The Feminine Musique: The Women Who Shaped Us

Afterglow staffers reflect on the trailblazing female artists who influenced them today.

The Feminine Musique is a series where writers analyze portrayals of women in music.

Written by Afterglow Staffers

Illustrated by Darrina Green

Women: they’ve birthed us, nurtured us, and influenced our music taste. Whether it’s been getting through a breakup, painfully coming of age, or reveling in womanhood, these seven artists have influenced Afterglow staffers and fans alike — this is an ode to them.

CTRL — SZA

Image courtesy of Top Dawg Entertainment and RCA Records

Like many others, my high school experience was a fever dream of acne, hormones, and constant anxiety over AP Chemistry tests. Back in 2017, 15-year-old me did not feel like a “supermodel” to say the least. I was nothing like the cute, clear-skinned mean girls from the movies — I was just a jumble of nerves and fluctuating self-esteem. Then came SZA with Ctrl, a vulnerable record that portrays womanhood in all its flawed beauty.

SZA’s awkward but endearing personality bleeds through the entire record, both in her quirky production and raw (bordering on TMI) lyrics. With a melody led by mellow guitar chords, “Supermodel” contrasts its themes of longing for glamor with a minimalistic, unconventional sound for the R&B genre. The elementary instrumentation highlights the bluntness of SZA’s lyrics, which recall how she cheated on a boyfriend on Valentine's Day, and reveal her deepest insecurities. Like for many young women, her tumultuous relationships with men and inability to adhere to gender norms feed into her confidence issues. The standout “Normal Girl” continues exploring how going against the grain affects her self-image. Contrasting its upbeat sound, the song finds SZA expressing dismay over her un-ladylike nature and aggressiveness in relationships: “I wish I was a normal girl / How do I be, how do I be your baby?” Despite the pain her relationships bring her, a desperate need for companionship worsens her sense of self. In her breakout hit, “Drew Barrymore,” she laments, “I get so lonely, I forget what I’m worth.” Although much of the record explores her self-image, other songs delve into other facets of the young adult woman’s experience, like self-love and desire in the Travis Scott-assisted “Love Galore” and relationship needs in “Garden (Say It Like Dat).”

Ctrl is a rare record that captures the ups and downs of womanhood with grace. The album’s vibrant production and personal lyrics craft a candid narrative that only the First Lady of T.D.E. could mastermind. By paying special attention to the less glamorous aspects of womanhood that many pop singers tend to gloss over, SZA creates a cathartic record that encourages young women to embrace their imperfections and non-conformity. — C.S. Harper

Telefone — Noname

Exploring growing up in Chicago, longing for motherhood, substance abuse, and abortions, Noname’s 2016 debut mixtape, Telefone, beautifully strips down the issues she faces as a woman with no fluff. Yet, as she tackles such heavy issues in the mixtape, she maintains a sense of sincere optimism for a future marked by love and happiness. Telefone explains the experiences of a woman for everyone to understand and relate to.

Noname speaks about being a Black woman in a city devastated by police brutality on “Yesterday.” She recalls her late grandmother telling her "Don't grow up too soon, don't blow the candles out / Don't let them cops get you.” The track brings to light the unique experience that society forces on Noname and other young girls from Chicago to grow up too fast due to the battleground they live in. She dives deeper in “Casket Pretty,” speaking about the impact of watching Black men gunned down by police. She cries out, “Somebody heal me, somebody take my hand”; She grieves for the “babies in suits.” Noname highlights the overlooked effect police killings have on Black women as well.

The track “Bye Bye Baby” addresses the story of a woman getting an abortion, and the internal guilt felt as a result of it. As the woman goes through with the procedure in the song, Noname repeats “you my baby, you my baby” to show the woman’s confliction. Noname claims the woman “will find love again,” describing the profound emotion women feel when pregnant. With an issue often criticized and associated with hate and hopelessness, Noname humanizes abortion and underscores that it is an extremely difficult decision to make. “Bye Bye Baby” acknowledges the heavy mental and physical tolls abortion takes on women, often leavings them with a feeling of guilt even though they were justified in their decision. Through Telefone, Noname is unapologetically herself, with struggles like anyone else. — Dhiren Wijesinghe

Promise — Sade

My heart and soul could divulge so much about the escapade that is Promise, but what I have to say about this 1985 masterpiece could never be articulated as eloquently as Sade Adu expresses her own feelings in these 11 songs. This soulful, sophisti-pop album spent two weeks at No. 1 on the U.S. Billboard 200 Chart upon its release, and was certified quadruple platinum by the late ‘90s — and for damn good reason. From her smooth, buttery contralto timbre, to her exquisitely chic wardrobe choices in every performance and music video, there has yet to be another songstress capable of penetrating the popular music world with the collected composure of this Capricorn. At its core, Promise is a collection of love songs — or maybe anti-love songs — that allow Sade to assert her dominance over a long past, toxic relationship that still so passionately plagues her psyche.

From the very beginning of the album, the songstress’ desire to purge her heart of an intense longing is clear. “Is It a Crime?” opens with a powerful backbeat and a tenor saxophone that screams so Sade doesn’t have to, eventually followed by organ keys that accompany her soft exclamation, “This may come as some surprise / But I miss you.” It is with this line, however, that she sets up her former lover for an emotional beating. The rest of the song is simply a declaration of her superiority as a partner, and rather than asking what more she could possibly do, she taunts her cheating ex, saying, “I can't give you more than that, surely you want me back.” This incredible vulnerability layered over succinct expressions of self-assuredness make the entirety of Promise so much more than a typical medley of love songs. Sade Adu is not a victim of heartbreak, she is a triumphantly whole-hearted woman just setting the record straight — “she’s a fancy girl, got to be strong.” Though the album features constant jabs at her former beau on songs such as “War of the Hearts” and “You’re Not the Man,” Sade strikes with dignity. And rather than pleading for a second chance with someone who did her wrong, she remembers that it’s just “Never as Good as the First Time.”

With Promise, Sade taught young women like myself how to handle the intense feelings of love with poise. She showed me that it’s more than okay to love intensely and adore vigorously, but it’s equally as important to grapple with heartbreak in a way that preserves your virtue. — Micaela Garza

Dirty Computer — Janelle Monáe

“They called us computers,” Janelle Monáe utters at the beginning of her visual album, Dirty Computer. “You were dirty if you looked different. You were dirty if you refused to live the way they dictated. You were dirty if you showed any form of opposition at all.”

In Dirty Computer, Janelle Monáe plays with sci-fi tropes in a fictional narrative to celebrate nonconformity in all its variations. Portraying the character of Jane 57821, Monáe loses her memories as two white men slowly strip them away, contrasting clean white labs with colorful bursts of joy and life. Songs like “Screwed” exemplify this contrast, in which playful pop beats underscore lyrics like “hundred men telling me to cover up my areolas while they blocking equal pay, sippin’ on they Coca Colas.”

Ultimately, science fiction questions who will win: society or the individual? Throughout the album, Monáe's memories remain strong in their criticism. “Django Jane” asserts the power of “Black girl magic,” “Pynk” is a celebration of female sexuality, and “I Like That” is Monáe’s love letter to herself, as she proclaims “I always knew I was the shit.” However, memories fade with each passing moment, fooling listeners into thinking society has won: Janelle is now just Jane. Like any good movie, there is a moment when it seems like all hope is lost. The credits roll and you get up to leave, when suddenly the chorus calls, “We’ll win this fight.” Janelle breaks out with her two lovers, a demand for a more inclusive society.

“Dirty Computer” is not just a must watch for science fiction lovers, but also a celebration of Janelle Monáe’s ‘outcast’ status as a Black pansexual woman. In an interview with the Rolling Stone, Janelle Monáe says that she considers herself to be a “free ass motherf-cker” because of her identity. “Dirty Computer” at its core is a celebration of the nuances of feminism and a freeing, hopeful message for underserved communities still struggling to find a light in these dismal times. — Srija Reddy

Pafuera Telarañas — Bebe

Image courtesy of Parlophone Music Spain

Spanish alt and Latin rock fans revel in the genre’s ‘90s and 2000s glory. Manu Chao for the marihuaneros; La Ley for the brooding nihilists; Café Tacvba for the salt-of-the-earth, acoustic life philosophers; Hombres G for the ska enthusiasts; Maná for the mainstream rockeros. Different tastes for different occasions, these bands were once stacked nicely in your cool uncle’s bedroom. (Or was that just me?) Aside from being revered as rock Latino legends, every single one of these groups has an underlying commonality: They’re completely made up of men.

Shakira’s melodrama. Julieta Venegas’ pop-laden rock brand. Natalia Lafourcade’s grunge-rock-turned-acoustic-homages. These were the chicas rudas of the Y2K era. Entering the Latin alternative scene in 2004 with her highly-experimental debut Pafuera Telarañas, Spanish artist Bebe (born María Nieves Rebolledo Vila) quietly marked her spot alongside these big name rockeras. Opener “Men Señará” showcases Bebe’s raspy crooning alongise plucky acoustics: “El aire se respira / Huele a tierra moja' / Mi perro duerme a mis pies / Él cuida de mi hogar [The air is taken in / Smelling of wet earth / My dog sleeps at my feet / He cares for my home].” Escalating at its chorus, the song’s melody is then accompanied by rhythmic maracas, funky bass, and rosy drumming, stamping its place in early 2000’s music revelry.

The rest of the album transitions seamlessly through various genres: the flamenco-hip-hop love child of “Malo,” the earthy acoustics and maracas of “Siete Horas,” the ghoulish ska of “Ska de la Tierra,” and the vintage feel of her a capella version of “Razones.” But perhaps the track that best encompasses Bebe’s gritty brand is the grungy “Siempre Me Quedará.” Sung over the same four chords, Bebe whispers: “Cómo decir que me parte en mil / Las esquinitas de mis huesos / Que han caído los esquemas de mi vida / Ahora que todo era perfecto [How to tell you that into a million pieces / The corners of my bones break / That my life’s schemes have fallen / Now that everything was perfect.]” The song’s lowkey feel emphasizes the Spanish singer’s raspy vocality, abandoning perfection for raw performance.

Though Bebe never gained traction the way that her female rockera contemporaries did, her experimental approach to music and unabashed self-expression marked her place in Latin Alternative history. — Samantha Paradiso

Jagged Little Pill — Alanis Morissette

Alanis Morissette tried dance pop twice as a teenager before becoming the alt-rock icon she is today. (Her first record actually even went platinum in Canada.) She recorded two more albums, including 1995’s Jagged Little Pill, before turning 20, though her most famous record’s release came just weeks after her 20th. Alanis’ third album — which brought singles like “You Oughta Know” and “Ironic” to our ears — earned her Album of the Year at the 38th Grammys, making her the youngest to accomplish the feat at the time, at the age of 21.

Alanis was a wunderkind if there ever was one, and she spoke for legions of women and girls with her take-no-prisoners lyricism. “Right Through You” depicts a woman larger than her misogynists: “You took me out to wine dine 69 me / But didn't hear a damn word I said / I see right through you / (…) I walk right through you.” Morissette, like many women making rock music in the ‘90s, was often described as ‘angry.’ But there are several things wrong with this caricature: One, Morissette was right to be angry when she was. Two, she was as angry about as often as she was anything else, like any other human being.

This is apparent in the vulnerability of songs like “All I Really Want,” which opens the record. The first chorus on this entire album goes: “And all I really want is some patience / A way to calm the angry voice / And all I really want is deliverance.” Morissette is complex. It’s why songs from this album soundtrack 21st century films like “Lady Bird” and “Booksmart”; she was a young woman singing about young womanhood in a way that’s persevered through the 26 years since its release. — Felix Kalvesmaki

Exile In Guyville — Liz Phair

“I bet you fall in bed too easily with the beautiful girls who are shyly brave”; “He’s just a hero in a long line of heroes looking for something attractive to save”; “They say he’s famous but no one can prove it” — Liz Phair’s nonchalant deadpan drips with mansplaining burnout in her 1993 debut LP. In the contrarian indie rock scene of Chicago, parties quickly devolved into masculine displays of musical knowledge that proved boring at best and alienating at worst. Determined to show these men that their Sophisticated Music wasn’t all that deep, the classical artist — and secret songwriter — made an album of her own.

“I practice all my moves / I memorize their stupid rules / I make myself their friend / I’ll show them just how far I can bend,” Phair proclaims in “Help Me Mary,” her official mission statement. “I’m asking you, Mary, please / Temper my hatred with peace / Weave my disgust into fame / And watch how fast they run to the flame.”

Contempt is a powerful motivator. Exile in Guyville, the tape Phair only intended to pass around Wicker Park, became a feminist landmark and a critical darling at the height of the 1990s guitar rock spectacle. Here was a woman armed with a Mustang and a flat voice ready to infiltrate a sea of sad boy confessionals with her own songs about sex and longing and manipulation and heartbreak. A sprawling chronicle of feminine frustrations and desires, the record’s unflinching honesty spread nationally.

“What ever happened to a boyfriend / The kind of guy who makes love ‘cause he’s in it?” Phair wonders in “Fuck and Run,” an acoustic lament of a one night stand. “I want a boyfriend / I want all that stupid old shit / Like letters and sodas.” Yet, despite this yearning, Phair is unafraid to delight in “things unpure, unchaste”; fantasizing about being someone’s “blow job queen,” the filthy loop “Flower” soon became the record’s controversial standout. Who knew women could be so multi-faceted?

Guyville covers a lot of ground, but Phair’s off-kilter songwriting ties the 18-song hour together. From the shimmering chords of “Divorce Song” and “Strange Loop” to the slip and slide lounge act “Stratford-On-Guy,” the record sounds lo-fi but full, its melodies catchy but inimitable. “Wild and unwise, I wanna be mesmerizing too,” she sings in the sauntering “Mesmerizing,” a magnetic solo firing off behind her. With a sense of self this strong, the young artist achieved this feat on her first try. — Carys Anderson