Tune-Yards' I can feel you creep into my private life is conceptually brilliant and did well critically (except with the beloved Pitchfork). Still, nobody seemed to understand how brilliantly the album speaks to the listener. Besides the solid syncopation of rhythm, enticing melodic material, compact harmonies, highly developed sonic landscapes, and, what most critics pick up, the social commentary of being a white person in America, I can feel you creep didn't seem to garner the esteem I strongly believe it should. But there is a reason for this that I'll mention later. Merrill Garbus, frontwoman and multi-instrumentalist, and Nate Brenner, bassist, still manage to create something thematically tight both musically and lyrically, and is, in my opinion, one of the greatest albums my ears have had the privilege of listening to. However, upon reading the meaning of each song Merrill shares with NPR, there is a serious problem that I'll mention after discussing the album in depth.
Opening with enticing piano chords, "Heart Attack" is a rhythmically intricate prelude utilizing simple lyrics to emphasize the overarching feelings that stream through the entire album: anxiety, panic, self-deceit, and most likely some angst ("Look at Your Hands"), this dreadful compilation of undesirable sensations is highly evocative and demands closer attention from the listener. To go further, attention so close that Merrill allows you to creep into her private life. It's a brilliant form of exposing oneself with all self-imposed punches taken despite the risk. "Coast to Coast" is incredible in how simple the rhythmic hooks are yet remain extremely memorable. The rhythms are like a swing back and forth from "Coast to Coast," a perfect marriage of musical and lyrical material. These coasts are, specifically, the coasts of New York City and Africa. Merrill further develops the tension experienced by both these coasts later in the album. "ABC 123" is a desperate call for common sense in facing present socio-political challenges in the United States: "I called you up because we had a great connection / You couldn't hear me 'cause of NSA protection / But we'll unite before the very next election / No abstentions, vote the ABCs!" "Now as Then" deals with racism though I thought it was about a woman who cannot hide from misogyny in the United States. Merrill told NPR "With all the compassion in my heart, I just want to say to white people sampling others' music: what you’re engaging in is colonialism. Name it for what it is. Especially given the power dynamic today, with greater restrictions on entering the U.S. There’s so much less access for musicians of color to say, 'Hey, glad you like it! Now I get to make money touring in your country.'" I must admit, I find the view that it's colonialism to simply borrow positive aspects from other cultures to be rather annoying. "She had this thing with her shoulders / Couldn't sleep on either side / Face-up to the ceiling, nowhere to hide" A poignant illustration of being seen with all insecurities revealed. "Now as Then" suggests the state of race relations is still far from ideal.
Moving onward, "Honesty" begins the self-awareness of one's deceit to others and maybe even to oneself. "(Honesty, honesty) / Do you really wanna know? / (This river runs so deep) / No, no, no, no, no!" Merrill, at this point in the album, is frightened of truly exposing herself. "This river runs so deep" makes it seem the listener won't be able to stay afloat with the horror and depth of her perception of being a privileged white person in America. This confrontation eventually gives way and grants the listener access to one of the most racially-charged confessions I've ever heard: "I use my white woman's voice to tell stories of travels with African men / I comb my white woman's hair with a comb made especially, generally for me / I use my white woman's voice to tell stories, stories" and this cuts deep with "I cry my white woman tears carving grooves in my cheeks to display what I meant / I smell the blood in my voice" Wow. Remember "Coast to Coast"? Please don't tell me this doesn't bite. However, the bite is painfully satisfying and I can't quite say why. Maybe it's the blatant vulnerability that Merrill warned the listener about in "Honesty" that I find so incredibly compelling.
Now in the second half of the album, Merrill implores the listener, as well as herself, to "Look at Your Hands." This seems to be the start of Merrill leaning into self-acceptance and asking the listener to do the same. On a biographical note, Merrill shouts/sings "La la la la la la look at my hands, my plan / Shoot, I should've faced that, placed that / Tell me my own father is a wicked man / Na na na na na na na now it's my hands, my hands" She blatantly suggests she is no longer going to be in possession with a direct mention of her father. Pretty gnarly stuff. The biographical narrative continues with the irregular 5/4 meter in "Home." "Home, in an aisle of cans and bags / Home, in a tent-house made of rags / Home, in a hate you cannot see / Home, in a recollection / Got to understand the past to find direction" The meter helps add an extra beat to help emphasize the word "Home." "Got to understand the past to find direction" seems to be the reason Merrill wrote this song. The chorus characterizes people like her father and even herself calling from a distant forefront, a wonderful paradox that attacks Merrill's psyche: "She's a fool / She's a fool / She's a fool / She's a fool, fool, fool, fool" is what they say. That's one place that shouldn't feel like home.
Syncopation is as common as the jagged words that accompany it, the melodies either fly dramatically or stay in place like girls chanting to double Dutch jump-roping, and Nate Brenner nails bass lines that are equally as groovy and enticing as the sounds above it. To connect this to the bigger picture, however, it's extremely necessary to continue discussing the lyrics (Duh...). Next in line after "Home" is "Hammer." The music begins with a 5/8 steady drum pulse and soon clapping is juxtaposed against the irregular meter with a standard 4/4 meter. Soon after Merrill exclaims to the listener "He won't get off my back." In the NPR interview, Merrill is clear that "Doesn't see the hammer nail his own hand down" is a reference to the eventual demise of "all the poisons" such as white privilege and Donald Trump. Heavy beats are introduced to create abrasive energy while Merrill proclaims "I am not the woman that you think I am." She also states the deeply personal questions of how she, as a white person, can contribute to the community of her home in Oakland.
"Lyrically – it’s understanding my limited knowledge and experience as a white person in Oakland, and asking, what is my place in this community? We hear so many statistics these days – What percentage of black men live into their 40s? What percentage of species will be alive on the planet in 50 years? These numbers mean these huge and horrifying things. But how do we process that information?"
Merrill Garbus, NPR
"Who are You" is an electronic calypso with a statement that is totally antagonistic to Catholicism, a religion I believe is the arbiter of all truth: "Communion is old / But what makes a community whole?" The music is definitely the weakest on the album, but there are still solid characteristics present, such as the solemn, lingering chorus that questions "Who are you?" Finally, we've arrived at the penultimate track: "Private Life." The track has a frightening sense of emergency with sirens and Merrill's distorted melody intoning "I can feel you creep into my private life." The song also implores one to "Reveal yourself" in glorious harmony while "I don't wanna hear my hear my voice" counters the previous statement. "Free" continues the friction of sensing freedom is near with a melody utilizing added distortion singing "Free" while Merrill, with no distortion, shouts/sings "Don't tell me I'm free." Towards the end, something magical happens: Merrill ends the album with a candid recording of her and, most likely Nate Brenner, practicing "Heart Attack." My assumption is this short moment reveals where Merrill finds her freedom: in music.
Upon studying the NPR quotes provided by the generous digital media company Genius, I was surprised at how much the lyrical content revolved around racism. Pitchfork Media, the only outlet giving a low rating to I can feel you creep, states it quite well: "When the United States is ruled by a UN-certified racist, it’s a pretty good idea for any white citizen to learn about issues of racial privilege and injustice, to do their best not to perpetuate them, and to listen. But there is a fine line between accountability and aggrandizement, and I Can Feel You... often succumbs to the latter." When I listen to the album without Merrill's constant connotations of racism, I find the album to be perfect. However, after reading the connotations, I find myself agreeing with the Pitchfork review: she is leaning toward aggrandizement rather than accountability. It's a little ridiculous that she connects so many of the songs on I can feel you creep to racism when a lot of the songs seem to discuss other topics. Nonetheless, the album is still undeniably infectious and ranks super high in my list of favorite albums. Hopefully, Merrill will relinquish some of the constant, self-imposed guilt of being a white American on her next album.
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