Conceived in a cabin overlooking the Delaware River in upstate New York, Son Little’s latest album, Like Neptune, trades in the existential dread permeating previous work for unbridled joy and self-acceptance. In this verdant space of freedom, Son Little transmutes the chronic pain of self-doubt into a beautiful opus about overcoming generational trauma, decorating the altar of the primordial blues and elevating the labor of healing to high art.
“In the beginning of lockdown, I went into a closet full of junk and found a couple of boxes full of my old writing books,” Livingston explained. “There turned out to be 72 books in there.”
“The oldest book I got as a Christmas present when I was 9,” he continued. “In it, I wrote letters to myself about what was happening in my life. One page refers to a neighbor in Queens who abused me sexually around age 5. It was the first and only time I’d ever acknowledge this fact until after my 19th birthday, when I told my mother what had happened. She begged me go to therapy. I went under protest. My attempt wasn’t sincere. I wasn’t ready. I thought I could just power through it.”
Years of anxiety, depression, panic attacks and the aforementioned existential dread ensued, often dulled or numbed by the effects of alcohol, drugs, or sex. A frightening car crash and arrest finally led him back into therapy in 2017. Aggressively employing progressive methods like EMDR and somatic healing, Livingston, with the help of a trusted therapist, began identifying the roots of his trauma, and where it lives in the body. But the biggest breakthrough came from Internal Family Systems, a methodology that recognizes responses to trauma triggers as distinct entities or ‘parts’ within the person, and requires the patient essentially have conversations with the different traumatized personalities within them.
“One day in therapy I started talking to myself– to that annoying inner voice that criticizes everything when you mess up. I asked them how old they were and they said ’10’. I asked if they knew who I was, or how old I was and they said ‘no’! Strange as it all seems it’s had some amazing results. I’m able to soothe and comfort my inner…children.”
The open exchange with his wounded inner self challenges a tradition of silence that masks the trauma coursing through the bedrock of the genre; the impact of abuse has infamously undergirded the catalogs and upended the lives of some of R&B’s most iconic musicians. Like Neptune, however, counters that no student or practitioner of the tradition should believe trauma to be a necessary component of their sound.
