Meshell lays it all out: Meshell Ndegeocello's latest CD is musically powerful, but its relentless intensity may be too much for some.

Cookie: The Anthropological Mixtape * Meshell Ndegeoceilo * Maverick

Most artists issue a statement of musical purpose on their first recording. Not Meshell Ndegeocello. She waited until her fourth studio go-round to provide unobscured insight into the influences that set her grooves in motion. On Cookie: The Anthropological Mixtape she lays her cards on the table, and in the process she lays herself more emotionally bare than any of her female R&B contemporaries.

It's been somewhat easy to peg Ndegeocello since her auspicious 1993 debut, Plantation Lullabies. She was a retro-savvy funkateer with an earthy demeanor and a slicingly sharp tongue. But while early singles like "If That's Your Boyfriend (He Wasn't Last Night)" were full of free-spirited sass and spunk, they betrayed her sensitive, somewhat embattled and embittered side--as evidenced on her subsequent efforts, most notably 1999's Bitter.

And while listeners have been given glimmers of Ndegeocello's psyche, both musical and personal, she gathers everything into one cohesive piece on Cookie, which she produced with her longtime guitarist Allen Cato. The result is a provocative if occasionally overwhelming journey.

Sharp ears will detect the influence of artists including Richie Havens, Bob Marley, Jimi Hendrix, Marvin Gaye, Joan Armatrading, and Prince--neatly interwoven into rhythms that are occasionally derivative of current hip-hop sounds. Along the way, Ndegeocello floats tales about the struggles of African-American women, abused women, politics, sex, and poverty. She's brash in her language and unflinching in her candor, making proverbial mincemeat of other so-called no-nonsense soul mamas like Angie Stone and Mary J. Blige. This is realness without posturing, Afro puffs, or designer duds. This is raw--brutally so, at times.

And this is where Ndegeocello risks losing listeners. Sometimes she's so deeply intense that she threatens to suck the air out of the room. There's little to no humor here, nor are there moments to simply breathe and digest all that's served. In fact, there are moments when Cookie is so serious that you can almost hear Ndegeocello's jaw clench tightly from trying so hard to declare the importance of her work. When she simply lets her story and grooves unfurl naturally, as she does on jams like the swaggering "Better by the Pound" and the gentle "Trust," Ndegeocello is beyond comparison and criticism.