no. 27 — A Seat at the Table by Solange
By: Jenna Sylvester
Tags: Album Review, Music, Loneliness, Solange, Personal Essay

In the politics of whether music “belongs” to certain people, and who it would belong to if it did, I don’t know if Solange’s music is meant for me. This idea assumes a lot, and it stems from whether or not art can be separated from the artist, or separated from the context from which it was born. I don’t think I’m qualified to have an answer to those questions, nor do I think they’ll ever have concrete answers. A Seat at the Table is complex not just because of the cultural context from which it sprang, but also because it is a musical act of genius. It speaks towards the trauma and celebration of the Black community, but that is not to say it should be categorized as just a Black album. At the risk of centering myself in a discussion that I should not have a loud voice in, I’m going to try and explain what listening to this album feels like to me, a white liberal.

I moved to Baltimore during the spring of the Baltimore Uprisings. Freddie Gray had just been murdered, and I very quickly learned that the education I received in my neoliberal suburban town was not sufficient. There’s only so much you can learn and understand from academic papers and textbooks. Understanding the systematic and systemic oppression of Black people in America requires more. Black history in America encompasses historical accounts, art, music, novels, paintings, religion and more that has been lost to centuries of violence. It means looking between the lines of the provided narratives, especially when those narratives are provided by people who have a vested interest in the current system continuing as is. A Seat at the Table is one of those pieces of history that I feel lucky to have heard in real time. “Don’t Touch My Hair” is maybe the most heavy-handed track speaking towards the microaggressions Black people face daily. The message is clear, but it’s also given an explanation. In a truly beautiful harmony and sparse backing, Solange lays it out in simple, eloquent terms; a Black person’s hair is a part of their history that is not for public (read: white) consumption.

This album isn’t just a tool used for political and cultural discussions, and I don’t relate to it just as a white liberal trying to learn. Consuming art is never as stark as that. When this album came out, I was freshly in New Zealand, suddenly alone in an unfamiliar place, grappling with my identity and its implications. I listened to this album on repeat while I walked the trails around my campus, wandering through vast sheep fields, lush greenery, hill-top pastures, and foreign streams. I will always associate these songs with those long, ambling afternoons. I walked to take up my time, afraid that if I went back into my dorm I would succumb to another bout of crying. “Cranes in the Sky” and “Where Do We Go” felt like songs that spoke to the intrinsic loneliness of my time there.

In Solange’s music, I hear what it feels like to be a little sibling, especially to someone who has made such a significant name for themselves. I hear the struggle of being alone in the sea of mental illness and anxiety, trying to clin

g to something that will bring you back to shore. I hear the Black Lives Matter movement. But condensing this album to those themes does it a great disservice. I don’t know if I can do it justice, but it stands true that this album sparks growth in me. Listen to it again if you haven’t in a while.