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Solange’s A Seat at the Table had a long, troubled gestation, its genesis going back some eight years. The equally fraught seven-track EP True (2012) was recorded and released in those intervening years, with the sessions for this latest offering taking place in the three years since that EP’s success. Billed as a “project on identity, empowerment, independence, grief and healing” by Solange, A Seat at the Table seems sprawling at first glance, with 21 tracks. It is, however, still essentially a 12-track album, with spoken and sung interludes adding to the mood and filling out the various aporias.
In contrast to True, the tone is mostly languid, with a tight band backing Solange’s pacifying vocals with meditative, shuffling, sparse R&B arrangements. Fittingly coinciding with Black History Month on this side of the Atlantic, the album feels like a contemporary nexus of black music history, from Thomas A. Dorsey through Minnie Riperton to Lauryn Hill. In the truly lovely “Cranes in the Sky”, the first single from the album, and one of several written with Raphael Saadiq, one hears shades of Allen Toussaint’s “Southern Nights”, with its tinkling up and down the black keys on the piano. But whereas Toussaint pondered on southern skies and the respite they might hold, Solange’s skies are metallic, cold, and unfeeling. In an attempt to heal an unexplained sorrow – one whose nature, one feels, is so apparent it need not be explained, had she the energy to do so – Solange intones “I tried to change it with my hair” and “I slept it away, I sexed it away, I read it away” in stunningly understated style.
Elsewhere, that same jaded outlook dominates. “Weary” sees Solange expressing and prescribing discontent and suspicion, with black female exaltation and bodily autonomy eluding her (“I’m gonna look for my body, yeah/I’ll be back real soon”). Likewise, “Don’t Touch My Hair” focuses on that which writers such as Ingrid Banks have viewed as having the ability to become a foundation for understanding how black women view power and its relationship to self-esteem. While Solange sighs “they don’t understand”, an assertive self-determination is also expressed (“this hair is my shit, rode the ride, I gave it time”). Two other track titles begin with “don’t”, speaking to the thread of righteous adjuration running through the work. “Don’t You Wait” and “Don’t Wish Me Well” recall Solange’s previous sound with Dev Hynes, proving a welcome electronic-infused break from the album’s at times monotonous, slightly plodding ensemble backing. Funk outbursts on “Junie” and Lil Wayne’s deft delivery in “Mad” provide more appreciated variety, but can’t help dislodge the slight aimless, underdeveloped quality of some of the tracks.
Solange no doubt intended and is aware of this aimless quality, with the inclusion of the mostly spoken interludes (largely delivered by Master P, though Solange’s parents both deliver moving contributions) adding to the casual, inchoate, communal tone. The digital booklet of lyrics and photos to accompany A Seat at the Table further emphasises the unfinished, rhizomatic quality of Solange’s efforts. Redolent of Mallarmé, its words are bunched, disconnected, torn apart and crossed through. How can the work ever be complete when there is still so much left to do? Both the booklet and album end with “Your love is kind but your love ain’t blind/Your world is kind but your world ain’t blind” from the exquisite “Scales”. A bittersweet counterpoint to “Southern Nights” once again and Toussaint’s observation that “precious beauty lies deep beyond the eye”, Solange sings beautifully throughout of a harsh reality that resonates with many. The least the rest of us can do is listen.
