Andie Davis’s novel Let Me Liberate You is an impressive debut that vividly embeds the reader into Barbadian culture.
Kirkus wrote of the book:
“A satire of class, race, and savior complexes.”
In her own words, here is Andie Davis’s Book Notes music playlist for her debut novel Let Me Liberate You:
Let Me Liberate You starts with a case of impostor syndrome. Artist Sabre Cumberbatch, plagued by self-doubt as her star rises, flees New York for her birthplace of Barbados with the vague intention to do something more meaningful than art to justify the fame and money. Barely arrived, she launches a crusade to liberate the island’s domestic workers – starting with her aunt’s own housekeeper, Isilda Devonish, whose self-effacing demeanor Sabre reads as oppression. It’s a sendup of class dynamics and savior complexes, set in a small country determined, like Sabre herself, to chart its own course against powerful currents.
I didn’t listen to music while writing the manuscript, but I was attuned to its musicality. That’s what makes this book Bajan to me, beyond setting and dialect – the pacing of conversations, the hyperlocal radio show jingles and snow-cone cart horns, the flavors of silence, the ambient hum of nature. And, of course, the music itself: part of the action takes place during Crop Over, so I had fun writing original soca songs to embed in the scenes. Here’s a playlist to take you through the beats of the story.
“Disparate Youth,” Santigold
When we first meet Sabre, she’s squirming in a group interview of emerging artists. Everyone’s quirks are dialed up to 11, and she feels pressure to play along. Black-skinned, lanky, and bald from childhood alopecia, she’s never sure whether her fame is down to actual talent or to people’s tendency to compare her to icons – Grace Jones in looks, Jean-Michel Basquiat in the abstract style of her work. But is she even an artist? Photography began as her escape into darkrooms, away from schoolyard taunts about her bald head and Bajan accent. Yet here she is today, more mistrustful than ever of the attention. To paraphrase Santigold in this song that captures Sabre’s unsettledness, she knows she wants more than empty adulation: she wants a life worth fighting for.
“Boots,” Mighty Gabby
Barbados is a raucous democracy. We are participants, arguers, organizers, doers, protesters and critics. Sociopolitical issues are debated in church pews and living rooms, in rum shops and on talk radio. The soundtrack to it all is social commentary calypso – witty, of-the-moment political musical essays you can wine to. One of the most beloved artists in this genre is the Mighty Gabby. His 1983 classic “Boots,” a protest song condemning Barbados’s complicity in the US-led invasion of Grenada, took the government to task for overspending on defense at the expense of other national priorities. It is amid such a din that Sabre launches her crusade, and had she tuned into the conversation, she might have noticed that Bajans aren’t sitting around waiting to be saved.
“Bitch Better Have My Money,” Rihanna
And who gets to decide who needs saving? Sabre sets her sights on Isilda, her aunt’s housekeeper. An almost spectral presence in the household, Isilda avoids eye contact and unnecessary conversation, executes her duties noiselessly (even her slippers seem to make no noise when she walks), and eats alone in the kitchen while the family sits at the table. Surely she’s oppressed? But when Sabre announces her campaign on talk radio, she’s shocked to see the meek Isilda suddenly sprout fangs. Turns out, Isilda doesn’t see herself as oppressed at all: “I ain’t want no liberating… I here to work and keep peace.” She’ll do anything to protect her job, including threatening Sabre with bodily harm for putting her job at risk. Like this ferocious track from our Bajan sister Rihanna, Isilda knows when to turn on the savage.
Isilda’s objections notwithstanding, Sabre’s campaign – branded the Cumberbatch Initiative – gains traction. People are drawn to her vague yet earnest message of upliftment and equality. The labor movement comes aboard and at their first joint rally (hate-attended by an incredulous Isilda), someone leads the crowd in singing a calypso about Caribbean unity. For that scene, I wanted to use this classic by the legendary Trinidadian calypsonian Black Stalin; I grew up hearing it on the radio and still love it. But I didn’t have clearance, so the rallygoers had to sing my own inferior creation instead!
“We Found Love,” Rihanna
As the Cumberbatch Initiative engulfs the island, Isilda finds herself in the unlikely position of sympathizing with her boss, Sabre’s publicly humiliated aunt Aggie, a fearsome attorney nicknamed “the Terror”. Both see Sabre as an interloper who has returned to Barbados to disturb peace and threaten life as they know it. But having a common enemy doesn’t erase the class tensions between Aggie and Isilda, and Aggie’s attempts to bond with Isilda can misfire – like the time she pisses Isilda off by belting out the wrong lyrics to a Rihanna song every Bajan should know by heart: “We found love in a o-a-sis!”
“Satta Massagana,” Third World
Things get spoiler-y from here, so I’ll leave off describing the plot and go with vibes instead. Isilda’s neighborhood is a distinct vibe. It’s a poor, tight-knit community perched on the edge of a gully, which, in addition to its thicket of mango, breadfruit, and coconut trees, is populated by Bajan green monkeys. This meditation by Third World, with its sounds of nature and mellow incantations, evokes the mystical, almost sacred calm of the gully, a place that bustles under its stillness.
A deep cut from a criminally underrated Bajan soca artist, “Muddy” takes inspiration from the Foreday Morning part of our Crop Over festivities. During Foreday Morning, we rise in the wee hours (foreday means “before daybreak”), smear ourselves in “mud” (body paint and chocolate sauce), and dance through the streets behind music trucks until sunrise. Key moments of this story occur during the foreday hours. Are the characters caked in mud? You’ll have to read to find out – but this song captures the smeary, smutty, sensuous foreday atmosphere to perfection.
“Umi Says,” Yasiin Bey / Mos Def
Back to Sabre for a second. Suffice it to say that the Cumberbatch Initiative gets away from her, and she finds herself in a tailspin. I’ve always loved the intimacy of this song, the vulnerability and urgency that Yasiin Bey/Mos Def expresses beneath the turmoil of that gorgeously restless bassline. It reflects Sabre’s state of mind at a major inflection point.
“Roll it Gal,” Allison Hinds
This modern classic by the Queen of Soca, Barbados’s own Allison Hinds, is a women’s empowerment anthem. And indeed, women roll the action throughout the story – it passes the Bechdel test for sure. Mileage and destinations may vary among this diverse group, but it was a pleasure for me to follow their journeys.
“All Ah We,” Peter Ram
At the end of it all, Let Me Liberate You is a love letter to Barbados. This jump-up party tune feels like a love letter too – to our rambunctious culture, to possibility, to strangers becoming friends. It’s a triumph of love over fear, a joining of hands and forces to step joyfully into the unknown. It is one of my favorite songs for my favorite place on earth.
Andie Davis’s curiosity about other people’s lives inspired her love for languages and her travels around the world. Born in Montserrat, Davis grew up in Barbados before moving with her family to the US, where she attended Howard University and Harvard Law School. She works as a global development advisor focused on sustainability. She lives in New York City.