Rihanna — patron saint of Twitter clapbacks and toying with Drake’s emotions — is still teaching us how to understand who she really is as an artist.

Over the course of seven albums, she has bounced from single to single, each new one more notable than the last: “Rude Boy” launched her Rated R album; “Diamonds” and “Stay” were the foundation beneath Unapologetic. Like clockwork, every one of Rihanna's singles debuted as perfectly packaged, dance hall-primed hits. From 2005 to 2012, she released or remixed a new album to great success every year.

And then, for four whole years: nothing. Fans waited impatiently for Rih’s eighth release, furiously asking for updates via her Instagram, demanding a new set of anthems. What they got were more singles (notably “Four Five Seconds” and “Bitch Better Have My Money”) released just far enough apart in 2015 to remind the world that Riri was still alive, mostly chilling but still making music.

The album that would eventually become Anti was evasive, the drop date a moving target, not unlike the singer herself, who canceled shows to ostensibly to spend more time in the studio. In January 2016, when the record finally hit, it was met with curiosity and confusion. Which songs would soundtrack our sweaty club make outs? Rihanna’s music had morphed during the hiatus: Her new songs were still brassy and explicit, but sewn together with a fresh rawness. After a decade of delivering pop chart primed singles, Anti broke the mould. The overall effect was as though the real Rihanna had finally let loose.

In the eight months since it hit radio waves, Anti has become emblematic of a paradigm shift among certain artists. The reverberation of this record and three other buzzy 2016 releases — Lemonade, Colouring Book, and The Life of Pablo — have broken away from conventional music industry rules — and what it means to drop a new album in general.

Selena Gomez, One Direction, and Taylor Swift can keep their elaborate rollouts: Rihanna, Beyoncé, Chance the Rapper, and Kanye West are making (and unmaking) the bedrock of popular music in real time — and, along the way, forcing fans to reconsider if albums themselves actually matter anymore.