Sound Of Rain
Sound of Rain is like you are driving through a downpour on a long stretch of road. I don't even know how to drive — like a third-tier heiress from the olden days, I never learned. Top tier heiresses all learn how to drive a form of independent rebellion, from a faithful old retainer to whom they are as close as a family member (who is paid a wage). Obviously. But I have been driven places. All my life, my trips in cars have been as a passenger, and the feeling can't be that different, surely.
When I listen to Sound Of Rain, I am imagining in particular the road between Sagamu and Lagos, on which my father drove us scores of times during the years we lived in Nigeria. On those trips we listened to Aretha and bubblegum pop and Yoruba comedy on OGBC 2 — the state's radio broadcaster — or on cassette. Sometimes my siblings and I read aloud to one another, or played car games.
The road to Sagamu was mostly flat, but hilly in parts, and we would see the dips in the road up ahead long before we came to them. Sometimes my dad would accelerate so our breath caught in our throats or even our chests, before tumbling out of us in a rush, and usually accompanied by high-pitched laughter, as we went over the little hills. Sound of Rain sounds like that trapped breath feels — something is coming, and whatever it is feels like exhilarated release.
Sound of Rain feels exciting and propellant. Every time it starts playing I want to start bouncing — if I'm seated and the location allows, I bounce from my bum. Think: subtle subway dancing. If the location does not allow, I bob my head, like a pigeon. This is a song that brings to my mind automation: many moving parts at any one time, each one minute but necessary. What are the drums doing? What's Solange's voice doing? If you isolated the harmonies in the background, what would they tell us? Nothing is there by accident. This might be the record's one perfect song. The production is stellar.
In the final third of Sound of Rain, Solange starts to get real relaxed in the voice. She loses some of the urgency the song starts with. What felt like a message that had to be delivered ASAP dissolves into an after-hours vibe — we're off the clock now, the boss dipped out early. The skittery drums remain but start to sound a little more dreamy. She gets loose. Loose enough to begin making that universally black sound of hype: "ay, ay, ay, ay, ay."
The repeated "ay" changes in inflection from Abeokuta to Accra to Almeda but it is instantly recognizable. As Solange chants "ay, ay, ay, ay" over and over, you already know what she is telling you to do. Despite yourself your shoulders start to roll, bounce. Your feet engage and you execute what was imprinted on you epochs ago.
You are suddenly all animation, but no strings on you.
Now we are at a party.
Solange has you on your feet, maybe even your toes.
Sound of Rain is playing, and it sounds alive.