‘Lemonade’ is redemption in Beyonce’s new visionary album

I’ve been in a funk. I mean, it’s the end of a very long school year – burnouts right now are understandable. So, I admit that I’ve been slacking on a Lemonade review. I mean, when Kendrick Lamar dropped Untitled Unmastered, I was on that shit quick. I overworked myself just so I could review one of my favorite artists. And I regret not doing the same for Beyoncé.

But it’s okay. It doesn’t matter how long you wait to listen, it’s the fact that you managed to listen at all.

First, there’s the movie; then there’s the music. They are best enjoyed together, but there is also something of merit for just having a track available to listen to while you walk or drive. Because the music is bomb. I already want the tracks on a CD, in my car right now, available to blast as I enjoy this nice weather and oncoming summer.

The movie: It’s just over an hour long and includes each track on the album. In between music, you hear Beyoncé’s raspy, raw voice reciting spoken word, written by prolific poet Warsan Shire. And raw is the most accurate word for it – she makes you almost uncomfortable with how honest and vulnerable the spoken word is, and what it does the most is make you feel. As a writer, I’m envious of Shire’s ability to put such feeling into something no more than a paragraph each. As a lover of public speaking and performance, I’m in awe at Beyoncé’s ability to put such thick, intimate emotion into those words as she spoke them. Yet, I’m surprised by neither. In fact, I’m so moved by the spoken word interludes that it’s honestly my favorite part about Lemonade (and this comes from a prolific poetry hater). I’ll provide full transcriptions of those interludes at the bottom of the story, which each and every one of you should read. And possibly print out and hang on your wall.

Then, as the backdrop to everything – the music, the spoken word, the sound of cicadas chirping – are some of the most beautiful and compelling video shots I have seen in awhile. Not simply based on the merit of the standalone shot, but all in the composition and the direction of the shots. For each track, the accompanying mini-music video (within the extended music movie) has a distinct style that mirrors the music. It brings the project that extra mile, it sucker punches the point right into your heart, your memory, hard. Like the mothers of victims of police violence, holding pictures of their sons. We’ve all heard the names Michael Brown, Trayvon Martin, Eric Garner, but few know the names of their mothers. Sybrina Fulton, Trayvon’s mother; Lesley McSpadden, Michael’s mother; Gwen Carr, Eric’s mother.

And then, at the end, Beyoncé recites a recipe. All this time, for the whole hour, I had been loving what I was seeing and hearing, but still the title ‘Lemonade’ did not make sense to me. It wasn’t clear. Beyoncé went through the recipe clearly, slowly, revealing word by word it was a lemonade recipe. It was her grandmother’s recipe, you found out as the recipe bled into more spoken word. It was her grandmother (or rather, is it Jay Z’s grandmother, Hattie, who shows up shortly in a found-footage clip of her 90th birthday, talking lemons and lemonade analogies) who passed down the recipe, who “spun gold out of this hard life, conjured beauty from the things left behind, found healing where it did not live.”

If you watch through the movie, if you listen through the album track by track, you’ll find Beyoncé has laid out a journey of growth. Her process of dealing with what we can only assume is her husband’s infidelity. Intuition; denial; anger; apathy; emptiness. Accountability; reformation; forgiveness; resurrection; hope. Redemption. Redemption is Lemonade. It’s all a metaphor, the most overused cliché of them all, but only because it rings true time and again. Beyoncé had lemons, and she chose to make lemonade.

There is so much more to write about. In conclusion, all I can say is that Lemonade is a profound experience, one that is worth your eyes and ears. For me, I chose to subscribe to Tidal for $24.99 a month to view Lemonade, subscription also available in lower quality for $12.99. The album is also available for $17.99 on iTunes.

List of Tracks:

“Pray You Catch Me” | Co-written by James Blake, Kevin Garrett, and Beyoncé. Produced by Beyoncé and Kevin Garrett.

“Hold Up” | Co-written and produced by Diplo, Vampire Weekend’s Ezra Koenig, and Beyoncé.

“Don’t Hurt Yourself” | Co-written by Wynter Gordon and Beyoncé. Produced by Jack White and Beyoncé.

“Sorry” | Co-written by Wynter Gordon, Melo-X, and Beyoncé. Produced by Hit-Boy, Wynter Gordon, Melo-X, and Beyoncé.

“6 Inch” | Written by The-Dream. Produced by Boots, Danny Boy Styles, Ben Billions, and Beyoncé.

“Daddy Lessons” | Co-written and produced by Wynter Gordon, Kevin Cossum, Alex Delicata, and Beyoncé.

“Love Drought” | Co-written and produced by Mike Dean, Ingrid Burley, and Beyoncé.

“Sandcastles” | Co-written by Vincent Berry III, Malik Yusef, Midian Mathers, and Beyoncé. Produced by Vincent Berry III and Beyoncé.

“Forward” | Co-written and produced by James Blake and Beyoncé.

“Freedom” | Co-written and produced by Kendrick Lamar, Just Blaze, and Beyoncé.

“All Night” | Co-written by Rock City, Isley Juber, Akil King, and Jaramye Daniels. Produced by Diplo and Beyoncé.

Transcription of spoken word interludes between each ‘phase of grief’, written by poet Warsan Shire:

Intuition (“Pray You Catch Me”)

“I tried to make a home out of you, but doors lead to trap doors, a stairway leads to nothing. Unknown women wander the hallways at night. Where do you go when you go quiet?

You remind me of my father, a magician … able to exist in two places at once. In the tradition of men in my blood, you come home at 3 a.m. and lie to me. What are you hiding?

The past and the future merge to meet us here. What luck. What a fucking curse.”

Denial (“Hold Up”)

“I tried to change. Closed my mouth more, tried to be softer, prettier, less awake. Fasted for 60 days, wore white, abstained from mirrors, abstained from sex, slowly did not speak another word. In that time, my hair, I grew past my ankles. I slept on a mat on the floor. I swallowed a sword. I levitated. Went to the basement, confessed my sins, and was baptized in a river. I got on my knees and said ‘amen’ and said ‘I mean.’

I whipped my own back and asked for dominion at your feet. I threw myself into a volcano. I drank the blood and drank the wine. I sat alone and begged and bent at the waist for God. I crossed myself and thought I saw the devil. I grew thickened skin on my feet, I bathed in bleach, and plugged my menses with pages from the holy book, but still inside me, coiled deep, was the need to know … Are you cheating on me?

Cheating? Are you cheating on me?”

Anger (“Don’t Hurt Yourself”)

“If it’s what you truly want … I can wear her skin over mine. Her hair over mine. Her hands as gloves. Her teeth as confetti. Her scalp, a cap. Her sternum, my bedazzled cane. We can pose for a photograph, all three of us. Immortalized … you and your perfect girl.

I don’t know when love became elusive. What I know is, no one I know has it. My father’s arms around my mother’s neck, fruit too ripe to eat. I think of lovers as trees … growing to and from one another. Searching for the same light.

Why can’t you see me? Why can’t you see me? Why can’t you see me? Everyone else can.”

Apathy (“Sorry”)

“So what are you gonna say at my funeral, now that you’ve killed me? Here lies the body of the love of my life, whose heart I broke without a gun to my head. Here lies the mother of my children, both living and dead. Rest in peace, my true love, who I took for granted. Most bomb p*ssy who, because of me, sleep evaded. Her god listening. Her heaven will be a love without betrayal. Ashes to ashes, dust to side chicks.”

Emptiness (“6 Inch”)

“She sleeps all day. Dreams of you in both worlds. Tills the blood, in and out of uterus. Wakes up smelling of zinc, grief sedated by orgasm, orgasm heightened by grief. God was in the room when the man said to the woman, “I love you so much. Wrap your legs around me. Pull me in, pull me in, pull me in.” Sometimes when he’d have her nipple in his mouth, she’d whisper, “Oh, my God.” That, too, is a form of worship.

Her hips grind, pestle and mortar, cinnamon and cloves. Whenever he pulls out … loss. Dear moon, we blame you for floods … for the flush of blood … for men who are also wolves. We blame for the night for the dark, for the ghosts.”

Accountability (“Daddy Lessons”)

“You find the black tube inside her beauty case where she keeps your father’s old prison letters. You desperately want to look like her. You look nothing like your mother. You look everything like your mother. Film star beauty. How to wear your mother’s lipstick. You go to the bathroom to apply your mother’s lipstick. Somewhere no one can find you.

You must wear it like she wears disappointment on her face. Your mother is a woman and women like her cannot be contained. Mother dearest, let me inherit the earth. Teach me how to make him beg. Let me make up for the years he made you wait. Did he bend your reflection? Did he make you forget your own name? Did he convince you he was a god? Did you get on your knees daily? Do his eyes close like doors? Are you a slave to the back of his head?

Am I talking about your husband or your father?”

Reformation (“Love Drought”)

“He bathes me until I forget their names and faces. I ask him to look me in the eye when I come home. Why do you deny yourself heaven? Why do you consider yourself undeserving? Why are you afraid of love? You think it’s not possible for someone like you. But you are the love of my life. You are the love of my life. You are the love of my life.”

Forgiveness (“Sandcastles”)

“Baptize me … now that reconciliation is possible. If we’re gonna heal, let it be glorious. 1,000 girls raise their arms. Do you remember being born? Are you thankful for the hips that cracked? The deep velvet of your mother and her mother and her mother? There is a curse that will be broken.”

Resurrection (“Forward”)

“Something is missing. So many young women, they tell you, “I want me a hu — see, all them make me feel better than you.” So how we supposed to lead our children to the future? What do we do? How do we lead them? Love. L-O-V-E, love. Mm-mmm-mmm. Hallelujah. Thank you, Jesus. I just love the Lord, I’m sorry, brother. I love the Lord. That’s all I got.

When your back gets against the wall and your wall against your back, who you call? Hey! Who you call? Who you call? You gotta call Him. You gotta call Jesus. You gotta call Him. You gotta call Him ‘cause you ain’t got another hope.

You are terrifying … and strange and beautiful.

Magic.”

Hope (“Freedom”)

“The nail technician pushed my cuticles back … turns my hand over, stretches the skin on my palm and says, “I see your daughters and their daughters.” That night in a dream, the first girl emerges from a slit in my stomach. The scar heals into a smile. The man I love pulls the stitches out with his fingernails. We leave black sutures curling on the side of the bath.

I wake as the second girl crawls headfirst up my throat, a flower blossoming out of the hole in my face.”

Redemption (“All Night”)

“Take one pint of water, add a half pound of sugar, the juice of eight lemons, the zest of half a lemon. Pour the water from one jug then into the other several times. Strain through a clean napkin.

Grandmother, the alchemist, you spun gold out of this hard life, conjured beauty from the things left behind. Found healing where it did not live. Discovered the antidote in your own kit. Broke the curse with your own two hands. You passed these instructions down to your daughter who then passed it down to her daughter.

I had my ups and downs, but I always find the inner strength to pull myself up. I was served lemons, but I made lemonade. My grandma said “Nothing real can be threatened.” True love brought salvation back into me. With every tear came redemption and my torturers became my remedy. So we’re gonna heal. We’re gonna start again. You’ve brought the orchestra, synchronized swimmers.

You’re the magician. Pull me back together again, the way you cut me in half. Make the woman in doubt disappear. Pull the sorrow from between my legs like silk. Knot after knot after knot. The audience applauds … but we can’t hear them.”