The Power of Soul Music: A Journey Through Heartbreak
Introduction:
– The author reflects on their experience touring Bushwick, Brooklyn, while listening to Lady Wray’s soulful song “Piece of Me” in a cab.
– They emphasize that soul music, particularly when sung by a black woman, holds a unique power and serves as a balm for the soul.
The Healing Power of Black Women Singing Soul:
– The author shares a personal anecdote about an older white gay man’s preference for black therapists, relating it to his understanding of the healing power of black women singing soul.
– They confess that they initially resisted this idea but have come to embrace it as they’ve grown older and experienced heartbreak themselves.
The Allure of Black Women Singing Soul:
– The author explores why soul music resonates so deeply, suggesting that it captures the essence of the soul and has an ability to reach the listener on a profound level.
– They acknowledge the abundance of singers attempting to impersonate black women singing soul but highlight that nothing compares to the real thing.
The Journey of Heartbreak:
– The author shares their personal connection to the song “Piece of Me,” recounting how they first heard it in an Oakland bar and later listened to it repeatedly while contemplating the end of a chapter in their life.
– They emphasize the genuine and colossal nature of Lady Wray’s voice, noting that it goes beyond hitting the right notes and encompasses embodying the soul of the character in the song.
Soul Music as a Spiritual Experience:
– The author delves into the definition of “soul” and how it relates to both the human and animal experience, emphasizing the transformative power of soul music.
– They describe the profound impact that “Piece of Me” has on them, leading them to cry while writing about it and acknowledging its ability to resonate with others experiencing heartbreak.
The Authenticity of “Piece of Me”:
– The author praises Lady Wray for her genuine and captivating delivery in “Piece of Me,” asserting that it’s not just about hitting the right notes but fully embodying the character and emotion of the song.
– They highlight the heavy and ethereal nature of the song, contrasting it with the digital world of music and the prevalence of AI in the industry.
The Influence of the Blues:
– The author reflects on their upbringing in Alabama and their connection to the blues through their family’s musical history.
– They acknowledge the power of true, sad, and beautiful songs like “Piece of Me” and the universal nature of experiencing profound loss while remaining hopeful.
Engaging Piece: The Role of Soul Music in Healing Heartbreak
– Explore the historical significance of soul music and its roots in African American culture.
– Discuss the impact of soul music in the civil rights movement and its ability to bring people together.
– Share personal anecdotes of how soul music has helped individuals navigate heartbreak and find solace.
– Analyze the therapeutic qualities of soul music and how it can promote healing and resilience.
– Provide practical tips on creating a soulful playlist for healing from heartbreak.
– Interview soul music artists or experts to gain insights into the healing power of soul music.
– Share examples of how soul music has been incorporated into therapy or support groups for individuals going through heartbreak.
Summary:
The article explores the powerful impact of soul music, particularly when sung by black women, in healing and navigating heartbreak. The author reflects on their personal experiences and connections to soul music, emphasizing the genuine nature of songs like “Piece of Me” by Lady Wray. They delve into the spiritual and transformative qualities of soul music, highlighting its ability to touch the soul and evoke deep emotions. The article also discusses the role of authenticity and character portrayal in soul music, as well as the contrast between the heavy, emotional nature of soul music and the digital world of music production. Overall, the author celebrates the universal appeal of soul music and its ability to provide solace and hope in times of heartbreak.
Article:
The Power of Soul Music: A Journey Through Heartbreak
Music has always had the power to touch our hearts and souls. Few genres can capture the depths of human emotion like soul music, with its raw authenticity and heartfelt delivery. Soul music, particularly when performed by black women, has an undeniable power to heal and uplift listeners. In a world that can often be harsh and unforgiving, the soulful melodies and heartfelt lyrics offer a much-needed balm for the weary soul.
I’m touring Bushwick, Brooklyn, in the back of a cab, listening to Lady Wray’s “Piece of Me” for the 12th time in a row, and I’m crying, really, really hard, and no, it’s not a bad cry. In fact, I’m pretty sure I look beautiful right now. The song resonates deeply with me, evoking emotions I didn’t know I had. It’s as if Lady Wray has reached into the depths of my soul and poured out all my hidden pain and heartache.
There is no greater balm in the universe than a black woman singing (I said what I said). I remember being a young gay man in San Francisco, hanging out at the Eagle Bar in SoMa, when an older white gay man explained to me that he only talks to black therapists. He continued: “I like my health care like I like my house music: I want a beautiful black woman who tells me everything is going to be okay.” I was 23 years old and literally resisted this man’s nerves. I hate to admit it, but now that I’m 41 and finally maybe understanding what things like heartbreak are all about, I’m completely on board with him.
Soul music has a way of capturing the essence of the soul itself. It digs deep into the depths of our being, unearthing emotions we may have long forgotten or suppressed. In my short life, I feel like I’ve seen singers of every nationality, age group, and social class do their jarring impersonations of a black woman singing soul, but cultural erasure be damned, it’s like Tammi and Marvin singing: Ain’t nothing like the real thing, dammit.
Why this song? I wasn’t even breaking up with anyone the first time I heard it in an Oakland bar and the opening lines cut like a knife: “You’ve been the best at times / You carry me through my darkest days / Why must it come back?” A few months later I was in New York, on what I thought would be my last rock ‘n’ roll tour. He had been playing music since he was 12 years old and had achieved two goals he had since he was a child: signing with the legendary indie label Sub Pop and opening for Bikini Kill. My lifelong obsession with music seemed to have reached its logical conclusion. I decided it was time to get into a new hobby, like baking or veganism. I was saying goodbye to a part of my life and I felt an internal change: What’s next? I eventually ended up in the back of a taxi in Bushwick, listening to the song on repeat.
Her voice pierces me because it has that element of the soul, heck, of singing in general, that one can’t achieve just by ‘hitting the right notes’. I’ve been listening to Nicole Wray (before the “Lady” days), a California-born soul singer with that kind of irresistible, honeyed voice one can only be born with, no doubt, since the 1990s, when Missy Elliott gave a vote of confidence by rapping on her debut single, “Make it hot.” But what I think I like best about “Piece of Me,” and really about every soul song about heartbreak, heartbreak, or lost love, is that its conviction is all in the delivery. Either you’ve experienced loss or you haven’t, and no amount of frantic vocal trilling can make it otherwise. You can’t fake this: “I’ll let you take a piece of me. …And if that’s not enough/I’ll let you go in peace.” I cry while writing it.
What Lady Wray did here is genuine and colossal. Her voice cuts through me because she has that element of soul, heck, to singing in general, that one can’t achieve just by “hitting the right notes.” That is only a small part; one must also land the character she is summoning. The perfect breakup song should also be a kind of theater, where the singer becomes the character completely. The very cadence of the song, her voice, sonically pristine, still expresses a certain longing and despair. Remember the definition of “soul”: the spiritual part of both the human being and the animal considered as immaterial and immortal at the same time. I am transformed every time I hear “Piece of Me,” which by the end of the night will probably be close to 30 times.
“Piece of Me” gives that throwback feeling: it’s heavy. The digital world exists in a cloud, and the music itself feels ethereal. For all our complaints about AI “taking over the music” (I’d like to point out that this was heralded over a decade ago when autotune became ubiquitous, condensing all the emotion into that little computer sound), “Piece of Me” stands in counterbalance. It feels like the song was creating its own black hole when it was made. Who can escape the condensed emotional singularity of a breakup song?
I grew up in Alabama, and though I defected to punk rock as a teenager, I was a child of the blues. My great-grandfather, Hard Rock Charlie, played the chitlin’ circuits from Chattanooga to Chicago in the 1930s. His son JJ Malone, who came to California in his youth to play music (just like me), worked with Big Mama Thornton, John Lee Hooker, and Creedence Clearwater Revival. It is in my blood to understand a very true, very sad and very beautiful song. But who among us hasn’t experienced a profound loss and still found a way to move on? “Piece of Me” taps into that universal fact, reiterating the
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I’m touring Bushwick, Brooklyn, in the back of a cab, listening to Lady Wray. “Piece of me” for the 12th time in a row, and I’m crying, really, really hard, and no, it’s not a bad cry. In fact, I’m pretty sure I look beautiful right now.
There is no greater balm in the universe than a black woman singing (I said what I said). I remember being a young gay man in San Francisco, hanging out at the Eagle Bar in SoMa, when an older white gay man explained to me that he only talks to black therapists. He continued: “I like my health care like I like my house music: I want a beautiful black woman who tells me everything is going to be okay.” I was 23 years old and literally resisted this man’s nerves. I hate to admit it, but now that I’m 41 and finally maybe understanding what things like heartbreak are all about, I’m completely on board with him.
There has to be a reason it’s called soul music, right? Maybe because that’s where it catches you the most? In my short life, I feel like I’ve seen singers of every nationality, age group, and social class do their jarring impersonations of a black woman singing soul, but cultural erasure be damned, it’s like Tammi and Marvin singing: Ain’t nothing like the real thing, dammit.
Why this song? I wasn’t even breaking up with anyone the first time I heard it in an Oakland bar and the opening lines cut like a knife: “You’ve been the best at times / You carry me through my darkest days / Why must it come back?” around?” A few months later I was in New York, on what I thought would be my last rock ‘n’ roll tour. He had been playing music since he was 12 years old and had achieved two goals he had since he was a child: signing with the legendary indie label Sub Pop and opening for Bikini Kill. My lifelong obsession with music seemed to have reached its logical conclusion. I decided it was time to get into a new hobby, like baking or veganism. I was saying goodbye to a part of my life and I felt an internal change: What’s next? I eventually ended up in the back of a taxi in Bushwick, listening to the song on repeat.
Her voice pierces me because it has that element of the soul, heck, of singing in general, that one can’t achieve just by ‘hitting the right notes’.
I’ve been listening to Nicole Wray (before the “Lady” days), a California-born soul singer with that kind of irresistible, honeyed voice one can only be born with, no doubt, since the 1990s, when Missy Elliott gave a vote of confidence by rapping on her debut single, “Make it hot.” But what I think I like best about “Piece of Me,” and really about every soul song about heartbreak, heartbreak, or lost love, is that its conviction is all in the delivery. Either you’ve experienced loss or you haven’t, and no amount of frantic vocal trilling can make it otherwise. You can’t fake this: “I’ll let you take a piece of me. …And if that’s not enough/I’ll let you go in peace.” I cry while writing it.
What Lady Wray did here is genuine and colossal. Her voice cuts through me because she has that element of soul, heck, to singing in general, that one can’t achieve just by “hitting the right notes.” That is only a small part; one must also land the character she is summoning. The perfect breakup song should also be a kind of theater, where the singer becomes the character completely. The very cadence of the song, her voice, sonically pristine, still expresses a certain longing and despair. Remember the definition of “soul”: the spiritual part of both the human being and the animal considered as immaterial and immortal at the same time. I am transformed every time I hear “Piece of Me,” which by the end of the night will probably be close to 30 times.
“Piece of Me” gives that throwback feeling: it’s heavy. The digital world exists in a cloud, and the music itself feels ethereal. For all our complaints about AI “taking over the music” (I’d like to point out that this was heralded over a decade ago when autotune became ubiquitous, condensing all the emotion into that little computer sound), “Piece of Me” stands in counterbalance. , a song mixed through reels of tape and heavy wooden machinery. It feels like the song was creating its own black hole when it was made. Who can escape the condensed emotional singularity of a breakup song?
I grew up in Alabama, and though I defected to punk rock as a teenager, I was a child of the blues. My great-grandfather, Hard Rock Charlie, played the chitlin’ circuits from Chattanooga to Chicago in the 1930s. His son JJ Malone, who came to California in his youth to play music (just like me), worked with Big Mama Thornton, John Lee Hooker, and Creedence Clearwater Revival. It is in my blood to understand a very true, very sad and very beautiful song. But who among us hasn’t experienced a profound loss and still found a way to move on? “Piece of Me” taps into that universal fact, reiterating the problematic paradox of both love and life: we are always heartbroken and hopeful.
Brontez Purnell is a California-based writer whose books include “100 Boyfriends” (FSG, 2021), which won the 2022 Lambda Literary Award in Gay Fiction.
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