M.I.A.’s newest album, “Maya,” by no means lives up to the caliber of music fans have come to expect from the artist. Though she is an individual known for pushing boundaries and unapologetically breaking through barriers, she does neither. It seems as though the musician has put less stock in the platforms and politics that made her famous and more faith in the star power of the name they resulted in.

The album’s debut single “XXXO,” presents listeners with a moderately generic beat behind what appear to be empty lyrics. Although one can’t expect every song from someone to be a masterpiece, the first single should at least leave one wanting more — more than an explanation, that is.

“Maya” begins with a minute-long track to draw you into the album, which frankly almost caused me to turn it off. Those who don’t like senseless noise with no identifiable purpose might want to skip the introduction and get right to the actual songs. But sadly even then, things really don’t improve
too much.

The two-track span of “Story To Be Told” and “It Takes a Muscle” was by far the low point of the collection, and repeatedly caused me to wonder just what happened to the opinionated, rebel-minded girl from “Arular” and “Kala.” What happened to the neon-clad activist who brought me “World Town?” The bongo drum beat in “Sunshowers?” Now I’m just being nostalgic.

Although the album is not without its good points, there really are the bare minimum required for me to comfortably make that statement. The track “It Iz What It Iz” was one of the few highlights I found, and although the lyrics still left a considerable amount to be desired, the song as a whole at least was catchy.

As much as it pains me to say, M.I.A. seems to really have thrown in the towel on this one. The beats are forgettable, the lyrics are repetitive and lazy and, unlike on past albums, the fearless Sri Lankan babe is nowhere to be found.

In a time when the music world is blowing up with great new albums and artists, perhaps M.I.A. was just a little behind the curve — especially given the exceptional talent being showcased in the world of hip-hop. I’m willing to accept the fact that maybe it’s all relative, and most great artists have an album that just doesn’t cut it.

Unfortunately, I can’t get over the feeling this album evokes at the end of M.I.A.’s reign of great music.

Part of M.I.A.’s charm was her ability to mix just above an acceptable level of politics with an extreme appeal to the younger set — a fun way to give a middle finger to the man, if you will. With “Maya,” it seems she’s lost that focus and produced her most audibly offensive album — except this time, I don’t want to dance to it.