November 1, 2016 | Alfonso Gonzalez-Francois

A Seat At The Table

The old adage “music to my ears” implies the sheer delight you feel when sounds blend together so well. This makes perfect sense when describing Solange Knowles’ newest record, A Seat At The Table. At about 11:53PM, exactly seven minutes prior to the announced release of the album, I turned over with heavy eyelids and opened my laptop. Had to get in with the masses for the first listen of this highly-anticipated body of work. And boy is it worth the sleep I’m not getting.

The 21-track chef-d’œu·vre is, for all intents and purposes, a journey of self-expression, black pain screen-shot-2016-09-30-at-12-36-11-amand pride, and womanhood. At least with a half functioning, sleepy brain, this is what I gather. Still, Solange’s music soothes. Psychedelic sounds accent the flow of the soulful track Weary. I so badly want to call favorites, but it is way too early for that. The album is sprinkled with beautiful interludes, including testimonies from Matthew and Mama Tina that will make you just reflect and raise your fist in a “we gon’ be alright” kind of way. Cranes in the Sky is a soft, uptempo track with Sol-Angel’s whistle register on full display, while Mad feat. Lil Wayne is a skillful combination of sweet vocals and dope bars. As I weave my way through the album, I just feel like this is something I can and should only enjoy in solitude. Either that, or I’d immediately be removed from my surroundings when listening. I’m completely fine with either situation, honestly. Like Frank Ocean’s Blonde, the music walks your through peacefully, while still delivering quite the impact.

Don’t Touch My Hair dives into the sensitivity of our cultural staples, the ones that are constantly appropriated: our hair, our pride, our soul. All aspects of black people that could never be successfully recreated. Where Do We Go has a bit of that Carl Thomas – “I Wish” feel to it as it opens, but quickly redirects to Solange’s dreamy tones sandwiched with distinct chords. (Re)claiming spaces, both tangible and intangible, where we can be ourselves without restriction and consequence: this is the message of the cleverly-titled F.U.B.U., and I fucking dig every bit of it. Borderline leads into a beautiful harmony with Kelly Rowland and Nia Andrews, which sets us up for Junie, another funky, celebratory song with feel-good piano notes. Something you can groove to at the next family function. Don’t Wish Me Well leads you in a trance by being effortlessly sexy. Solange masters swag and sultriness on this track. Scales is the last full song on the album before she closes the curtain, and it features Kelela, creating a slow creep through a beautiful duet with two songstresses.

As Master P narrates the grand finale, I can’t help but be proud of two things once: my black identity and her true artistry. This album is intimate, and offers its own contribution to a conversation about beauty, self-care, love, strength, and much more. Solange does indeed offer her listeners a seat at the table, at which we feel welcome and included. Her creativity and growth over four years of writing and compiling these amazing songs is noticeable. If my review is worth anything, I give it five stars, and five black fist emojis.

Listen to the full album on Apple Music

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