I met God at a strip mall conjunction of a liquor store-jazz club-Baptist church. Well, not really. It felt like I did at the time; I was actually in a Taco Bell parking lot crying into a chalupa and drowning my feelings into a tequila spiked Baja Blast over a breakup. That, piled onto some terrible job news, it felt like there was nothing in my thirty-something years of existence I had yet conquered or figured out in life.
At that moment, my playlist decided I needed some religion and provided it in the form of Genesis by RAYE. It wasn’t my first introduction to her but it was the most pivotal. Genesis, the multi-part track sharing the same name with its EP, dropped in 2024. A year after RAYE’s incredible debut album, My 21st Century Blues, Genesis almost felt like a prelude to THIS MUSIC MAY CONTAIN HOPE. in all of the places it took me. In a seven-minute song so raw and combustive, mixing spoken word, rap, jazz and gospel effortlessly, I felt as though all my depressive thoughts were being gathered up by the kind of angels one can only find in club bathrooms. The kind of celestial strangers that speak life into us while helping us fix our mascara and offering intoxicated but inspirational words of encouragement and confessionals. We leave those moments feeling a little bit stronger, standing a little bit taller and dispersing back into the world knowing that womanhood is an experience that throws its treasures back at us when we most need it.
So here I was, two years later, ready to click play on THIS MUSIC MAY CONTAIN HOPE. quicker than a refill to my Prozac prescription. Hold on— wait! I bet we’re wondering how I got here. Why was I excited about an album promising hope? Well as our good friend, RAYE, would say: “A little context if you care to listen…”
I’m six months into recovering from unemployment, multiple writing rejections and a coffee table reflecting my mental chaos as it overflows with bills. The only in-network provider these days is Dr. Cabernet Sauvignon and a self-prescribed RX in the form of pre-rolls.
How can anyone sell a Black woman on hope when she feels she’s lost it already?
The answer: you don’t.
Hope cannot be sold as pure optimism. It has to come from somewhere. The recipient has to feel a mirror being placed up to themselves in the form of their own soul wanting to see the other side.
But if anyone can sell a Black woman on anything it’s another Black woman. We’re the only ones that have seen behind the smoke and screens of “Black Girl Magic.” And while I’d spent the past year pretending I had it all under control, I very much appreciated that British lady calling my bluff. I’m locked in on my couch under several blankets ready to be taken back to the liquor store-jazz club-church-strip mall when I realize I am not prepared for this journey at all anymore.
I’m not prepared for her setting the landscape on an Alice in Wonderland-style West End production I’m thrown into. Nor am I prepared for the way her soothing voice walks me through scenes that parallel my own life in ways I don’t know if I should be envious that I didn’t write them myself. My melancholy had a score. My feelings had lyricism. Every emotion I’d tucked away the past year is brewing under a dark storm cloud ready to strike me. There’s nothing to do now but hold on and pray I survive.
For those that would like a content warning, the music did not just contain hope, it contained a four-act screenplay featuring a main character that held a mirror up to my soul as I walked with her through every season. This music contained every mischievous boogeyman I ever let darken my bedroom. It contained poetry, heartbreak, gospel, sisterhood and a fiery comeback from a heroine I desperately needed to see win. This music contained heart.
Autumn
We start off weathering the windy autumn streets with our protagonist starting with “Intro: Girl Under A Grey Cloud.” It’s a master class in storytelling with narration so captivating it’s as if I reserved it with my AMC A-List membership. Raye walks us through the stormy night and sets the scene of the album’s cover art visual. Here is where we begin.
“I Will Overcome.” gives a haunting chorus in the face of adversity and criticism. We can almost feel the wind howling through the track as our heartbroken protagonist delivers heartbreaking soliloquies between rolling vocals of empowerment. In between each chorus, we receive a confession of just how hard it is to keep that reminder. There are reflections of a stained glass window from that church Genesis took me to. It shines in RAYE’s testimonies, revealing all the fragments of everything she’s been through.
From the moment RAYE hit the scene with her sultry sound, voluminous pin curls and vintage style, the internet took interest. That also came with it digging its claws in as it often does with the artists it claims to love. One of the oft-repeated criticism came from people seeing similarities to Amy Winehouse. The internet has spit its fiery vitriol for years picking apart all of the ways she could never be as great as the legendary Winehouse known for her own jazzy soulful hits and struggles with alcohol. RAYE fights back those critics on this track, citing her own obstacles along with how the comparisons to Amy Winehouse she gets from critics unknowingly assign her a similar fate.
This is an anthem. A foreshadowing. This is the fight song from the voice that’s been rooting for us to get out of the corner and back into the ring. From the moment that first track ends I know something: I will not come out of this experience the same.
The next two tracks detail a string of wicked lovers that prey on hopeless romantics. “Beware.. The South London Lover Boy.” and “The WhatsApp Shakespeare.” are two cautionary tales as our heroine finds her fairytale full of monsters. The theatrics of these tunes make the antagonists into cartoonish villains we can easily shine a light on. RAYE puts a spotlight on the wolfish creatures trailing sweet nothings from our DMs to our bedrooms. Don’t we all wish it worked that way? That we could easily spot the players about to put us through months of spiraling long before they’ve caused their chaos? RAYE details all of their flaws over flittering beats like folklore monsters known for pillaging through hearts instead of villages. Fleeing the big bad wolves in the forest leads us straight into winter.
Winter
Where do bad bitches go when they’re heartbroken? When we’ve wrapped the fractured pieces in barbed wire to punish anyone that dares to touch us next? This song is armor. It is the wall I’ve built up to keep more disappointments and heartbreaks from collapsing my already condemned soul. If villain origin stories get theme songs then this is definitely the track. An R&B melody that tells me I’m allowed to freeze over hell to throw my pity party whilst also making me ask myself, “Bitch, why don’t we own a faux fur coat yet?”
It’s also the moment we realize, we’re getting character development in every bar. RAYE is not just a songstress, she is a writer. I want to settle into the protagonist’s motives and rest here. This track to me felt like home. But alas, this music promised us hope not revenge. So as much as I want to settle my cold, cold heart into track five, I know we must venture on.
It’s at this very moment I accept that there may be some pinch of medicine in this record as “Click Clack Symphony” drums in with its warrior call: the sound of clicking heels. Hans Zimmer scores this masterpiece as RAYE rap-sings the turmoils of fighting depressive isolation. It’s an infectious combination that activates me like a sleeper agent and provides just enough a serotonin boost to make it through the “winter.” It ends in a triumphant orchestra of optimism as our faithful narrator returns to us ending on one final message that seems to answer all the emotions I’m left with from Winter Woman: “the cold never lasts my darling, it just teaches the heart how to burn.”
There should have been a warning at the seventh track. Something like “Pause: this is where you make sure you have tissues nearby” or a “Please take a brief intermission before we snatch your wig.” Of course, a song called “I Know You’re Hurting.” may be warning enough. A power ballad of more raw confessionals that I as the listener couldn’t deny. Remember what I said about all that Black Girl Magic being smoke and mirrors? There’s no superpowers that allow us to survive the outside forces of the universe. Strength. Magic. Words meant to make our ironclad resolve sound more mythical than it is.
Black women are not magicians. Underneath all of that, we’re just plain tired as hell. Tired of a world that has expected better of us since before any of us even fully knew ourselves. What are fairytale endings for the women cursed into being the magical being on her own?
Many of us “brew up” our courage, our strength, our hope in spaces where we find comfort. This alchemy we’ve watched other Black women create for years wrapped in acts like putting our face on, going to the club or praise and worship. That liquor store to re-up our antidepressants, the club to shake off the stress or the church to replenish our faith are all chambers to restore our solace. I’m sorry to disappoint with a lack of Martha Stewart-style instructions for a real recipe for hope. The truth? As Black women, when our cup is empty we have to fill each other back up.
This track gives us permission to cry. It’s the closest I get to going back to the liquor store-jazz club-church as RAYE’s encouraging chants end the song. Those final words of encouragement are a self-soothing mantra of reassurance we’re already far too used to hearing.
“Life Boat.” brings us to the end of winter tugging us along with its EDM infused beat and echoes of “not giving up.” It makes sense to end winter here as I shake off my blankets and find myself encouraged to move around for the first time since starting my listening session. There it is, trickling into the baseline with its inspirational chorus. It’s hope. Buried into the climax of the track list like a jewel for me to find. But that’s not all.
Spring
I’ve always admired artists like RAYE for their ability to put their deepest feelings of insecurities and worries into songs. It may not be everyone’s brand but sometimes we need to hear that while the thoughts in our head aren’t the nicest they are perfectly sane and normal. So spring sets in with “I Hate The Way I Look Today.” It’s a cheerful, jazzy upbeat tune riddled with complaints and qualms with one’s appearance. Because sometimes the sun that we’ve begged for brightens our door and shines light on all those pesky imperfections we’ve thrown layers over for months. It’s the perfect amount of sulking and affirmations pushed into a pick-me-up. It says throw on that sundress, and put on whatever amount of makeup we need to get ourselves out of this rut because we’re not going back to wallowing in self doubt. Now we must get up and try.
“Goodbye Henry.” and “Nightingale Lane.” offer two more lover tales but unlike “Beware..The South London Lover Boy” and “The WhatsApp Shakespeare.” these aren’t tales of caution. They are trips down memory lane to lovers of the past that leave us with something to hope for. Sometimes good things come to an end. While that can be a sad truth it also leaves us with the memory of what existed there and what’s allowed to exist again: Love.
Only RAYE could get us through the blues with the actual blues and call on no other than Al Green to help serenade it into place. While she warns us these are sad songs, they’re still set in the middle of spring. Spring is a time for growth, change. Not everything may survive the winter but what we’re left with we must learn from. I think of my own unlucky love stories and how many of them weren’t salvageable but they’re proof of something I needed to accept I still know how to do: Exist.
If there was ever a song to describe the annoyance that is wading back into the dating pool it is “Skin & Bones.” One of my favorites as it offers a demisexual nuance to a subject every single woman in the dating game is familiar with by now: the audacity of men. RAYE sings about suitors that want the most from women while putting in the least amount of effort. Detailing them as just walking body parts with “no brain”. “…He thinks he can make love without having to love me,” Raye proclaims after summarizing their sins. Yes, sins because more than lust, there’s some greed, sloth and pride to the piss-poor attempts these men make in their pursuit. But look how far we’ve come from the lovers of the past! These men are faceless and don’t get harrowing tales because their intentions are so transparently obvious. Each verse outlining a different offense we’ve all come to know so well it’s like sharing the details of a bad date with a friend over brunch. Sometimes we just need to get it out of our system with one final “girl, yes!” Because girl, yes! The bar is in hell.
Summer
I’m sprawled out on my couch deep into my second glass of wine feeling as though I’ve just made it out the other end of a cathartic therapy session. I’m worried the next song won’t do much for me because I’ve heard “WHERE IS MY HUSBAND?” for months as the album’s first single over the radio and almost every wedding day TikTok I’ve ever scrolled across. Surely it can’t have any effect on me now.
What once struck me as a single woman’s anthem had now been snatched up by the happily taken and it had put a sour taste in my mouth. Not to sound bitter but how often as women do we get to complain about being single without being offered unrequested advice or told we sound desperate? Now a song that initially offered that release reminded me of wedding receptions and engagement parties.
Okay, maybe I do sound bitter. Either way, I just pour up and let it play as RAYE puts the tune back into this season of her journey. This is what a good collective body of work from an artist is. It begs that we keep its pieces together chronologically and accept the context they had intended. I absolutely get why this song was the first single but most importantly, I get why it was placed here in the album. It’s back to being triumphant and hopeful in its witty pursuit as RAYE calls out her future husband. Look how far we’ve come from “Winter Woman.” It’s a song that screams “Um, hello?! I’m outside, why aren’t you??”
While summer kicks off awaiting that holy union there’s one more type of union this part of the album reminds me of: Family. Family (re)unions to be exact. It only makes sense that RAYE would reserve this seasonal space for family. She is joined by Granddad Michael on the song “Field.” A song that rolls through the wants and wishes of a granddaughter as she checks in on her grandfather in what feels like a personal voicemail wrapped in a fulfilled promise. A gospel choir lifts off with her grandfather’s lyrics carrying them high above with lyrics about being free. This feels like a perfect ending, a perfect send off to an already incredible album. But…it’s not over. It’s not over until we’ve finally gone to church.
This is not the same church I came across in “Genesis.” No, this is a cathedral with high stain-glassed windows that shine God’s light back into me. I’m reminded I’m a part of that light and I deserve it. I can take it back for myself whenever I am ready. RAYE croons out a prayer of protection banishing evils and doubts from the mind. This is the song to put on first thing in the morning to clean out all the negativity from our space. This is the song that mixes with sage and bleach as we dust off the last remnants of seasonal depression and accept what is ours. This is “Joy.”
Joined by her sister, Amma and Absolutely, this tambourine-sparked praise song gives its final call for testimonials as the girls confess their own struggles and declare what they deserve. It’s a song to dance to, cry to, sing to. My own recovering heart pumps with life again as I find my spirit lifting. “Joy.” is a refraction of light. Here is that shiny thing out in the distance we could not see until now: Hope.
“Happier Times Ahead.” is a light, jazzy melodic reminder of how life is a beautiful thing that will be out of our control a lot of times but we still must carry on. RAYE covers the story of multiple strangers going through their own hardships with little reminders to push on. After all, what’s a musical without its final ensemble performance? It brings us back to that jazz club for the last time as our serenader ends it with some final encouraging words. Just like those angels in the club bathroom, only this time we realize the truth. They are not celestial beings, they’re women that saw reflections of themselves in us and offered the same words and arms they wished someone had given them when they most needed it.
Now that we’ve made it this far, what could possibly be left, right?! For those not familiar with RAYE, we’re not done until the jazzy lady rolls the credits. After all, this was a big budget tear-jerking, Oscar-winning performance. This is not just an album, but a cohesive body of art. A screenplay with its own cinematic score filled with raw emotion and vocals bleeding out over jazz, rhythm and blues, gospel and heart-filled storytelling. A collection so complete and honest it deserved to have every collaborators’ name listed out. And so… she did. Those familiar with RAYE’s first album 21st Century Blues will remember a similarly titled track called “Fin.” Here she brings us a new one, a final fanfare of what feels like an MGM musical before RAYE lists out every name that has made this album possible. As both a writer and an avid moviegoer of course I sat through the entire proud list. This Turner Classic Movie ending reprises all the hope we’ve caught along the way and advises the listener if they had no luck the first time to try to give it another listen.
It’s possible even for those of us that aren’t complete optimists to find some shining light in RAYE’s latest album. For me, my night ended with a budding promise to try again tomorrow, and try again the day after that. Just keep trying and trying until I eventually have to start with track one and listen again because the truth is, we’re not meant to peddle on eternally in sunshine. It’s absolutely okay to settle into our grey clouds from time to time because we’re still human and we need to feel that. RAYE has let us borrow her theatre for the night to release all of those bottled up emotions. At the risk of sounding like Nicole Kidman, heartbreak does feel good in a place like this. And I’m never one to give out spoilers but here’s a recap of that recipe. This music contains a fistful of love, a tearful amount of joy, victory, drama and — if there is even a tiny seedling inside us that may just need nudging — hope.
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