burst into laughter.
« Excuse me; I didn’t realize it was April Fools’ Day. I… »
« Because it’s July 16th, » Rihanna cut her off, her tone conveying irritation. A rush of impressions surged. Obscure and familiar… the same ones that had been assaulting her for weeks:
« Got me looking so crazy right now, Your love’s got me looking so crazy right now. »
She swallowed hard. Visualized the outlines of that Barbadian beach. She banished it to focus on her business meeting:
« You’re being weird, ladies… Anyway, let’s get started… Ciarra, I received the files you sent from the creative department, but there are a couple of things I’d like to go over before we start production… Ciarra? Are you listening to me? »
« Uh… yes, yes, Ri, I read your email, and I’m discussing our options with James Kaliardos in the creative department. »
In the kitchen, Janine appeared. Rihanna made a gesture to get her attention while taking notes on what her colleague was saying. She spelled out on her lips, « C-A-F-É. » The maid nodded, and a few seconds later, the sound of the coffee grinder could be heard in the kitchen.
« …We’re currently studying the manufacturing cost options, Ri, as well as different shades. James insists that we should drop the V33 and lean more towards the U22 to be as hyper-democratic as possible. »
« Whatever is ‘hyper-democratic’ isn’t that anymore, honey, » she said, smiling at Janine as she brought her a steaming cup of coffee on a tray. She took a sip and stiffened. Just above the handle, she had seen another umbrella stand, cluttered with unfamiliar umbrellas. None of them were hers.
« We’ll do our best to address your comments, but I can’t promise anything. James doesn’t seem too enthusiastic… »
She ground her teeth, trying not to let her distress show.
« Be at your best, » she hesitated, « I want to see diamonds in the sky. (Thinking it was a joke, her colleagues laughed) I… oh, wait a second, I have a call on my personal line. »
She grabbed the iPhone 16 from the couch and seemed surprised to see the contact’s name.
« Yo, Asap Rocky, what’s up, man? It’s not even seven o’clock… »
« Hey, Ri! I’m leaving Paris, baby! It’s four in the afternoon here! I thought you’d be up for your business meeting already… »
She stiffened.
« No, man, I’m in a meeting, yeah, but uh… how did you know… »
« Cool, I won’t keep you then; I just wanted to know how my girl was doing before getting on the plane… »
« Uh… Yeah, cool, man… uh… »
She paused. Scanning the room, she had just spotted another umbrella stand, hidden behind the sofa. It was full of strange umbrellas. And like the first one, none of them were hers. She moved the phone away from her ear.
« Yo, Janine! » Rihanna called. « Yo, was there a party here recently? »
« No, Madame, not since the album launch party, » the maid replied, embarrassed.
« Riri? Are you okay? »
It was Asap Rocky.
« Huh? Uh… yeah, I’m fine. I didn’t sleep well last night… I… (She paused. Why was she going into details?) Uh, listen, man, I really gotta go. Thanks for calling, Asap. Have a great tour and all… bye. »
Silence on the other end.
« Ri? Are you sure you’re okay, my darling? You sound kind of… weird. »
« Listen, nigga, you’re cool, and you know I adore you, but just because we worked together like ten years ago doesn’t mean you can call me ‘my darling,’ okay? »
On the MacBook Air screen, her associates, who hadn’t missed a beat, exchanged astonished glances.
« Uh… stammered Asap. « Wait, what’s going on, my darling… I was calling to… »
She hung up before he could finish his sentence.
« Damn, that dude’s getting on my nerves. What’s gotten into him? (She returned to her colleagues) Sorry, ladies, can we get back to business? (She coughed) Sorry if you heard all that. He really got on my nerves, and I… »
« Um… Riri, » Melissa whispered. « Are you sure you’re okay? »
« But yeah… stop asking me that, all of you. »
« How long have you two been together? Almost five years, right? Uh, Ri… where are you going? »
She had just opened the French doors leading to the garden. The outside air washed over her face. Exhaust fumes. Drizzle. Melancholy. Coyote howls from the hills. She walked to the pool. Behind her, voices vibrated:
« What’s she doing, damn it? »
« She’s not herself; someone should call 911! »
She thought she recognized Melissa’s voice, her lifelong friend with whom she danced on that Barbadian beach.
« Got me looking so crazy right now, Your love’s got me looking so crazy right now. »
Leaning over the pool, she froze, perplexed to find a bloated face undulating on the surface. It was no longer that of a little girl. The water was gray. Threatening. Disturbed by the fine rain falling into it.
« Madame Fenty, are you okay? »
It was Carla. The housekeeper, holding an umbrella, was giving instructions to the landscaper.
« I… I forgot my umbrella inside, » Rihanna whispered.
The servant furrowed her brow, and when she repeated, « Are you… are you okay? » the star stiffened, as if an invisible hand had just slapped her. She said no, she wasn’t okay. And she began to cry. And she began to scream. More or less in that order. And she demanded to know why « everyone in the damn world » kept asking her if she was « f***ing okay. »
In the living room, she recognized Melissa’s voice crackling on the MacBook Air:
« Are you okay, Riri?! Listen to me, Riri, okay? Breathe! »
Janine burst into the garden at the same moment. She held Aaliyah in her right arm and had an umbrella in her left. When the two servants asked her in chorus if everything was alright, it was at that moment that the star paled for good. She gazed at her daughter, who, with sleepy eyes, didn’t seem to recognize her.
Rihanna had everything life could offer. She had become the biggest celebrity. And all those dark premonitions she had been having for the past month suddenly made sense. She realized that she would now have to give back some of everything she had worked so hard for.
Her last thoughts went to RZA.
« Crazy in Love. » Yes. She would be crazy in love again. One day. In another life. But this time it would be for her and her alone. She would dance eternally, and she would sing forever on that Barbadian beach. Its vague contours suddenly sharpened. And then she saw it.
At that very moment, she collapsed into the pool.
*
— BREAKING NEWS —
USA today :
Death of Rihanna
Le Parisien :
Décès de la chanteuse Rihanna
Dainik Jagran :
रिहाना की मौत
Bild :
Rihanna ist tot
Yomiuri shinbun :
リアーナの死
Le Monde Diplomatique :
L’armée Ukrainienne reprend Donetsk.
*
LES INROCKS
Rihanna’s Disappearance
Our Retrospective Followed by the Review of Her Album, Robyn
For those of you who haven’t yet had the chance to listen to Robyn, Rihanna’s latest testament of an album released last week, you needn’t concern yourselves anymore; you’ll hear it roar in due time, in the upcoming hours, days, and weeks; everywhere; on the streets, through your neighbor’s windows, in car radios, like a vibrant tribute taking over our cities.
Because Rihanna is no more. The queen of pop has left us, at her Beverly Hills mansion, under circumstances that remain mysterious as we publish. As an artist and a perfectionist entrepreneur, rebellious and pioneering, the native of a small Caribbean island known as Barbados had gained significant fame as early as 2005 with the release of her debut album, Music of the Sun, and the hit Pon de Replay. But it was three years later, with Good Girl Gone Bad and its worldwide success, especially the track Umbrella, that the singer had reached international stardom, continually reinforced by her subsequent efforts: Rated R (2009), Loud (2010), Talk That Talk (2011), and Unapologetic (2012). You know the rest… or do you?
The path seemed laid out for the young woman… But in 2016, the release of the surprising Anti allowed her to attain a different status, transcending her role as a global icon to become something else: a myth, a modern-day Nefertiti. An atypical album where she experimented with the very concept of pop music, defying the system, Anti sketched the first lines of her new image as a star; that of a woman liberated from the industry and its narrow confines. It was at the peak of her glory that, a year later, the singer decided to step away from music to expand her empire into new territories; she launched her cosmetics brand, Fenty, in 2017, followed by a lingerie brand, Savage X Fenty, in 2018, both of which were enormous successes. From then on, the star never ceased to stoke the frustration of her fans by focusing on her roles as a businesswoman and a mother, with the birth of her first child in 2021: RZA. Several press announcements and social media posts did suggest the release of a new album as early as 2017… in vain. For the fans, a long period of drought began. Over the course of the next six years, the singer only participated in a handful of features, including LOYALTY. with Kendrick Lamar, and, more trivially, a tribute song to actor Chadwick Boseman for the release of Black Panther: Wakanda Forever in 2022.
On February 12, 2023, during the Super Bowl halftime show, Rihanna performed live for the first time in five years, hinting at a sensational announcement, an imminent return to music… only to reveal that she was instead pregnant with her second child: Aaliyah. Resigned, many of her fans gradually turned away from their idol’s news, content to follow her business success from afar.
The years passed without the star making headlines for anything other than a new product launch or a Fashion Week runway.
Then, in the most unexpected manner, nine years after the release of Anti, something that no one believed would happen finally did, in the emerging heat of July. There are certain dates etched into collective memory. Everyone remembers what they were doing during the 1998 World Cup final. The same goes for July 10, 2025 when, to everyone’s astonishment, Rihanna released her new album, without a single or any prior promotion, attracting more attention than any album had ever garnered.
Robyn (named after the singer’s birth name) is a unique, enigmatic, and uncompromising work. It’s a reflection on life, death, but above all, celebrity. It’s a work that manages to combine radio anthems, timeless nightclub bangers, and introspective ballads. Even more surprising, it’s a double album, a format thought to have been abandoned since the 1990s and the extinction of the last Rock dinosaurs. In a time when albums are increasingly just vessels to promote two or three singles for streaming sites, Rihanna defies the industry by offering one of the most coherent collections of diverse tracks. Pink Floyd might not have managed this feat with their famous double album The Wall, which, while containing strokes of genius, also had its share of filler tracks. The same goes for the Smashing Pumpkins with their renowned Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness, or London Calling by The Clash. Only The Beatles’ White Album and Bob Dylan’s Blonde on Blonde can hold a candle to it.
Megalomaniacal madness? Not really, Robyn is undoubtedly a flamboyant work, but above all, intimate. It notably features no collaborations or guest appearances, a bold choice in an industry that tends to overuse them. It’s as if, after singing with everyone, the star no longer wished to be in anyone’s company but her own. And that’s what she achieved, baring her heart and soul.
A skillful blend of Dancehall, traditional Caribbean music, soul, trap, and reggae, Rihanna, for nearly an hour and fifteen minutes, displays her genius across eighteen tracks of pure, unadulterated music, with no downtime. She ventures into unexpected territories, such as in « Savage, » with its powerful 8-string guitar lines that could rival some of the arrangements of the most extreme metal bands, and Rihanna, who doesn’t hesitate to explore her lower Mezzo-Soprano range, offering previously unheard notes.
It’s impossible not to mention « The Hill, » the album’s introductory track, a suspended moment of Spoken Word co-written with poet Amanda Gorman, with its text serving as a metaphor for contemporary America, an increasingly steep hill to climb. Undoubtedly one of the most political tracks to top the charts in recent years, Rihanna, who had previously been relatively restrained in this regard, blurs the lines here. The track is an unexpected entry point to « Nine, » the album’s first mega-hit, a bold trap/psychedelic combination built around interwoven rhythmic tracks that align and dissonate with the singer’s vocal whims, switching from the « Drake-esque » vocoder during the verses to her rawest and most imperfect voice to date on the famous refrain:
« I already have nine of them in my pocket / Bitch, who’d you think I’m talking to? / Better wear a gun with your helmet. / ‘Cause fuck I’m going through. »
Two tracks, « Red Flag » and « Asterion, » follow without, at first glance, any apparent commonalities; one is a hyperactive reggae track, while the other is an Escher-esque staircase of very « Cold Wave » synths on which the singer experiments with the Shepard scale to lead us through her labyrinthine trail like a minotaur. It’s only with the final lyrics, when the ghost of her toxic relationship with Chris Brown resurfaces, that the connection between the two tracks finally makes sense:
« I think I’ve fought too long not to keep fighting you. »
Powerful.
Further along, « Hardcore » serves as an outlet, an exit, presented as a raw and primal rap track with a lethality that even Public Enemy would admire. It’s also a trashy demonstration, without ever descending into vulgarity, of her vocal power, almost grunge in its intensity, reaching levels only alternative rapper Rico Nasty had dared to explore until now.
« Sunken » is an emotional power ballad in which the star evokes a little girl exploring a mysterious beach. It opens with a peaceful ukulele introduction, accompanied by a recorder flute, with shades of « Stairway to Heaven. » A mid-tempo beat enters after a minute, settling us comfortably until the sonic shock in the second minute, when an oceanic echo-laden guitar solo bursts in, tearing the track apart and once again propelling us into the multiverse that is Robyn. Throughout, Rihanna’s voice remains unchanged, monochromatic, the guitar chords sliding over her lyrics as smooth as an oil slick, and she concludes with an offbeat rhyme, like a postscript on a postcard addressed to herself:
« My life’s an ocean. »
Yet, the identity of the little girl remains undisclosed.
Robyn shines through the musical innovations it showcases, all while, unlike its predecessor Anti, successfully bringing them to fruition one after the other. Rihanna, track by track, completes the monument dedicated to what she no longer wished to be since 2016: an icon of smooth and accommodating pop.
Ultimately, it’s the eponymous last track, « Robyn, » that will likely leave the most indelible mark on the listener; an a cappella piece joined at the very end by a steel drum, a Caribbean national instrument, murmuring, almost imperceptible. Over it, the star delivers her final lines:
« Will you follow me this time too? »
These words, of course, resonate differently in light of recent events; the last words she will ever address to her audience. « Will you follow me once more? » And, as always with Riri, the answer can only be yes, of course.
And thus, a week after the album’s release, like a prophecy, a rockstar alone at the pinnacle of her pyramid, a mighty Egyptian queen, Rihanna joined the tomb of silence just like the simplest of human beings. We will never hear her voice again, for Rihanna has departed, leaving us alone with Robyn, one last enigmatic work, a monolith questioning us about our relationship with existence and celebrity.
For two decades, from crowded and noisy dance floors to shopping mall speakers, from beachside ghetto-blasters to the intimacy of bedroom AirPods, Rihanna connected us through her songs; listening allowed us to feel a unique pulse, that of the world. This is the artist she was. Today, the world has lost some of its color. The queen is no more; long live the queen. The nights to come may be long. Goodnight, Gotham.
Syd Vesper for Les Inrocks
—— END OF EPISODE 1 ——
Syd Vesper 
Laisser un commentaire