Critics hailed it as the messiest album release campaign in recent memory. Rihanna’s eighth record was delayed, leaked and eventually given away, with the singer hosting an incongruous event in which she unveiled braille poetry in between. The press rejoiced when it looked as if one of the biggest artists on the planet had sold only 1,000 copies in a week, with tabloids suggesting that Rihanna’s muddled head – from a much publicised fondness for weed – had caused Anti’s alleged flop.

But while the convoluted nature of partnerships with Tidal and Samsung were largely responsible for the record’s poor commercial performance in traditional terms, it was a streaming smash and later went double platinum. And the fact that so many people were quick to celebrate her supposed failure simply complimented the album’s unflinching temperament. For a decade, Rihanna has worked in an industry that expects its female starts to be slick and subdued, and Anti was the musical manifestation of her rejection of the rules. Like an antihero in a neo-noir crime film, Rihanna was sophisticated and fearless. An arch, ominous atmosphere ran through this record, from the gunslinging ballad Desperado to the instructive slow-jam Yeah, I Said It.

When the album’s lead single Work came out – featuring Drake and a sample of Sail Away Riddim by producers Richie Stephens and Mikey 2000 – it sounded unlike anything else. Her Barbadian accent the most pronounced it had ever been, this was a dark, melancholic dancehall-elevated track full of frosty futurism. But in spite of the track’s ubiquity – not to mention fellow single Needed Me’s 42-week reign in the Top 100 – Anti is a relatively hitless album, especially considering the chart success of her Grammy-crammed back catalogue. Its tracks became a slow-developing addiction rather than a quick fix of fizzy pop. They found new life on stage and in fan-made videos.

Unlike the clarity of her early material, Rihanna’s songs on Anti were intimate and unusual. Sonics were rough, distorted, stoned: the rattling bass on Woo, the musty Channel Orange-like interlude of James Joint. Album opener Consideration (featuring SZA) swaggered in, holding a melody at gunpoint, and then sauntered out without breaking a sweat. Sex With Me, which appeared on the deluxe version of the album, was a deadpan ode to her own prowess and excused some dodgy Disney ballads.

Compared to industry swots such as Ed Sheeran and Taylor Swift, Anti’s arrival may have seemed shambolic. But anyone who’s kept an eye on Rihanna’s antics should know that “launch efficient album campaign” is about as high on her to-do list as buying nicotine patches and going for a jog. Her defiance surfaced on previous albums (with songs such as Unapologetic, Rated R and Good Girl Gone Bad), but this was the first one on which she successfully aligned her music with her true rebelliousness. On Anti, Rihanna morphed from cowboy, to gangster, to the world’s most accomplished lover, maintaining throughout her status as pop’s greatest rock star.



