Can We Just Let Summer Walker Be Great?
Summer Walker’s Tiny Desk show opens with Summer solemnly strumming chords, seated on a stool with her Fender in her lap.
Light reflects off of the crowded shelves into bright, sun-shaped streaks. The angelic glow coupled with Summer’s warm vocals invites imagery of the sunrise on an early, peaceful morning. But, while I could almost hear birds chirping through my headphones, others were hastily burying their heads back into the pillow with an exasperated huff.
Instead of being praised for her invitation to sing on a premier music performance platform, Summer is being criticized for not putting on much of a “performance.”
Fans wanted the boldness that shines throughout the Atlanta singer’s debut album Over It. Instead, Summer sits stoically singing from her seat and only briefly, and shyly, interacts with the crowd during and after her set. Summer does not pretend to perform an unauthentic and more energetic version of herself, and she suffers for it.
Thanks to the internet and decades of the perpetuation of exaggerated and false generalizations about Black women, we are expected to perform an archetypal version of Black femininity that favors boisterous and extroverted personalities. This expectation can be applied to just about anything, but in this case, it means fans demand Black female artists to make themselves into the characters we visualize while listening to their music. And while some women do turn up with their Hotties in every city and share Black Girl Magic with their Shea Butter Babies through soaring vocals and goofy banter, Summer just wants to sing. She hasn’t branded herself as a performer in any capacity and has been open about her social anxiety and aversion to attention.
Once again, Summer just wants to sing.
Summer makes music that feels like a lethargic stream of consciousness, like venting to your best friend on a late Friday night over one too many glasses of wine. Some songs are more upbeat, but for the most part, Summer keeps the mood mellow, and she brings that same flowing and contemplative energy to the Tiny Desk. Summer seems most interested in recreating the sonic landscape of her music, similar to others who have shared the Tiny Desk stage. Dvsn took us back to SEPT 5TH by bathing the space in the glow of sensual lighting while Tyler, the Creator captured the essence of Flower Boy by waiting over a minute to join his band behind the tiny desk. Just like these men, Summer creates a space where she could feel comfortable and share her art as she intended it to exist without necessarily performing a caricatured version of herself. And by those standards, she puts on a great show. Although she didn’t once again turn the stage into her own cozy bedroom, Summer is vocally present with a distant look in her eyes—looking and sounding very much lost in her own meditative thoughts.
Summer forces us to rethink our unfounded entitlement to Black women’s energy and to remember that even talented artists are not characters always willing to share certain parts of themselves on a public forum because she’s really not here for anything fake or gimmicky. Sure, she shares her pole-dancing talents on social media from the safety of her own home, but there’s a bit of a difference between NPR and Instagram Live.
In short, Summer Walker doesn’t owe us a damn thing.
Black women have the right to share their art on their own terms without pressure to mold themselves into an unrecognizable picture that their fans have imagined up for them. And Summer Walker has the right to a relaxed Tiny Desk Session. She has the right to protect her energy and be a Black artist without playing into fans’ interest in stereotypes about Black women in order to be found acceptable and interesting.
