(Illustration: Jake Thrasher)
“The most disrespected person in America is the black woman. The most unprotected person in America is the black woman. The most neglected person in America is the black woman.”
Perhaps you recognize these lines from a speech delivered by the iconic Malcolm X in 1962 at the height of the Civil Rights Movement. But what is even more impactful about these three lines is their placement in Beyonce’s most personal album to date – and their commentary on the resilience and tenacity of the black woman.
With her sixth studio album, Beyonce has once again asserted her ability to use her power and platform in provoking meaningful cultural and political conversation.
In an interview with Elle Magazine, she said she hopes to “create art that helps people heal and feel proud of their struggle,” and “everyone experiences pain, but sometimes you need to be uncomfortable to transform.”
And it’s this kind of transformation that is articulately exemplified in “LEMONADE.”
Much like her 2013 self-titled release, the record was released as a “visual album,” in that every song on the track list is accompanied by a video.
The visuals for “LEMONADE” are a journey divided into 11 stages: “Intuition,” “Denial,” “Anger,” “Apathy,” “Emptiness,” “Accountability,” “Reformation,” “Forgiveness,” “Resurrection,” “Hope” and “Redemption.” Each stage is representative of a reaction to her “uncomfortable” situation that forces her to transform: an unfaithful lover.
Whether an honest musical diary or simply a clever marketing ploy to deliver more relatable music to her devoted BeyHive, “LEMONADE” is an artistic manifesto that solidifies Beyonce as the epitome of the term “black girl magic.”
To focus solely on the idea of Jay-Z’s alleged disloyalty to his marriage allows for misinterpretation of the album’s overall statement of pro-black power and feminism.
Laced with poetry penned by Somali-British writer Warsan Shire, the powerfully recited wordplay serves as the backbone of the visual feature, stitching each of the stages together as one. The poems, discussing infidelity, family and the female body, aid Beyonce’s celebration of the diversity, struggles and capacity of the black woman.
Throughout the film, Bey assumes a number of different roles, from diva to Southern belle to seductive siren to Queen Nefertiti to enraged woman smashing cars along the streets of New Orleans.
Several cameos grace the “LEMONADE” film, including a twerking Serena Williams in “Sorry” – the song infamous for its snarky “He better call Becky with the good hair,” line – as well as actresses Quvenzhané Wallis, Zendaya and Amandla Stenberg. Singers Chloe and Halle Bailey also make notable appearances, as do Canadian model Winnie Harlow and ballerina Michaela DePrince.
Bey’s star-studded family shine as well, with the incorporation of mother Tina Knowles and her newlywed husband Richard Lawson, father Matthew Knowles, daughter Blue Ivy and eventually, affectionate footage with husband Jay-Z.
Even more commanding are the scenes of “Forward” with Trayvon Martin’s mother Sybrina Fulton, Eric Garner’s mother Gwen Carr and Michael Brown’s mother Lesley McSpadden, each clutching photos of their deceased sons in hand, a compelling statement on racial injustice and police brutality, to which all three men lost their lives.
But it is the scene with Jay-Z’s grandmother Hattie White speaking at her 90th birthday party about turning lemons into lemonade that finally puts the title of the album in context.
What’s truly amazing about “LEMONADE” is not just the captivating visual elements, but the eclectic sound of the music in general.
With a host of talent from musicians like Jack White, The Weeknd, James Blake and Kendrick Lamar, Bey also uses this album to explore a range of genres – genres that have been whitewashed over time and lost the luster of their roots in African-American culture. From the country feel of “Daddy Lessons” to the tones of rock in “Don’t Hurt Yourself,” Bey proves she can masterfully dominate just about any sound or style.
Within these newly trekked sounds are lyrics that command attention, such as the ode to strippers, “6 Inch,” demanding respect for the work these women do in their heels.
“Six-inch heels, she walked in the club like nobody’s business / Goddamn, she murdered everybody, and I was her witness / She works for the money, she work for the money / From the start to the finish / And she worth every dollar, she worth every dollar / And she worth every minute.”
There’s the emotionally driven crooning in “Sandcastles,” the fierce assertion of blackness in “Freedom,” and the thoughts of every woman coming to terms with female instinct in “Hold Up.”
“Can’t you see there’s no other man above you? / What a wicked way to treat the girl that loves you.”
But let’s not forget “Formation,” the black feminist anthem heard ‘round the world, with everyone holding up their picks and chanting, “I like my baby hair with baby hair and afros.”
With a seamless blend of powerful imagery, resonating spoken word and extremely personal and applicable lyrics, Queen Bey advocates for the empowerment of every woman, but especially the black woman.
And in this moment, I couldn’t be prouder to be one. Thank you, Queen.
