I’ll be honest, the only time I’ve ever heard someone use the term “a seat at the table” is in Sheryl Sandberg TED talks and management lectures. So what does it mean beyond having a leadership position on your company’s board (so Wharton, sorry)? The phrase necessitates belonging, power: a place for you to stay, to lend your voice and have it heard. And Solange’s A Seat at the Table explores that claim on influence and admission through the lens of black existence. In this era, when people are killed for the crime of being black, A Seat… reflects on black existence in white spaces through a personal and cultural perspective. Upon its release, Solange explained that the title was “an invitation to allow folks to pull up a chair, get very close and have these hard uncomfortable truths be shared.” But more so than a depiction of race relations in America, A Seat at the Table is Solange’s personal, self–reliant piece about black pain and healing.
So who is Solange? If you decide to Google her, you’ll probably see mentions of her sister Beyoncé. Yes, THE Beyoncé (if you think it’s hard living in your older sibling’s shadow, imagine being a young Solange). From getting pregnant at 17, yelling at a TV anchor mid interview, cancelling an entire tour (due to mental health issues) and finally Elevatorgate, Solange carved out her identity as the inconvenient Knowles sister. But Solange has since broken away from being just “Beyoncé’s younger sister.” In the early phases of her career, a 17-year old Solange released Solo Star—a heavily produced, pop saturated album that had “lil–Bey” written all over it––literally (B did a lot of the production and writing for that album). Gimmicky production drowned out her undeveloped voice, a thin copy of her sister’s, and the album flopped. The next few years saw Solange finding her real voice (literally and figuratively). She released the rebellious Sol-Angel and the Hadley Street Dreams, a departure from her poppy debut album to ‘60’s funk, and a kiss–off to the pop industry in general, with really subtle messages in songs like “F*** the Industry.”
Now, 8 years later after her debut album, we get to witness Solange truly come into her own. The confident A Seat at the Table, with the help of R&B wizard Raphael Saadiq, is an effortlessly smooth triumph of funk and soul. Airy production showcases Solange’s voice, of which she has total control. At the core of the album is the message: the personal journey of a black woman, and the universal plight of black women. And while the album does liken some comparisons to her sister’s thanks to similar celebrations of black womanhood, Solange welcomes those associations. She explains it best in an interview with W Magazine: “We have the same mother and the same father. We grew up in the same household, and so we had and heard the same conversations.” The albums are related but clearly distinct from each other, echoing the relationship between the two sisters. But enough about Beyonce—there’s enough room at the table for more than one Knowles.
Solange takes us along her narrative, one colored by personal and cultural history. She opens with the dynamic “Rise,” a soulful hymn about success after failure. There’s a deliberate pause after the third repetition of the hook (“fall in your ways, so you can wake up and rise”)—you think that the song is over, that the journey is over and all is fallen. But then Solange triumphs and declares to “walk in your ways,” to remain defiant and poised. The song is the perfect prequel to an album all about falling, falling, falling––but soldiering on. The album flows naturally between song and interlude, a testament to its spectacular production and thematic seamlessness. Solange guides us along her lived experiences by allowing us the deeply personal “Cranes in the Sky,” a reflection of her struggles with mental illness, replete with notes as high and looming as those metal clouds in the sky she’s singing about that she eventually banishes with a meditative refrain of “away, away.” “Weary” is a resigned anthem of defiance of the world but acceptance of self. The album is dipped in honey; it is remedial R&B that goes down smooth like syrup.
But what weaves the album together is an unwavering understanding and love of black people, particularly women. Kola Boof, Egyptian–Sudanese–American novelist and poet once called the black woman “the only flower on earth…that grows unwatered.” The neglect of the black woman is one that is addressed and remediated. “Mad” addresses Solange’s personal experience with the trope of the Angry Black Woman, a trope that trivializes the righteous rage of black women (see: Nicki Minaj, etc). “Don’t Touch My Hair” is both a celebration of black beauty and a rejection of ignorant microaggressions, a message delivered in a disguise of sweet falsetto and harmony. Perhaps the most magical moment is a cameo by mother Tina Wells, in which she expresses her love of being black and explains that “pro–black” does not mean “anti–white,” a sentiment that resonates in the confident “F.U.B.U.” (For Us By Us) with its jaunty beat and defiant horns. Solange, Kelly Rowland, and Nia Andrews’ unite in “I Got So Much Magic, You Can Have It,” resounding CaShawn Thompson’s cry that “black girls are Magic” through shine theory-esque harmony.
On her latest album, Solange invites us to an exploration of “identity, empowerment, grief and healing.” A seat at her table, you could say––to listen, to learn. We recommend that you pull up a chair.
