To no surprise, Mereba showed up and shut Tiny Desk (via NPR Music) down, while wearing the flyest hot pink fit I’ve ever seen in my life. Performing four pieces (consisting of song and spoken word) from her 2019 studio album, The Jungle Is The Only Way Out, she absolutely glows in the intimate setting that Tiny Desk is known for. She has many gifts, and the way she is able to command audiences with her live performance only heightens the experience of her soul-baring words. Between songs she engages, explains her thought process, and what she had been feeling during the time she was creating. Really, she’s been blessing us for years, and it’s the way she’s constantly giving her all in her collaborations with fellow extremely talented Black artists that initially piqued my interest. I wouldn’t say she’s “underrated.” I will say that as someone who naturally gravitates towards authentic artists (always in search of new voices—especially Black women voices, explorative production, and lyrics that speak to the poet in me) who may not necessarily have the “huge following” the music industry tends to prioritize— real recognize real, and we all know Tiny Desk don’t be asking just anybody. I’m saying put some respect on Mereba’s name, always. Time and time again she shows us range, musicianship, artistry, potency, and swag.  After vibing with her close-knit concert, I decided to revisit The Jungle Is The Only Way Out for another fully uninterrupted listen and pay close attention to the emotions the work has always evoked. 

This album is powerful. It’s poignant and embodies Black womanhood, mixing genres and exploring their intersectionality as we experience intersectionality ourselves, being both Black and woman. Mereba understands heaviness, unpacking, and working hard to make your dreams come true. There are many stages of reflection on your way to the top, especially with all of the adversity and obstacles that threaten intersectionality every single day. Her songs, like “Kinfolk,” are important for the diaspora; with their tones and feelings of freedom, kinship, escapism, fantasies of better tomorrows, and reminders of strength. There’s an ode to ancestors in its lyrics: “Dirty speakers scream in our face/And the teachers keeping some secrets safe/That's why we read between the pages.” “Kinfolk” feels Black as fuck for so many reasons.  Powerful lyrics, vocals, and production aid in this sense of leadership and showing us the way to salvation. “I've been chilling with my kinfolk/We've been puffin' on the blunt smoke/Diggin' for our hidden treasures/Don't you see/We got what no money could measure/And we could be free/If we'd peep our hidden treasures.” It lies within us, it grows when we care for one another, when we work together; when we dig, overturn, replant, focus on creating change as well as hoping for it. There’s power in sharing space and collective input as well as taking action, and of course there is still a lot of internal work to be done.  

Mereba is not to be played with and her talent is limitless. She’ll start going off with spoken word and/or rap, she’ll produce the beat, ride the fuck out of it, and sing you into tranquility all on the same track if she feels like it. “Planet U,” which I personally need to have on loop proves it. It expresses the wonder of exploring new dimensions—of life, of love; how they birth hardship but so much power just as well. “Black Truck” is also always on repeat. It hits me hard emotionally, from identifying as a loner to describing pain—both generational and personal, to refusing to settle or subscribe to society’s stereotypes and interpretation of Black womanhood. “I been through the storm/I heard thunder in my heart/And I've said "World would you please shine a light up on me?/Or would you show me a sign you love me?" I don’t wish to be the “strong Black woman.” I want to be cared for, to love as- and be loved for- exactly who I am, just as tenderly and gently as I do others. I find power in my identity, in my individuality, and how I choose to heal from the world’s brutality is my business and will not be compromised. There’s power in believing in yourself! There’s power in not being sorry. There’s power in proclaiming everything she does in the song: “Ohh, I'm not sorry/Stay sick ‘cause I follow my gut/They say I was pushing my luck/Now I'ma push me a matte all black truck.” In other words, don’t play with us. We aren’t here for entertainment.   

There’s the power of Mereba’s pen throughout, and again there is no end to the beauty of her collaborations. On this album there is “Sandstorm,” featuring fellow Spillage Village member JID, which Issa Rae recognized as “one of the greatest duets of all time” (no lies told there) and “Heatwave," featuring 6LACK (whom I am also a fan of); all crazy good Black musicians (multitalented, natural wordsmiths, authentic creators), shining in their own light and giving the industry so much of what it often lacks. If you haven’t fallen in love with “Sandstorm” yet, go do that, and then let’s also talk about what “Heatwave" spotlights and its grasp on expressive seriousness. It melodically caresses hard times and cares for generational wounds: “See it as you see it in your skin boy/And they clips got the chips boy/They got that heat on they hip, yeah/And they can't wait to let it rip boy.” It’s a powerful message through such beautiful voices that expresses this commonality of police brutality that for us, plagues this country and threatens our livelihood; it is constantly felt no matter how hard we try to shake it. “I fall flat like I'm trying out for track/'Cause they beat a nigga blue just for loving that he black/My advice is, run like Obama 'fore they catch you like Osama/Better, run like a nose ’fore they catch you like a cold (6LACK).” It’s heartbreaking. We must allow ourselves to feel, to cry, to hurt, acknowledge our pain, sometimes we have to feel it. Feel it all, feel everything until it passes—no matter how momentary, then release what can no longer weigh you down. It’s a process, it takes work, it’s an uphill battle, it’s a journey.

The title explains the journey, and her vocals and lyrics carry us wherever we are being guided.  Sitting with The Jungle Is The Only Way Out, I think about all the times in my life when I’ve felt truly lost, when life was taking me in so many directions I’d never intended on going, and the anxiety of not knowing if they were the right directions in the first place. Eventually, I’d get to new plateaus and realize there’s a certain freedom that comes with accepting change, understanding that so much is out of my control, and still getting up and giving it my best shot, over and over again. As exhausting as the journey can be, I come out grateful for the experiences that though I never planned, are ultimately molding me into who I’m supposed to be —stronger, smarter, wiser, more mature with new levels of understanding myself and the special folks I’ve met along the way. I’m learning there are no shortcuts between who I am now, and who I want to be, and it’s more about the journey than the destination. This jungle is so easy to get lost in and that may be the whole point; it’s unfamiliar, it’s frightening, at times the experiences are painful, and other times will be the best you’ve ever had. The journey creates so many memories and chances for life-changing reflection in hindsight.  There is no avoiding the jungle between where I am now and where I’m trying to go, it’s the only way out.