Feeling, Healing, and Storytelling: My Top Albums from 2021

2021 was another year of great  moments in music and entertainment . It felt like most of my favorite artists were getting back into their strides after a year in the coronavirus pandemic, but it still seemed like they (and by “they” I mean more mainstream artists and the industry machines behind them) navigated rollout interviews, award shows, concerts and promotional tour announcements with a more-than-healthy dose of willful ignorance while we are still quite literally in a pandemic. 

With ongoing conversations about (anti)capitalism and its relationship with the concept of “celebrity” – along with discussions about racism, misogyny, colorism, homophobia, transphobia, xenophobia, etc. – it was admittedly hard to engage with music and other forms of entertainment media, and the artists and brands who create them. The concept of “separate the artists from their art” has elicited more of a chasm that, at times, genuinely requires us as consumers to become oblivious to the very real influence and, often, the harm caused by celebrity – namely the visibility and power it affords those who have clearly not done the necessary reading.

On the other hand, I have become more genuinely curious as to how musicians and celebrities more broadly have personally navigated the pandemic and sociopolitical reckonings – beyond their being a public figure who feels obligated to take a stance, make statements or “open their purse” impulsively due to public pressure – without taking time to learn and do the internal work. 

I am reminded often that celebrities are human beings who are, like us, navigating very unprecedented times in very public positions. Demanding immediate responses leads (and has consistently led) to half-baked, performative takes not rooted in actual learning and good-faith evolution, but rather in scrambling attempts to maintain their brand (and subsequently their bank account) with an audience that often sees straight through the gimmicks. This – juxtaposed with “celebrities are people, too” propaganda that is very much alive and well – doesn’t make for well-received attempts at sincerity. 

I say all of this to say: Throughout all of this, I appreciated the artists who continued to use their music to speak to their own genuine experiences and personal interpretations of the state of our world, rather than trying too hard to be a “voice for the people” or an “artist who reflects the times.”

There is something very powerful and refreshing – especially in the age of everyone chasing virality due to  streaming , social media algorithms and  TikTok  – about seeing (mostly hearing) how the past two years has transpired for my favorite artists as human beings – from love, loss, self-discovery, success, failure, and political enlightenment or even empowerment. Less because it breaks down the perfectly curated facade of celebrity and lets us in, moreso because it is reminiscent of what music, at least to me, is for: A chance to experience a well-crafted body of work that sonically illustrates core elements of the human condition – in a way that bridges the gap between the grandeur of celebrity or artistry and the simpler lives the rest of us live each day.

Here’s to the ones that were just really fucking good: 

• The House Is Burning – Isaiah Rashad
• Temporary Highs In Violet Skies – Snoh Aalegra
• Vince Staples – Vince Staples
• If Orange Was A Place – Tems
• lately I feel EVERYTHING – WILLOW
• Hits That Stick Like Grits – The Shindellas
• Montero – Lil Nas X
• Planet Her – Doja Cat
• Call Me If You Get Lost – Tyler, The Creator

Listening to the full album, to me, is like listening to a movie: There’s a very clear narrative that takes us through Adele’s emotional journey through the aftermath of her divorce to her personal shadow work and healing. Even more poignant, Adele’s accompanying interviews allow her to double down on the vulnerability she demonstrates throughout the album, where she makes it very clear that while, yes, the album is about her divorce, navigating that heartbreak was only the beginning of her journey to confront and heal her ego and childhood traumas.

If you just listen to the album, there's a chance you might miss the impact of the lyrics – their rawness and forthrightness. Upon reading the lyrics, I appreciated Adele even more for her very palpable emotional honesty – mainly because we don’t see that as the norm from artists, especially mainstream ones.

“What I like about it is if you want to listen to the lyrics, it’s clear that it’s about depression. But if you don’t want to, it’s a little vibe.” – Adele on 30

After learning more of the details about her divorce and the reason for it – it was hard to understand the true depth of how one might be heartbroken if they left their situation to find a more aligned version of happiness. Shouldn't she be celebrating?

I’ve since realized the reality of what it might mean to disrupt comfort, stability or familiarity in an act of rejecting a life you thought you should build for yourself (should being the operative word). Adele has shown all of us how that is what causes heartbreak and grief – especially when you disrupt others’ comfort and stability in the process.

This is most apparent in “My Little Love,” a song about (and essentially featuring) her son, Angelo. This is also a great example of how Adele experiments with the production on 30 – on this track in particular with voice notes of her then 6-year-old son – yet she maintains the emotional crooning and vocal proficiency that she’s known for. This track, along with “To Be Loved” and “I Drink Wine” were a few of the ones that have stuck with me for similar reasons. They display a level of pure emotional honesty that just could not be easily manufactured or curated.

Yep. This comparison has been made a few times. I see how people might feel that way, and I read  this NPR review of 30  that perfectly addressed this easy comparison of Adele’s 30 to Beyoncé’s Lemonade – another album about turmoil in love and marriage:

“It's tempting to identify 30 as Adele's own version of [Lemonade’s] inimitable expression of heartache and resolve, but such comparisons can only go so far. Lemonade engaged history in a way that 30, whose triumphs are stylistic and aesthetic but not political, cannot. It spoke for a community, a "we," in a way that Adele, I think, would not strive to emulate.” – Ann Powers, "On '30,' Adele walks among us"

That’s as simple as I could put it. What Beyoncé and Lemonade did for Black women and Black culture, is incomparable, period. What Adele did accomplish was zooming in – very, very closely – on personal healing and ego death whereas Beyoncé offered a much-needed demonstration of generational healing and reconciliation. 

The overall lesson learned from 30, and many of the albums on this list, is that – despite whatever experiences our life journey puts us through – the decision to actively confront one’s ego is the most fruitful (and simultaneously the most difficult) thing to do. 

In the age of never-ending self-help and instant therapy (or  Insta-Therapy ) that leads us to turn ourselves into DIY projects, there will always be the moment that you really have to do the work after thinking you have done the work. And even after that, as life evolves, your experiences will continue to play a key role in your story – your sense of self and the emotions and decisions that make up its essence.

It means nothing to cultivate a sense of self-awareness and display it solely for virtue-signaling. You might even be able to genuinely convince yourself that you’re ever “done” healing. But we can only move forward if we actually integrate that awareness, and are open about our journey to healing, acceptance and integration of our Selves and our experiences.

What the artists on this list demonstrated (very publicly) for me, is the power of making art out of our rawest emotions. Not necessarily romanticizing them – because to truly feel any of these emotions is anything but romantic – but expressing those emotions honestly through art form and ultimately, storytelling. Beyond gathering the courage to simply be vulnerable, encapsulating those feelings in a way that is both authentic but artistically sound – in a way that resonates to whatever your craft is – is actually kind of hard. 

I’m discovering this as I’m considering how to revisit my own writing after going through a period of personal growth and a cycle of healing. There’s a moment you experience when you realize your goal isn't necessarily to oversell the emotional turbulence, but you still want the work to be interesting and compelling and resonate with the audiences you’ll eventually offer it to.

Then, you have to decide what tools and skills you use to actually package the emotions: Storytelling and artistry can (and often does) facilitate emotional revelations and breakthroughs, but when your heart and soul are quite literally on the line and in a position to be exposed by deciding to share your experiences, the creative process can feel much different due to those potential implications.

“My intentions were always right, it just took me a while to get there, after dismantling my own life and my kid’s life.” – Adele on writing and recording “To Be Loved”

I think the albums on this list – and what I imagine of the process to create them – demonstrate the levels of art and storytelling: What is the story arc I want to share? How should the emotions look? How should they sound? But for truly authentic storytelling and vulnerability, it starts with getting clear on how the emotions feel and allowing yourself to feel them, first.

In 2022 – in the words of author Octavia Butler – here's to more art, music, stories – that "Make people touch and taste and know. Make people feel! Feel! Feel!"

–kf