When listening to Escape Room, Teyana Taylor’s fourth studio album — which announces her return to music since retiring in 2020 — it’s as if she took a page from Toni Morrison’s classic novel Beloved. Morrison wrote, “Freeing yourself was one thing, claiming ownership of that freed self was another,” hence the essence of Taylor’s most vulnerable work yet. Escape Room, the title of which plays off the group game, chronicles the process of navigating grief, trauma, acceptance, and new beginnings. Its lyrics and messaging are poetic, right down to its last line, delivered by her eldest daughter, Junie Shumpert, who thanks Taylor for “coming back to you.”
Outside of her rising acting career, most news concerning Taylor has centered around her love life; be it the divorce complications from former NBA player Iman Shumpert or her presumed new beau, Disney’s Mufasa: The Lion King actor Aaron Pierre. Throughout Escape Room, it’s apparent the conclusion of her marriage with Shumpert served as a muse, paired with the prospect of new love and possibility. Escape Room’s visual component — written and directed by Taylor under the credit “Spike-Tey,” and featuring Pierre and LaKeith Stanfield, who plays Taylor’s fictitious ex-husband — solidifies that sense even more. Taylor’s lyricism is rooted in universal truths concerning the human process of loving, losing, healing, and starting anew.
The 22-track album (which intersperses monologues between its songs) opens with Tariji P. Henson — Taylor’s castmate in the recent Tyler Perry drama Straw — proclaiming “Even love is something you must escape.” The narration takes us into the album’s first track, “Fire Girl,” where Taylor expresses her rage, posing the question, “Am I wrong for choosing violence?/Am I wrong for breaking windows, slashing tires, fucking up fire hydrants?” A sentiment that seemingly pulls on a theme also found in Beyoncé’s 2016 LP, Lemonade. In the “Fire Girl” music video, Taylor struts down the street in crimson garments that only cover her womanhood, engulfed in flames, although unconsumed by them.
The other interludes, all penned by Taylor, are from the likes of Regina King, Issa Rae, Kerry Washington, and Jodie Turner Smith — who like Taylor, divorced her husband Joshua Jackson, in 2023. They all represent a different emotion in the healing process, ranging from rage, to acceptance, and maybe doses of comedic relief. Niecy Nash imparts realism, stating, “The hardest part isn’t the goodbye, it’s the silence that follows,” which leads to Taylor’s first feature on the album, “Hard Part,” where she duets with Lucky Daye in a bluesy hymn, whose lyrics pull on the heart as the bass line prompts a head nod. Danceable heartbreak seems to be a theme here, found in the house-music-influenced “Long Time,” where Taylor croons about a relationship being over long before her decision to physically leave. Despite its somber lyrics, the song’s beat will rightfully lead to voguing in a party setting. “Back to Life” may possibly be the most vulnerable song on the project, with Taylor pleading, “Why won’t you love me back to life/I’m dying,” in what feels like a final moment of desperation. (Its visual-album counterpart shows Pierre scooping the lifeless Taylor from the ground and placing her in his confines to revive her, making viewers question where the line of fiction and realism is drawn.) The album pivots to a brighter and sexier future, with actress Tasha Smith calling for “new dick memories”. “Pum Pum,” featuring the notable Jill Scott and Tyla, is a standout, getting to the heart of the matter, with Scott claiming her “pretty kitty” is “purring all over this album.”
“Bed of Roses,” is the kind of forward-looking R&B Taylor is known for, where aside from the sexiness, the promise of new love shines through, showing Taylor’s new challenge of learning vulnerability after disappointment. For listeners — especially listeners with kids — who have loved and lost in big ways, “Always,” featuring Taylor and Shumpert’s girls Junie and Rue, will easily bring a tears to the eyes, as Taylor sings “I still hope in the heart,” a line that speaks to new love, but also feels like a metaphor for always returning back to who and what grounds you to persevere.
While the monologues arguably paint a better picture of Taylor’s narrative when watching the video album in sequence, Taylor shines onscreen as well. Now on vocal rest, following a medical procedure done after the completion of Escape Room, in which benign tumors were removed from her vocal cords, Taylor’s tenacity, vulnerability and creativity seem ever expanding, making her love history and any current dealings much less interesting than the artist herself. Balancing motherhood, a career, and love in the public eye, her example offers new narratives of the possibilities available to multifaceted Black women.
The irony of Escape Room, is that it’s not about Taylor running away from her hurt, but rather toward it. It’s a meditation of what liberation can be in love and life. Escape Room challenges its listeners to understand that healing — be it heartbreak or bodily injury — is sometimes best done among your tight-knit community, where those who love you best remember the pieces of your soul, putting them back together again. Throughout the project, Taylor leans on her creative peers, her new love interest, and her children to hold her up as she offers a new expression of her authenticity in this moment. She is not bound to her past or your societal presumption and/or expectations. As she has shown in her recent departure from music and potent return, her liberation comes from her mutability and power to change her mind whenever she is presented with new feelings and ideas. Junie said it best: “Thank you for coming back to music.” Welcome home Tey — to the place within yourself and the new chambers in our hearts.
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