In the gathering of accomplished R&B musicians, Syleena Johnson is worthy of mention. Not just because she is has a heritage rich in music (as her father was Syl Johnson), but that she has carved for herself a niche in the genre in which she practises.
Her albums, for one, have been a musical documentation of experiences that draw deeply from love, relationships and other emotional details. And from the names she gives each effort, it seems she is penning the draft of a book and releasing them in instalments/chapters. To her credits are four chapters that plumb the recesses and permutations of emotional scenarios, and for the benefit of this review, I will write about the fourth chapter.
Chapter four is subtitled Labor Pains, and we have an opening interlude which is a rather unnecessary parody of Syleena’s acoustic plight as it negotiates its way through her birth canal. And there is another interlude worthy of mention, Redstorm Domestic Lesson, a spoken word session, which reprimands men who make women subservient to them. Very sympathetic to the female cause and 21st century-ish.
What I find remarkable about Syleena’s music is her depth. R&B is generally regarded as the genre that takes into account every gritty detail of emotion but Syleena liberates her brand and plunges it beyond the coffers of soft sentimental droll.
After listening to Labor Pains severally, I could marry the title, which I initially found rather unapt, into the core message and the looming theme that string most, if not every, song on this album together. Her Labor Pains extends beyond the gamut of a parturient; it morphs into a collective noun that capsulate the history and the reality of being black. The album confronts what it entails to be female, black and human respectively. Without being overly didactic, this album explores previous black experiences with much newer accounts and marries them together on the altar of Soul.
Easily, Syleena becomes the officiating chorister who sings into the depth of being black and her arsenal is not only her distinct voice, she also draws from the culture of Chicago blues. This album is tainted with the unmistakable quaint feel of the blues of yesteryears and this is perhaps why its reach would not extend beyond the hearts of true music lovers. It reaffirms that this album would not spill into pop charts or become an essential radio song.
Although there is the issue of unevenness of quality of the featured songs, this helps to jar at the hearts of Syleena lovers who would forgive rather dismissively. And one last thing, this album would be fondly remembered.
