Solange - When I Get Home

I liked A Seat at the Table but nowhere near as much as the rest of the world did. The praise it lauded back in 2016 was honestly baffling to me; named #1 by Pitchfork in a year that also included Lemonade, Blackstar, Blonde and Coloring Book? No, ma'am.

She follows it up, then, with a surprise release; not just a surprise in its arrival without warning, but in also being her first to be largely self-produced and self-written. There are, of course, collaborations but her fourth album is arguably the first that can truly be attributed to the talents of Solange alone. At face value, When I Get Home is an immediately intriguing release; it has all the air of experimentation that recent jazz/electronic wunderkinds like Thundercat have, and yet that classic groove that might be more easily aligned with Stevie Wonder. Those looking for the crisp-clear studio production behind the likes of Cranes in the Sky or Don't Touch My Hair might leave WIGH feeling somewhat disappointed.

There's a quiet start with 'Things I Imagined' unfolding with all sorts of instrumentation doing the visualisation of what those things might actually be for you. It meanders into 'Down With the Clique' via an interlude, and introduces tension with this rattling cymbal throughout and all sorts of weird synth bursts throughout that honestly just remind me of villain's lairs on old Super Mario games. She turns more sensual on 'Way to the Show', making repeated offers of "you can get it" and interpolating backing vocals from Cassie.

I can't be a singular expression of myself, there's too many parts, too many spaces, too many manifestations, too many lines, too many curves, too many troubles, too many journeys, too many mountains, too many rivers

This is her admission on 'Can I Hold the Mic' and it's one of a few moments of clarity in this dreamworld Solange has constructed; 'Stay Flo' is similarly clear-cut and easily separable from the rest, a dark recollection of those she fraternised with in Houston and drunk, shit-talking ways.

The greatest barrier standing between me and embracing When I Get Home is its penchant for repetition; 'Dreams' sounds almost identical to 'Things I Imagined' and is one of many tracks to just breathlessly espouse the same lyric over and over. 'Time (Is)' is also guilty of this; it starts well but soon devolves into this monotonous assertion of what we've "got to know". The same effectively happens on 'Beltway', which has five different words total.

This complaint is especially frustrating when you consider the potential alternative: 'Almeda' is a sprawling example of Solange as an excellent songwriter, and poet too, with a strong black-empowerment message. On 'Binz', she laughs off stereotypes ("CP time" standing for "coloured-people time", an apparent trope that black people are always late for events) and lives her life how she pleases over a sunny, playful beat. She even dares to channel her sister on 'Sound of Rain' with a Drunk in Love reference towards the end, and it's one of the best productions she's ever put together; all bedouin ringing and chilled percussion.

"I'll be your vessel, I'll do it every time" she vows on the closer, 'I'm a Witness' - but the thing is, most vessels are empty. It's a fleeting lyrical promise on a record that doesn't do much with words and as such the record feels more like one long jam session than an album for consumption. There are gorgeous riffs here and there but I cannot envision myself recalling a single track for future playback. Too many brief moments breeze past at under two minutes per track, and whilst that isn't in itself a drawback (just look at Tierra Whack's Whack World project from last year), here it's sadly forgettable. I can't bring myself to rate it any lower than a six because the talent is there, the identity is compelling and there are some good moments, but this is essentially an album for the Solange purists and no one else.

Rating: 6.5/10
Highlights: Almeda, Down With the Clique, Binz, Sound of Rain, Stay Flo
Avoid: Dreams, Beltway

Artwork Watch: I don't actually have something snarky to say this time; it's just quite lovely
For fans of: sprawling jazz albums that have no distinctive moments

Coming next: P!nk