Madison Mitchell (’27), Staff Writer & Director of Social Media
The Death of Soul: Is Male R&B Losing Its Identity?
Madison Mitchell
Before I get attacked for the title of this article, I want to acknowledge that in the past two years, I have seen more than 25 artists in concert and at music festivals. In addition, I am a huge fan of mainstream and lesser-known artists within the R&B genre. So I can admit that when I first watched Camryn Suzanne’s YouTube video, “Male R&B is on Life Support. Can it be saved?” in her YouTube video, I opposed her claim. However, as I continued watching the video and considered the history of R&B, I could see how mainstream male artists are failing the genre. Don’t get me wrong, I love artists like PARTYNEXTDOOR, Bryson Tiller, Brent Faiyaz, and Chris Brown, but Suzanne made valid points, and I would like to discuss the main one that infiltrates our society.
A Shift in R&B: Passionless, Toxic, and Lacking Vulnerability
In the 1940s, rhythm and blues (R&B) made its big entrance. It originated from African-American communities and mixed gospel, blues, and jazz to create its distinct sound. Artists would often sing about painful experiences and their desire for freedom and joy while also writing lyrics filled with triumphs and failures. The genre’s defining trait was the emotional weight carried by the artist’s voice, which remained central through decades of evolution. If we examine the leading male R&B singers throughout time, a trend in terms of vocal ability and lyrical passion appears. From the vocal powerhouses of Michael Jackson, Luther Vandross, and Marvin Gaye to a fusion of rap and R&B in groups like Mint Condition, Jodeci, and 112, the roots of vulnerability and emotional depth were consistently conveyed. From the 1990s to the early 2000s, artists like Musiq Soulchild, Justin Timberlake, Maxwell, and Usher continued this tradition. As we entered the 2010s with Chris Brown, Mario, and Neyo, these qualities remained. Chris Brown, Trey Songz, and August Alsina defined early 2010s R&B, with Chris Brown still leading in the 2020s as artists like Brent Faiyaz, Bryson Tiller, and PartyNextDoor (PND) rise to prominence. However, as Camryn Suzanne suggests, our recent R&B artists have drifted from the expressiveness, passion, and vulnerability of their predecessors, instead embracing themes that often feel detached, toxic, and passionless. Arguably, there has been a complete tonal and subject shift in the music male R&B artists now make.
As we explore this shift within male R&B, it’s essential to define what we mean by toxicity and vulnerability and put it into the context of the Black community. Dr. Sarkis from Psychology Today defines being toxic as people harboring harmful behaviors that can have enduring impacts on the people around them. These people are often manipulative, self-centered, and lack empathy (para. 2). Being vulnerable involves putting yourself in a position that could lead you to getting hurt, frequently accompanied by uncertainty. Oftentimes, however, being vulnerable outweighs the risks when compared to the rewards. By being vulnerable with someone else, there is a sense of trust, understanding, and mutuality that is fostered within friendships and relationships (“How to be Vulnerable,” n.d.).
Considering these definitions, I would like to compare the concerts and lyrical content of PartyNextDoor (PND) and Maxwell. Both artists present distinct interpretations of R&B: PND, the more mainstream artist now, embodies toxic masculinity and contemporary themes, often reflecting a more casual and detached approach to relationships, while Maxwell represents the old-school love and passion that defined the earlier sound of R&B.
Although I am an avid PND listener and enjoyed his concert, it does not compare to Maxwell’s performance. PND’s vocal delivery is often mediocre, with his instrumentals frequently carrying the weight of his songs. Furthermore, his lyrics can be degrading to women and perpetuate toxicity in relationships. For example, in his song “Split Decision,” he states, “Gave me your heart, watch me break that… Me bein’ faithful’s the issue. Tryna clean up ’cause you comin’ soon, I broke her off in the livin’ room… Know that’s fucked up, that’s what pimpin’ do.” This showcases a troubling lack of accountability and emotional depth. This toxicity that PND speaks of in this song is often reinforced in the majority of his music. Additionally, the cover art for his most recent album, P4, reflects not only the music he creates but also his perspective on women, reinforcing the themes of objectification and detachment.
On the other hand, Maxwell’s performance centered on his powerful vocals. While he had a live band and backup singers, it was his voice that truly carried the concert. Although his movements weren’t choreographed, he embodied a performance style reminiscent of the former male R&B artists, seamlessly blending singing and stage presence. Maxwell’s songs are filled with themes of self-growth, love, forgiveness, and vulnerability, distinctly lacking in toxicity or objectification of women. His vulnerability shines through in “Pretty Wings,” where he sings, “Oh you played me dirty, your game was so bad. You toyed with my affliction. Had to fill out my prescription. Found the remedy, I had to set you free away from me, to see clearly the way that love can be.” This track showcases his powerful vocal delivery and emotional intensity, highlighting the pain of lost love and the longing for connection—elements that align with the foundational passion of R&B. This meaningful expression is evident in all of his songs, creating a direct contrast with PND’s often casual and objectifying lyrical content. Maxwell’s ability to convey deep emotion elevates his performance and reinforces the rich legacy of R&B.
Concluding Thoughts: Music as a Reflection of Society
Music will always reflect its society, and I would argue that today, many of us, whether we know it or not, idolize situationships, toxic relationships, and “playing games” in romantic contexts. While I genuinely enjoy listening to mainstream male R&B artists, there are a few questions that linger after watching Camryn Suzanne’s video and conducting my own research.
As we look at the trajectory of R&B, we see promising artists like October London and established names like Lucky Daye, who infuse soul and a classic feel into their music. This raises the question: can we return to the richer sounds of earlier R&B? Have we inadvertently sidelined artists like Miguel and Bruno Mars in favor of more toxic themes? Additionally, music activates nearly every part of the brain, influencing our emotions, memories, and behaviors (Eck, 2024, para. 11). This makes me wonder: does consuming music with toxicity affect our attitudes and actions? Are we, in a sense, contributing to a culture that discourages male vulnerability and objectifies women? While enjoying such music may not inherently be wrong, it’s crucial to reflect on the narratives we endorse and their potential impact on society.
As we navigate these complexities, we should remain open to the evolution of R&B, understanding that a genre’s sound will not stay the same forever. More importantly, as a community, we should uplift artists who promote authenticity, emotional depth, and respect within relationships.
