Spectreview: Solange – When I Get Home

-FUSCHIA PINK-

“These are black-owned things
Black faith still can’t be washed away
Not even in that Florida water”

Let’s preface this by saying that this review is basically worthless because I’m a white guy critically analyzing music that is purposefully, intentionally, not meant for me. My objective appreciation for Solange’s music is not only incidental but antithetical to her recent artistic intentions. As it should be. Solange likely did not have a single white person in her mind (except maybe John Kirby) when she started writing When I Get Home, her surprise-released sequel to 2016’s utterly transcendent A Seat at the Table. That album redefined her from a leading purveyor of left-field R&B to a titan of the genre and a champion of the black experience, and she intends to cement her reputation as such with this new release, an ode to her hometown of Houston that boasts several clear connections to its predecessor besides the portraiture of the cover art. Past collaborators Raphael Saadiq and Sampha guest again, although Saadiq’s exquisite instrumental arrangements are largely replaced here by more forward-looking synth grooves and trap-inspired beats. “Almeda,” one of many odes to her Texan upbringing, is this album’s “F.U.B.U.”, a declarative paean to black identity; while “Binz,” co-produced by Panda Bear, is another ebullient ode to self-care.

All things considered though, When I Get Home often plays like the fuzzy shadow of Seat’s monolithic stance. Nothing here quite hits the uptempo bop of “Junie,” the widescreen grandeur of “Cranes in the Sky” or the acidic seethe of “Don’t You Wait” (“Down with the Clique”’s unspooling, menacing coolness does comes close though). It’s a knottier record with mostly mid-tempo numbers that bog the pacing down even more on first listen than her previous record. There’s still tons of things to enjoy here though: modal jazz abounds, from the delightfully inscrutable opener “Things I Imagined” to the tender-hearted “Jerrod.” Thebe Kgositsile’s fingerprints are all over the sound of this record, and as an occasional guest producer he brings a blowtorch to the party and warps the edges of the plastic. Metro Boomin’s tracks, including “Almeda” and the poignant “Stay Flo,” are also pleasingly fleet-footed, equal parts bounce and reflection. Crucially (and this was probably the ultimate goal) the album pulls off the remarkable feat of feeling like her private Houston: sticky, laid-back, comfortable and hazy with heat and memory, low riders dripping with candy paint, infusions of Southern rap tinting crowded dance floors and early-summer amorous rendezvouses. Solange is still working at the top of her game here, it’s just that now she has nothing to prove. Resultantly, while When I Get Home is not as immediately impressive as its antecedent, it boasts just as many rewards upon repeat listens.

Highly recommended (but check your privilege where it’s necessary.)