i got issues
is it appropriate to use a song by a Black artist to help process my white privilege?
lyrics from: "Wavy (Interlude)"
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Although I pride myself greatly on my self-awareness and personal growth, I don’t know how to deal with guilt. Suppressing an incessant lump of pure nausea and paralysis is impossible, until I believe that I am still a good person. And, unfortunately, that still comes from external validation. Perhaps it’s because I don’t have the words to articulate why I feel this way.
"I think I'm bad as hell
I got issues, out of line"
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The first time I ever remember feeling guilty was when I was six years old. I used to model. I don’t know how I got into modeling or why I was there, but I loved being in front of the camera. I loved the attention, the constant validation that I was doing something right. But honestly, I doubt that’s what I felt at the time. It was probably just something my parents told me I was going to do, and it was fun for me. I got to wear cute clothes, play with toys, and hang out with different photographers. At that age, the photographers honored the spurts of energy, breaking of rules, and loud shouts. My parents used to reprimand me for those, because they would usually occur in the wrong scenario…school, before bed, temple, grocery stores, in public, when they were working. I get it. But, for photographers it was perfect material.
Anyway, one day I was doing a photoshoot in Chicago. I am from Chicago, but the suburbs of Chicago, which is a completely different lifestyle than many of the areas of the city. Although I feel incredibly grateful for the access to resources, education, and medical care, I grew up very privileged. And, that led to a naive sheltering that, when tested, made me so guilty.
At the photoshoot, we were going to a famous ice cream parlor, Margie’s Candies, to take photos of a happy, energetic child in a world of sugar. Every kid’s dream. And, I was no different from the “every kid” that they were talking about. The kid that had the privilege to dream about being innocently happy in an ice cream shop. I posed next to a life-size ice cream cone sculpture outside of the shop, and it felt like the sunshine was illuminating me stronger than anyone else on the street.
Perhaps a sugar rush.
An older Black woman pushed a grocery cart down the sidewalk. I had never seen a grocery cart filled with these items before. Or on the sidewalk like this. She asked my mom if she had spare money for groceries. My mom apologized that she didn’t have any cash on her.
"I've been in the dugout (dugout)
Looking for a way out (way out)
You know just takin' it slow (oh yeah yeah yeah)"
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I don’t know what I expected. What always follows a sugar rush is a sugar crash. And, the intense stomach ache, nausea, and anxiety that comes with a sugar crash overtook my body. I hated whatever I was feeling.
Something as fundamental as groceries? It didn’t make sense that she couldn’t have any. She was older than me. I didn’t know how to react to the extreme discomfort I was feeling. I remember bursting into tears and pleading that my mom give her money. My mom insisted she didn’t have cash. I didn’t believe her. I screamed louder and got more anxious (add Margie’s Candies to this list of inappropriate places that I acted out). My mom silenced me and apologized to the photographer:
“Julia, you can’t act like that in public.”
I sniffled and shrugged my shoulders. I always broke the rules. This was her typical script. While I expected her to reprimand me about how disrespectful and difficult I am, she continued,
“Julia, that woman is homeless, which means that she does not live in a house.”
"Now I'm feeling' one out
Looking for a way out
Somebody show me the door"
I don’t remember the rest of the conversation. She doesn’t have food or a house? I never got why people always said that they were thankful for a “roof over their head” and “food on their plate” at Thanksgiving dinner, until then. That was the first time I dealt with paralyzing guilt. I threw up a mixture of candy, mint chocolate chip ice cream, and a whole shit-ton of privilege. I think my mind broke–in a good way–that day. And, I’ve been trying to repair it in a transformative way ever since.
"Now I'm waving"
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Not having the words to describe what white privilege felt like, I still had an otherwise visceral reaction to confronting reality. Confronting that I was a part of the problem, without having the right words to articulate the problem. I struggled with processing emotions attached to complex ideas, because I didn’t understand the complex idea, and thus, why the emotions were occurring. SZA’s Ctrl wasn’t released until I was fifteen years old, yet I can still use the lyrics from “Wavy” to connect my experiences with SZA’s. Is that fair of me to do?
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I did a lot of research on Ctrl. I wasn't sure what made me so uncomfortable about identifying with SZA's album. But, I knew that I could find out with the more information I knew.
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An article about The Associated Press naming Ctrl “album of the year,” states that the album is about “A girl navigating in life - dating, falling in love, dealing with dusty boys, self-doubt, acceptance and more” (Fekadu, 2017). From this statement, it makes sense that a young woman like myself–struggling with the same issues–would identify with Ctrl.
However, upon delving deeper into research, I became more and more uncomfortable identifying with this incomplete summary of the album. It seems as if Ctrl is about SZA’s life as a Black woman, rather than just a "girl navigating life." The NPR Code Switch podcast episode talked about some of the elements in Ctrl that demonstrated an appreciation of Black music. One of the hosts said, “...it sounded…like super BLACK. It feels like important representation. A reminder that we contain multitudes." So, really what allows me to identify with her and her life?
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In these essays, I reveal my deepest insecurities, shames, and doubts, not expecting to reach a resolution. Additionally, while I loved the album, it did not immediately resonate with me beyond being a young woman. And, while I apply empathy and connect with SZA through her music, there are some experiences that I will never and can never understand. What does it mean that I don’t experience Ctrl the same way as others? And, if it sounded "super BLACK," what does it mean that I didn't notice that? Or noticed it and didn't process it? And, why can I identify with an album that sounds like it should not pertain to me?
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While doing research on Ctrl, I knew it would be important to do a lot of research on the relationship between music and Black culture as well. I learned that W.C. Hardy "happened upon" the blues in Mississippi in 1903, but it probably emerged in the 1890s, as an “...expressive record of African American life after Reconstruction and the first half of the 20th century.” I read another article that said the blues details the history of slavery, discrimination, the Civil Rights movement, and their strength under white oppression for centuries. This genre generally includes a call-and-response (from African tradition); each stanza usually has its own story, and it’s built around the cultural dialect of Black people. The call-and-response can be seen in slave songs, Dr. King Jr.’s speeches, and even in "Wavy." In a call-and-response “conversation” between her and James Fauntleroy, SZA immediately references the blues genre.
She uses this song to explain “waving goodbye” to an old pattern of life, perhaps an unhealthy relationship or stagnancy. Meanwhile, I apply these lyrics to “waving goodbye” to an old pattern of ignorant thought. At the time, I didn’t have the words to describe privilege and guilt from it, but this song helps explain those feelings from an entirely different context for me.
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And, isn’t that what music is supposed to do? Give people an outlet to connect with artists?
I read in an article about Ctrl that “‘Wavy’ is applicable to all of life’s unexpected and potentially unwelcome obstacles." Reading this allowed me to justify applying “Wavy” to my own experience about privilege. However, part of me still feels dissatisfied and uncomfortable doing so. And, perhaps that’s making strides in itself…just that sense of awareness and commitment to doing better?
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As a mostly R&B album, SZA uses the foundation of the blues to explore creatively and connect with listeners, like myself. However, my research said that the blues are a “collective Black experience” and it “characterize[s] and isolate[s] the black lifestyle." If this holds true, and SZA used the blues in Ctrl to distinguish her experiences as Black experiences, then it is completely inappropriate for me to identify with her. Right?
Perhaps still the most-known music genre when some (white people most often) think of the Black community is blues. The blues have left a communal legacy, which stemmed off into various other genres, including Rhythm & Blues, country, and rock and roll. I read that the blues offers the unique opportunity for Black artists to explore because of the following: Black people are likely to be familiar with the blues, simple harmonic structure, and the possibility for musical expression.
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Blues follow themes of any “extremes,” and it usually is about a man and woman or a man and his hostile environment. More specifically, women’s blues focused more on love and sexuality, countering notions that women were supposed to be in the domestic sphere and in love. Bessie Smith is one example of this as she is known for singing about sexual freedom, rape, and explicitly critiqued institutional sexism and racism. Likewise, SZA in her album sings about polygamous relationships in “The Weekend,” pussy in “Doves in the Wind,” and female desire in “Love Galore.” She counters typical narratives about what sex should be like, specifically for Black women.
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Connecting Black people to their roots and reflecting their culture are two ways in which music is important to the Black community. Aside from the blues, I learned that the 1930s allowed jazz to enter nightclubs, but the Great Depression shoved Black musicians into the background of the profitable music industry, where the “White imitator took over and the black innovator suffered." This appropriation and exploitation still continues today. It's weird because I know that I am intrinsically a part of the "white imitators" that oppresses the "black innovator."
Even though I work hard to counter racial oppression, I cannot fix the fucked-up racial dynamic in the music industry (and society as a whole, for that matter). And, it sucks. Because, obviously I want to. And, I think that's what makes me so uncomfortable. Knowing all this information, seeing elements of it in SZA's music, not feeling like I'm doing enough, and still identifying with her album.
after reading this experience, perhaps you'll agree that men "do not deserve pussy."
lyrics from: "Doves in the Wind" ft. Kendrick Lamar
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"We take things, and my influence so far, and then it's out of my hands.
And, y'know, while as I said it can be scary, it can also be a little bit comforting.
Because I've learned that when I get to that point, and I can acknowledge, Okay, Audrey, that's as much as you can do I can actually let it go"
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In SZA's "Doves in the Wind," a song about why men don't deserve women, SZA closes this song with a recording from her mother with advice. Audrey, SZA's mom, is explaining the importance of letting things go when they're no longer serving you. In this song, it relates to letting a man go that doesn't treat SZA as she wants to be treated. Thus, her experience relates to her mom's advice, in that Audrey suggests SZA let him go, because although scary, it will be more comforting in the end.
I love my mom. I believe that everything she does for me is out of the goodness of her heart and with the best intentions. She wants to protect me. She knows the cruelty of the world. And, she knows that the issues I struggle with are not accepted by many. Stomach issues are taboo in society. And, for a girl with crippling anxiety and ADHD–and stomach issues that are worsened by anxiety–this was a lot.
She watched me cry at three months old when I got corrective surgery before my first stuffed animal. She watched me scream as she had to give me daily enemas for a year. Why’d they make her the villain? She couldn’t handle it. I don’t think she knows just how cruel the world can get, and fortunately I don’t either. But, in a consistent effort to break away from immense sheltering, I am really trying to educate myself. I have been trying to better myself everyday. But, it’s hard. Because my mom was the main person I turned to for everything in my life growing up, until I left for college. She knew which college I would like best: not a small school, I am too social. Not a school too far from home, it would be bad for my stomach. She was right. I love Michigan.
But, she also knew how to treat people with kindness, how to be the most inclusive, and give herself incessantly to others. She gave so much love to everyone, so I gave so much love to everyone. God, I want to be loved. By her. And, I think, in a weird way, she wants to be loved by me. She tells me everyday how much she loves me and how much she’s proud of me. I don’t know why I always think she doesn’t. I always say it back. She yells at me. I yell at her. She tells me that I wish she wasn’t my mother. I wonder if I ever believed that. But, we don’t go to bed angry with each other. We love each other.
The first time I remember her protecting me from the atrocities of the world was in sixth grade. We didn’t talk about sex as a family. I would squirm whenever she and my dad would kiss. Why was I so afraid for them to express love in front of me? I was afraid of any sexual relations at that time. We weren’t allowed to date. All my friends were dating, but no one wanted to date me at that time. It was kind of a weird shift that I never thought about. Being adored outside of school for my looks when I was younger to then going to school where I wasn’t pretty. I don’t think it bothered me then. And, we never really valued ourselves on looks in my family. My mom emphasized doing well in school and being kind to others.
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"...lose they mind for it
Wine for it, dine for it (pussy)
Spend time for it, see no colored line for it (pussy)
Double back handicap and go blind for it (pussy)"
Anyway, my body was something that I never really had control over anyway. My stomach was so unpredictable, doctors couldn’t even figure it out. She knew what food I wanted to eat and how short to cut my hair. I trusted her. People liked me, so she must be right, I thought. And, most of the time she was. But, I wasn’t allowed to date. I was too young. It’s okay, I didn’t want to either. I was too young. I wasn’t allowed to have Snapchat either.
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I was sitting in a film class when my teacher’s phone rang. Mr. Geere told me that the principal wanted to see me and to bring my phone. I had a weird feeling it was going to me. I walked to my locker and grabbed my new phone, with a gold mustache phone case. I was young. Our vice principal, Dr. Kips, ushered me to the principal’s office, where my mom was sitting.
I was usually in-tune with my mom’s emotions. I always had to predict them, and I wanted to control them. So, I could control if she was mad at me. God, I hated when she was mad at me.
I sat down next to my mom and she shakily grabbed my hand. I don’t remember anything from the conversation, except brief snippets where my mom asked if I had Snapchat. I felt the familiar uneasy stomach and throat lump, but I didn’t do anything wrong. She told me that my friend’s mom called her panicking today, because her daughter received an unsolicited picture from a boy. I have two sisters and no Snapchat. I was so confused. She burst into tears. I later learned that a boy took my Instagram account username and made a Snapchat account with it. They added my friend on Snapchat and sent her pictures with the goal of getting them in return. My friend obviously knew it wasn’t me and cried to her mom, who cried to my mom, who cried to me. I didn’t cry. I didn’t even understand what was going on.
My mom walked me to each of my teachers and helped me explain the traumatizing news. I didn’t even know I was supposed to be traumatized. I didn’t understand the cruelties of the world. She eased the guilt I couldn’t even understand why I had. And, I think that communicated to me that she could always ease the guilt.
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Perhaps her speaking for me--and the cathartic release I had from her approval--contributed to why I don't have adequate words to explain complex emotions. Or, perhaps everyone struggles to articulate these emotions, and SZA's Ctrl is one outlet that works better for me. But, even if it works better for me, how is it fair for me to identify with a song that uses a vernacular explicitly not made for me?
The inclusion of the recording from her mom at the end made it seem like we were thrown into SZA's diary, filled with her most authentic thoughts about female sexuality. SZA puts herself in a position to be ridiculed--but does not care--which is something that I am trying to do. And, I think that's why it is so easy for me to identify with her. She articulates and empathizes about guilt in ways that I never could. And my mom never could.
understanding sexuality is complicated, and SZA helps clarify things for me.
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lyrics from: "Normal Girl" (mentions: "The Weekend")
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When I first wrote about gaining control over my sexuality, I wrote from a perspective that faked security. And honestly, it was obvious. Because I wrote from a place of confusion and severe discomfort with that confusion. You would've known that I wasn’t sure of myself. I was an unreliable person pretending to be a reliable narrator. All while claiming authenticity. I wrote sentences like, “I still struggle to define my sexuality.” and “I honor myself as a person who is questioning. Open to exploring all relationships, but am currently attracted to men.” But, that was about it on the definition portion of myself. After that, I told stories about how I was socialized to have internalized homophobia. I detailed instances where I remained complicit during blatant instances of homophobia, and when I first learned about different sexualities. Although these are important, they aren’t really relevant anymore. And, they’re not about me and my current sexuality. They seemed superficial, like I couldn’t really dig deep. I used this platform as a new method of “confessionals.” Instead of spilling to my mom–someone I didn’t want to tell about my sexuality–I revealed all my “secrets” and “sins,” looking for validation. But, kind of in the twisted way that still wanted you to think I was a good person.
SZA doesn’t do that. When you listen to her songs in Ctrl, she uses a level of honesty and authenticity that makes her music relatable. That makes us want to identify with her. Listen to “The Weekend,” a song about SZA knowingly engaging in a relationship with a man who is in another relationship. But, she doesn’t shame herself, but rather just sings her experiences with a level of candor that doesn’t make me judge her. Rather, I just sing along: “
"You say you gotta girl
Yeah, how you want me?
How you want me when you gotta girl?”
and
“My man is my man, your man
Heard it’s her man too.”
Without any emotion–except appreciation for her incredible voice and taste for magnetic beats–I listen to SZA’s recount of experiences. Hers feels less like a confessional for validation, and more like an honest retelling to find connection and control. She doesn’t care that the man is sleeping with another woman, as long as he is still sleeping with her. That completely counters the typical narrative expected for people in society, especially a woman. You can see the mental dichotomy she has, where she knows she’s desperate, but doesn’t care. So, we shouldn’t either. Or, at least that’s how I always took it.
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This song inspired a different level of understanding sex and sexuality for me. Aside from normalizing female desire in a sequence of clever wordplay and rhythmic tunes, SZA could so authentically detail her desires while acknowledging the level of complexity beneath them. In a project all about my exploration of identity, I tried to disconnect my art from the complexity of me as an artist. And, I think it's the complexity that actually takes a work from mere writing to pure art.
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"Normal girl, ooh (no fantasy, no fantasy)
I really wish I was a normal girl"
I still struggle to define my sexuality. But, in a society that creates categories atop a seemingly-open spectrum, I’m sure others feel the same. And, it kind of sucks that I feel so much discomfort around having to define myself. I literally don’t know how to start talking about my journey through sexuality. I’ve written sentences about the first person I told I was questioning, when I went to dinner with my friends who all thought they were bisexual, my gender and health classes that talk about LGBTQ+ health and oppressed social identities, and even my anxiety hindering sexual experiences.
All of these instances comprise examples that I turned to to confirm that I was questioning. None of them felt true to me. And, I just kept filtering myself as I went. But, what if I wasn’t questioning, but just am surrounded by people who just heavily influence me? Is that how sexuality works? Am I overthinking everything? These are questions that prevented me from bringing this to my therapist. I also think that maybe I felt a sense of guilt for both questioning and considering myself as something that I am not, when there are people who are oppressed for actually having these identities.
I talked to my therapist during our biweekly session this past week. She asked me the typical questions about my academics, friends, and other anxieties. I decided it was time to tell her I was questioning, in search of some guidance. In writing, it is hard for me to encapsulate the conversation through a few summarizing sentences.
Perhaps dialogue can help paint the picture:
“Yeah…so I think I’ve decided that I might be questioning…like sexually”
“Okay, cool! Do you want to tell me a bit more about that? Have you had any attraction to girls?”
“Ya, what do you mean by attraction? Like, I can’t figure it out. And, it’s really stressing me out. I’m doing a whole project on SZA and her sexuality and she just doesn’t care that she doesn’t know, but I care. Like, I don’t know, I think girls are pretty”
“Of course, there is a way to acknowledge people are beautiful without being attracted to them. I mean–and obviously, you know I’m okay with anything–but, I’m meaning more like, have you wanted to kiss anyone or do you have a crush?”
“...No.”
“Okay, again obviously I’m okay with anything. But, I’ve been doing this for a lot of years, and usually with sexuality–it’s kind of a thing people just know.”
“Yeah, and I don’t know at all.”
“And, it’s okay that you don’t know. You can label yourself however you want, but if it makes you feel better, let’s talk about why you think you may be questioning.”
"This time next year, I'll be living so good
Won't remember no pain, I swear
Before that you figured out that I was just a normal girl"
We did talk about why I thought I was questioning. And, I still don’t know. But, it’s important to stay present in the moment, she says. I will meditate and journal, and commit myself to the present. That’s all I know. All I can control. And, that’s part of the beauty of losing control. When I acknowledged that I lost control over the definition of my sexuality, part of me almost felt more in control. Like I finally understood that I was allowed to be in between definitions, like most other “normal girls."
I felt more comfortable identifying with "Normal Girl"; SZA’s lack of defining her sexuality, coupled with her discomfort as a woman that veers from the norm, in a melodic and poetic string of lines allowed me to have the cathartic release. That therapy did not. Although I can explain my sexuality in the vernacular that I have, I never felt an emotional connection to my sexuality. That is, until listening to Ctrl and more clearly understanding what sexuality is and what it can mean.
So, as SZA tries to be the “perfect” woman, feeling not enough is something to which I can relate. The guilt I feel from not being perfect is nearly inexplicable. Because I never really felt that I had words to describe what it is to be “normal” or “perfect.” Without getting caught up in definitions, SZA claims the well-understood meaning, and by contrasting herself with examples, I can see how I fit within the standard of “normalcy” that SZA sets. Part of me feels more comfortable ascribing with her standard, because she so-well articulates sexual experiences and establishes credibility as an “abnormal girl.”