Female Artists Make Freedom Tangible Through Song
Freedom as a concept is often difficult to pin down: is it a feeling, a state of being, an event? Is it something we ever truly have, or simply an illusion? Freedom itself—an intangible thing that is perceived uniquely by every individual—is not something we constantly have. For young women, this is especially true. Between the double standards that are put upon girls from the moment they are born to the societal pressure to be the perfect girl, how can a woman ever truly feel free?
This is where modern female artists burst down the door. Lorde, Maggie Rogers, Hayley Kiyoko, Samia, Lizzo—you could search for days and never find the end of this list. These artists not only sing about their own experiences with freedom or the lack thereof, but present them in a light that is much more real than that of their male peers. To these women, freedom is not an intangible thing that you stumble into or receive—it is a device that you create for yourself.
In an other-worldly, almost spiritual experience, Maggie Rogers showcases just this. Within her light-weight music, she makes us feel as though we’re being guided through her songs, being shown pieces of freedom that—while initially are difficult to spot—are clearly labeled and precisely placed. In her 2019 hit “Light On,” there is a kind of floating essence to the song that makes you want to go somewhere—run through a field, take a drive down an abandoned road at dawn, dance outside on the hottest day of summer. While the lyrics talk about coming to terms with change, the music embraces it, as it flows from one sound to the next. The singer-songwriter alludes to a different kind of freedom: one where you make your relationship with life mutual by recognizing that the person you were in the past, the better life you had two years ago, or the passions you had to push to the side, are never really gone. While you leave the light on for them to come home, they do the same for you, wherever they have gone.
In “Burning,” Rogers expresses the wild emotions that come with being in love; it becomes not only an experience of mutual adoration, but a release of a previously dormant part of oneself. Her lyrics, when paired with the vulnerable nature of her voice, as well as the formidable sound of the song’s production, drive you to move—to free yourself from your current restraint. Similarly, in “Give A Little,” Rogers conveys an internal sense of control amongst an ever-changing life, assuring us that the very act of being disorderly and confused makes it so that “everything's fresh and everything's new.” In this way, Rogers presents freedom as something you can physically see, touch, hear, and feel the presence of: it is in the scent of the wind, a sunburn you can feel with the heat of the sun sliding over your skin; it is a person, your love, or your existence alone. For young women who often feel trapped by the societal standards, expectations, and life changes that they must face, this gives them a reassurance that freedom can still be had in something even as small as dancing in your one-bedroom apartment, or running down a flight of stairs on your way out of work.
Lorde, on the other hand, takes a much more raw approach to the subject, staring unhealthy dependence and the destructiveness of youth directly in the face with more harsh—but beautiful—sounds and lyrics. From Pure Heroine to Melodrama, each of Lorde’s songs build into an explosive expression of emotion: of heartbreak, frustration, and desire. They begin delicately, and grow into a fit of dissonant sound that seems to reflect what it truly feels like to be a young woman: you feel as though you have no control—over your life or the fiery state of the world. In “Perfect Places”, she “[feels] the party to [her] bones,” recognizes the “graceless” nature of the night, but concedes—things feel alright when she's dancing. The song starts simply, growing into a loud cacophonous expression of what it feels like to experience youth. Lorde seems to suggest that through the act of expressing such emotion and not allowing these feelings to stay bottled up—that is to say, to stay as delicate-sounding as the beginning of her songs—a certain amount of license is gained.
Furthermore, she owns the recklessness, laziness, cliqueness, and cluelessness that comes with being a teen in Pure Heroine through songs like “White Teeth Teens” and “400 Lux”, freeing herself from the stigma that is associated with what young people say and do. In Melodrama, she yells from the rooftops her relationship with love and youth, her loneliness, and her anger with songs like “Green Light,” “Hard Feelings/Loveless,” and “Supercut.” Lorde finds liberation in embracing the messy, and demonstrates that the things we do when we feel trapped are in and of themselves an expulsion of freedom—physical actions that loosen the tightness in our chests, if only for a few hours. The constant movement of sound within her songs exemplifies the physical nature of such freedom; it is something that comes from within, and therefore is created from within.
Bold-voiced Samia (who just released two new fantastic songs) does something similar with her music; she fully owns the ugliness that sometimes comes with being young and a woman, emanating a storm of confidence in songs as somber as “Milk” and as badass as “Someone Tell the Boys.” Her songs are deeply personal—as open and honest as her voice—and throw shame right out the window. In “Lasting Friend,” the indie artist declares, “I’m not ashamed of my past,” embracing the awkward sexual encounters of her middle school days for what they were. Combined with her confident, powerful voice, Samia shows us that reality is not something to hide: it is to be recognized, reflected upon, and owned. Even sadness is sexy in the way the New York artist perceives it in “Django”: clearly a ballad, the song is raw and heartbreaking, but also quite tongue-in-cheek for how obviously youth-centric the emotions are. Once again, Samia not only acknowledges the reality, but takes it with a smirk, singing, “You and I agree, but you more so than me / I have always been a wreck.”
While Samia’s voice is anything but simple, the production of her songs are often just as straightforward as her lyrics; they reflect her embracement of things as they are, and allow her voice to tell the story. Therefore, Samia shows young women that in seeing life experiences in a blunt, face-value manner, there is hope yet in gaining the foothold over the overbearing weight of the world. She emphasizes through her music that liberation is created in perception, and perception is an art. She turns heartbreak into hooks, and failure into fondness.
Many other female artists take the self-confidence route, as heard in Hayley Kiyoko’s “Girls Like Girls” and Lizzo’s “Juice”. These women turn stigmas and judgement on their heads and unashamedly declare that their pride—in their sexuality and in their bodies—is not only normal, but the only real option, in a world where they will be scrutinized no matter what. In Sizzy Rocket’s pleasantly infuriating party anthem “Thrills,” she puts freedom in the hands of the night itself: whatever happens—“caffeine, nicotine, sex and pills”—happens for the thrill of it. Compounded with the growl in her voice, Sizzy Rocket presents a song that not only allows women to be reckless, but praises them for it.
These female artists (and more) do more than make songs to sing and dance along to. To young women who have little autonomy in their lives, these songs are oxygen. They make freedom out to be a DIY project—achievable when you work with what you’ve got to create something entirely your own. They present freedom as something you can reach out and grab for yourself—a tool to make your life seem a little less daunting in all its male-centric glory.
So grab your headphones, dance your heart out, and get to work.