Albums Of The Year: Ari Lennox Champions Black Feminine Sexuality Through New-Age Soul

By Virginia Lowman


Ari Lennox’s Shea Butter Baby is both old school and quintessentially modern. An amalgamation of funk, R&B, and jazz that’s rooted in soul, the Dreamville songstress’s debut album is an ode to Blackness and connectivity, acknowledging oppression and the anxiety, financial constraints, and loss of freedom that accompany it. It is, above all, a celebration of the Black female experience, showing how connection and sexuality — at times explored by way of the contemporary lens of online dating — are means of self-preservation. There really is magic in its honesty; Lennox adds a diaristic account of liberation, survival, and self-care — something to champion.


The most notable high class of the first track “Chicago Boy” is its musicality. Jazz trumpeter Theo Croker’s instrumental mastery crescendos over the strum of a harp, yielding a sound — identically nostalgic, dreamlike, and warm — reminiscent of James Baldwin’s Harlem and the bluesy Chicago melancholy of Sam Cook. It’s a nod to records grown folks play late at night — music that comes with questions pointed at younger generations like, “What’chu know about [insert artist here]?” Just while you think you’ve got “Chicago Boy” figured out, Lennox switches it up by adding bass and making the song more up-tempo, more current, and more cut-for-you by bellowing out a story of happening upon a love affair at CVS.

Said listen, baby, I know that I’m speeding up this vibe

Is you gon’ judge me if I fuck you before I catch this flight?

...

I need you now

Boy, I don’t wish to get your feelings broke

It is a straight-forward anthem encouraging girls to create their own rules, ask for what they want, and take their pleasure seriously, a primary theme Lennox addresses during the album: sex — wanting it, having it, and talking about it frankly. Afterward, it is also a nod to male fragility and the notion that males, also, are subject to emotional attachment pre and/or post-coitus.


While the raw instrumentation of Shea Butter Baby confirms Lennox as a standout in the modern resurgence of neo-soul that happened this year — pushed forward by Snoh Allegra and Daniel Caesar, to name a couple of — its message of confidence any time owning your sexuality, pleasure, and peace elevates the album behind musical complexity. Lennox champions radical self-acceptance through affirmations and hard truths. Celebrating brown skin as a “pretty thing” in “Broke,” and acknowledging the damage of emotional abuse in “I Been,” cautioning listeners not to place romantic love over self-love, because people “develop whole disorders like that.” The album approaches sex and human connection as therapy, showcasing intimacy both for pleasure and escape, each framed as an act of survival while also embracing the notion that we “need people,” as she notes on “New Apartment.”


because the album progresses, Lennox taps into the sense of brazen audacity that is woven while in excellent art — a relentless pride in presence, a trait evident in everything from her choice to structure the tracklist by hair texture (1a-4c) to the intentionality of the color palettes in her music videos. Shea feels like the sonic equivalent of Simone Leigh’s “Brick House,” an assignment that, coincidentally, honors Black culture past and present and is aptly named soon following the Commodores’ 1960s hit of the same name. Like “Brick House,” the album is bold, textured, vulnerably human, and unapologetically Black. A quasi-coming-of-age project, each track is a snapshot of Lennox’s life cataloging the inevitable undoing and redoing of the self that defines early adulthood, often pointing at the ways we question social norms and why we pick to move by means of the world.


Tracks like “Broke” and “Up Late” further expound upon Ari’s wish to push the limitations of what girls are expected to do or mention. Whether she’s packing her own “gloves” (condoms) and praising relationships that thrive on simple provisions — passion and “smoke” pot) — in “Broke,” or reminding us that pricy accoutrement aren’t needed to satisfy a partner in “Up Late,” she continuously impresses that it is OK to play by your own rules. In a culture where everything is staged to maximize ‘Gramability, it is refreshing to hear music about attraction that doesn’t rely on filters and social status.


Furthermore, because the only woman signed to J. Cole’s Dreamville, Lennox releasing an album that promotes independence and sexual freedom accompanied by visuals that don’t objectify the Black body is a powerful testament to how Ari hopes to position herself in the entertainment industry, especially in an era any time Black creatives are striving to have honus over their bodies and their image. Sex and intimacy in the scope of Blackness in American media and music at large can often failed to notice, stereotyped, fetishized, and/or anchored in themes that promote the provide problem of colorism. Warm color palettes and organic curls are staples in Lennox’s videos. Identically sultry and elegant, her visuals exalt Blackness and rich-hued skin through subtle nods to videos of yore as seen in “BMO,” and close-up shots of intimate moments as portrayed in “Whipped Cream,” “Up Late,” and “Shea Butter Baby.” Each video Ari released presents Blackness — from our males and the tender moments we share to carnal pleasure and the texture of our hair — as something to be treasured, presenting our softness, frustrations, whispered conversations, and fantasies in an exciting glow.


Given the history and social framework of America, Blackness has habitually had roots in what some call rebellion; ultimately, the nucleus of Black expression is survival, segment of which includes prioritizing self-love and -care above all else. Shea relays this message during under the guise of being an album about sex with the lights on, however the album’s title track, released as a sole in the hit feature film Creed II, speaks to this directly. It is a grown-up lullaby glorifying staples of Black womanhood — the some days messiness of our hair-care routines, the prosperous hues and coconut oil scent of our skin, the “holiness” of our sex, and the curves of our hips. The song’s power stems from the confidence with which Ari sings about occupying space that isn't her own. She feels comfort in making herself seen and remembered by “fuckin’ up” pillows and sheets with her shea butter-coated skin and hair. Joined by J. Cole, she reclaims Black feminine sexuality on her own terms, presenting a lush landscape that gives ladies of color with coiled strands that require butters and Denman brushes — ladies who sleep with bonnets and two-strand twists — space to not only be seen and desired nevertheless revered.


At its core, Shea Butter Baby is about connection and learning to navigate love and human behavior without compromising a sense of self. The album concludes with an affirmation: “You’re in control, love.” A gentle and much-needed reminder that in the chaotic search for a sort of house in people, places, and things, you’re still in the driver’s seat and also you aren’t on the road alone.