Lyricism: The Seinabo Sey Experience

It was after watching the trailer for the final season of the HBO series 'Girls' that I had first heard her voice. The first line of Pretend; “Someone just told me that there’s no tomorrow, and if that is true, I don’t know what to do”, was reminiscent of the several moments that had just passed and left me feeling lost, dazed and confused. Friends and family had taken it upon themselves to gently remind me that there was no promise of the day to come.

I often debated why the gift of such dejected advice was important and necessary to them. Some wanted to make sure I knew that if all I had was today I should stop wasting my time worrying about things I could not control. Others were sick and tired of me ranting about things I couldn’t fix or endure, and gave me a cold hard, deep throat reality check that life could be over by tomorrow. One comrade sent me hurling down back to Earth after sitting on a momentous high one afternoon talking about how powerful I can be if I just put all my strength, smarts and determination to good use. Sometimes we need those people in our lives too, a forceful reminder that I don’t run this place, and the world might be my oyster, but the All Mighty is the pearl, the shell, the sand and the sea, and if I don’t humble myself real quick my ego will be the end of me and anything worthy that I stand for.

Ascending down into Pretend, Sey continues to explore the sensibility of control, fate and freedom. It was beyond refreshing to hear a woman narrate the very thoughts and feelings that pass us by most days. The lyrics bounce back and forth between naivety and nostalgia to wisdom and acceptance. The best element of all is unlike most songs about life and love that are specific in nature, Pretend isn’t about anything in particular, but it’s also about everything all at once.

It wasn’t long before I was weeping on a train home one afternoon shocked and stilled by the bibliographical way of her song Words. "Holy shit", I thought to myself, someone, somewhere out there got it. They got it, wrote it down and put it in a song, and are delivering this sweet juice into my ears, like a closure I thought I could only find in the eyes and the words of the person that hurt me. But there is was, rhythm after rhythm, verse after verse, the very same story I had recited to myself from years ago.

“I started writing as a way to tell people my secrets.”

 

It was about finding finality and clarity in the well of our overdone feelings. The daunting experience withstood when trying to find a safe and well lit room to place all of your vulnerabilities and perceived failures was remarkably illustrated. “Darkness is key”, she sings, “I am not the only” she ends. It was the confirmation I didn’t need but had been looking for anyway. I was surrounded by incredibly well-meaning people who denied my right to be sad and miserable, which only affirmed my beliefs that I was totally by myself in this. That somehow, all of the heartbreak in the world was nothing like mine, and only I was non-resilient, only I was deeply impacted and not in a way that only verified my sincere feelings and deep commitment to someone, but rather in the way that attested to weakness. Weak for going back, weak for letting myself fall time and time again. And although the women and men around me hadn’t listened or learned of the promises I was made, I was certain that they were right. But what happens when you neglect your truth is that it starts to bust from the seams, spills out from your eyes, and travels out from your mouth in curse, poetry, bitter jokes and long never ending dialogue.

I experienced another spell of unease earlier this year when I had somehow convinced myself I would lose my dad. It was a thought that constantly pinched at my spirit. I didn’t let a day go by not thinking about it. I would sit with him every Thursday night worried I had missed a question, terrified he would disappear the next day. What if I hadn't done enough, said enough, touched enough? It is a universal law that you attract your thoughts, and there I was scrolling past articles of deceased fathers, learning of dear friends who had lost their paternity early in life, brothers reminding me he’s getting old (my dad is as fit as a fiddle Alhamdulillah, but life doesn’t seem to care in the face of growing age). Burial was the song that lay my thoughts to rest. I could humbly accept that what is meant to happen will happen and not an extra word, hour of time or lasting hug will change or transform what is already written. She prosed about her own father’s funeral, a beautiful and gospel homage to a man she can still hear call for her. Even more heartfelt was her tribute to the rope between her and her father, “I’m ashamed I ever thought you were mine”, recognising our parents don’t belong to us in that we can’t have them in our lives the way we might wish. They are their own people, who will leave when their stretch is up, no matter who they might leave behind, or at what moment in time.

I have dreamt of living an artistically motivated life for as long as I can remember. It was always the answer to both the easy and the hard questions. I spent much of my time on Earth sweeping it under the rug. I had denied colour for the longest time, always disgusted by its obtrusiveness and impertinent behaviour. It wasn’t until I had undergone several academic failures that I had to reevaluate what was left of me. What else did I have that I could give to this world? After my parents split, and experiencing my own personal disorder, I jumped on the colour me calm bandwagon, followed by a half-assed read of Big Magic which led me to a world of crafting. Sey’s song Younger is the self-revelation any and all artists uncover after years of refutation. Much like her own journey into music, finally deciding to give it the blood supply it needs to thrive, she reminds herself the time is now, and we aren’t getting any younger. Her self-talk discourse is also uplifting, emulating the exact conversations we have with ourselves almost every day before we take the dive.

 

You also speaks volumes of the exchange that takes place in our heads after accepting defeat to the reoccurring and lively feelings towards the people who left us. Thinking to ourselves "I’m not going anywhere", an undignified approach to the realest and hardest love we believe possible. After several songs rummage through the heart of our broken and adrift selves, I started to feel worried. If Sey can’t overcome this, what chances do us normal people have, us listeners like a fish caught on the hook, and now realising we are tonight’s dinner, what chance do we have to believe we are still little fish, insufficient fish, requiring more growth, to be dipped back into the ocean for another go at life. And just as the thought left to swim out my ears, Still began to play. A soft and poetic renewal. A track about hope, about tomorrow, or at least today (because there are no tomorrows after all). It’s an accolade to the woman before the person who changed her. A memory waiting to be extracted and brought back to life. An empowering ballad of belief, poise, faith and new chapters. A token taken from past foolishness, it’s a conviction that we don’t need to be rescued, we are safe and anew. The Swedish artist gave me nothing less than a feel good cure. She was able to squash the last few feels left, but now I am kept waiting for the next soul enhancing installment. C’mon lil lady, SING!