I have a theory that some of the best albums of a pop singer’s career often follow an ugly split. Jackson was also at a critical point in her career. It wouldn’t be a Janet Jackson album without some raunch, but there’s a youthful giddyness to her sexual expression that communicates her renewed openness—on the album, you can imagine her defensive layers sloughing off and revealing her restless inner child. Jackson chuckles and responds, “I know, right? The album tees up a Janet who had already established herself as a sex symbol on Janet and The Velvet Rope, taking that image a step further with baby-making songs taking over a vast swath of the 20 tracks.