Anniversaries: Love Me Back by Jazmine Sullivan
Jazmine Sullivan channels the spirits of her musical foremothers while forging her own identity. Love Me Back gives so much love that it compels you to love it back in return.
It’s been well over a decade since Jazmine Sullivan dropped Love Me Back, her sophomore album released in late 2010 amid high expectations and private trepidation. This was the follow-up to Sullivan’s acclaimed debut Fearless (2008), the record that earned her multiple Grammy nominations and established her as one of R&B’s most promising voices. Yet behind the scenes, the young Philly singer-songwriter was haunted by an all-too-real prospect—the fear of being dropped by her label. Sullivan knew that the music industry’s memory can be short and unforgiving (she’d even experienced it once before, when an early record deal fell through). Rather than paralyze her, however, that anxiety became a wellspring of creativity. Love Me Back broke into the conversation as an album forged under pressure, where Sullivan poured her insecurities, ambitions, and passions into a vibrant collection of songs.
The lead single “Holding You Down (Goin’ in Circles)” is a prime example—a track richly sampled with familiar gems of 80s and 90s R&B/hip-hop, yet elevated by Sullivan’s fresh perspective. Missy Elliott (one of the album’s executive producers and Sullivan’s mentor) stitches together a patchwork of loops—Doug E. Fresh and Slick Rick’s “La Di Da Di,” Mary J. Blige’s “Be Happy,” Audio Two’s “Top Billin’,” the Honey Drippers’ “Impeach the President” breakbeat, Nas’s “Affirmative Action,” and more all make cameo appearances. On paper, it reads like a ‘90s mixtape fever dream, but in practice, “Holding You Down” avoids mere nostalgia or cliché. Sullivan’s voice deftly wraps around the beat with a hard-earned sass, as she vents about a relationship that has her “going in circles.” The song’s very construction—built on spinning old-school samples—cleverly mirrors the lyrical theme of being stuck in a loop. It’s a loving tribute to the past that still packs the punch of the new. Sullivan was mining the depths of hip-hop soul history here, but she did so in service of her own story, not just for retro flair.
The chilling first-person narrative of “Redemption” shows Sullivan’s willingness to venture into daring new territory. Over a raw R&B groove (nothing but a simple, steady drum line at first), Sullivan unfurls an epic tale of violence and regret that could be a short film. Here she doesn’t just sing a song—she inhabits characters. In the first verse, her lush alto drops to a lower, quavering register as she takes on the persona of a desperate female drug addict begging for mercy. By the second verse, her voice hardens and digs even deeper to portray an abusive boyfriend staring down his own moment of truth. Both narrators are on the brink of catastrophe—“about to meet their maker”—and each cries out to God for salvation at the last second. Sullivan’s performance on “Redemption” is nothing short of cinematic: she switches from rap-inflected storytelling to keening sung pleas, making you feel every ounce of these characters’ panic and yearning for deliverance. It’s a startling piece of songwriting for a young artist, confronting domestic violence and street tragedy head-on. (In some ways, it plays like a prelude to “Call Me Guilty” from her debut, which imagined an abused woman pushed to the edge.)
The emotional range of Love Me Back is wide, and Sullivan traverses it with confidence. On “10 Seconds,” she taps into the kind of righteous anger that first put her on the map with the revenge anthem “Bust Your Windows.” But where “Bust Your Windows” was brash and immediate, “10 Seconds” is a slow-burning ultimatum—almost elegant in its fury. Built on a stately, marching rhythm and ominous bass line, the song finds Sullivan giving her unfaithful man literally ten seconds to pack up and leave. “You did me wrong for the last time,” she seethes, promising that when her countdown ends, hell hath no fury like what’s coming. Her vocals sounded here “lived-in” and emotionally raw—cracking and fraying at the edges as she lets her rage boil over. Sullivan holds nothing back: her voice slides from controlled, bitter restraint in the verses to a full-on roar in the chorus, venting betrayal and pain in real time. (In the memorable music video, she even kidnaps and ties up the cheating boyfriend, underscoring just how “crazy” she might get once those ten seconds are up.) It’s an unbridled fury delivered with soulful finesse—Sullivan pours herself into the song yet keeps her ground so it never devolves into mere screaming. Instead, the track simmers with a controlled burn, showing how she had matured as a performer who could convey anger without losing the musicality of her delivery.
Where that song represents the anger, “Stuttering” is the flip side of the coin—raw vulnerability and nervous romance set to music. Co-written with pop maestro Toby Gad, it’s a gorgeous, piano-driven confession of love that leaves Sullivan tongue-tied and emotionally exposed. Over gentle keys and a classic R&B sway, she tries to express feelings so intense they literally render her speechless. “I—I—I can’t believe it, I’m st-st-stuttering,” she sings, her normally robust voice turning soft, fluttery, even playful as she mimics the title’s affliction. The arrangement builds slowly, layering doo-wop style background harmonies and strings, giving the song a retro-soul warmth. Yet it never feels like pure pastiche; Sullivan’s delivery is too personal and present. There’s an anxious heart beating under the mellow groove—you can hear excitement and terror in her voice as she admits she’s utterly overwhelmed by new love. Sullivan“walks herself to the precipice of emotion without falling off on ballads, and indeed she strikes a beautiful balance between technique and feeling. She even cuts loose with some jazzy scats and vocal runs toward the end, as if to demonstrate that all that stuttering isn’t due to lack of skill but rather an overflow of emotion.
Just when you think Love Me Back might settle into safe territory, along comes “Don’t Make Me Wait,” a joyful left turn into synthetic pop-funk. This track is an immediate ear-perk, ushering in slinky 80s-inspired synths, a sprightly uptempo beat, and even a hint of Minneapolis groove—it’s Sullivan’s unabashed homage to Prince and the era when R&B cheerfully flirted with disco. Over a rubbery bassline and neon-lit keyboard stabs, Sullivan lets her hair down and her falsetto up. She purrs and coos in a breathy, flirtatious tone, playfully urging her lover not to keep her waiting for his affection. The whole thing feels like it could soundtrack a scene in a late-80s urban rom-com: it’s got that purple electricity running through it. Sullivan shows off a lighter vocal persona here—agile, sexy, and having fun with the track’s retro vibe. The production by Los da Mystro pumps it full of glossy electronic claps and a snare-heavy groove that wouldn’t be out of place in 1985, yet Sullivan’s presence on the mic gives it a modern, women-empowered twist. “Don’t Make Me Wait” is an example of Love Me Back’s willingness to experiment with style: coming right after a stormy ballad like “Good Enough,” its danceable seduction is a refreshing gear-shift that broadens the album’s palette.
That range extends to the album’s spirited collaborations and concept songs as well. On “U Get On My Nerves,” Sullivan engages in a witty post-breakup dialogue with R&B superstar Ne-Yo—a duet that plays out like a battle of the exes in real time. Over a midtempo, light-hearted track (produced by Bei Maejor and Ne-Yo himself), the two trade barbs and complaints, each accusing the other of being the crazy one in the relationship. It’s essentially a call-and-response argument set to a melody—and Sullivan shows her gift for conversational storytelling in the process. She and Ne-Yo bicker with such chemistry and comedic timing that one can easily imagine the scene: two proud lovers who’ve broken up, still stuck on the phone or in each other’s faces, protesting “I’m over you” a little too vehemently. It’s the classic “the ex doth protest too much” syndrome—a vivid image that speaks to how alive the song's narrative feels. Sullivan, for her part, delivers her lines with eye-rolling sass and exasperation, huffing “You’re so full of it!” one moment and then turning around to belt a silky hook the next. Ne-Yo proves a perfect foil, matching her tone for tone. Together, they create a mini soap opera in song.
Jazmine Sullivan turns her gaze inward and upward. Nowhere is this more evident than on the standout penultimate track, “Famous.” In many ways, it became the emotional climax of the album—a song that lays bare Sullivan’s own ambition, insecurity, and charisma in equal measure. It opens with the distant sound of crowd applause, like the overture to a grand dream. Over an inventive and understated mix of elements—handclap percussion giving a steady pulse, gentle piano chords, and swooning strings weaving in the background—Sullivan steps up to the mic almost as if onto a stage. What she proceeds to do is confess. “If I had a dollar for every time…” she starts, sketching vignettes of her relentless drive to make it big, to be heard, to be somebody. There’s a poignant duality to the song. On one hand, it absolutely radiates star power: Sullivan’s voice is confident, soaring, full of gospel grit and pop polish—the sound of a singer who knows she has the chops to conquer any stage.
On the other hand, the writing reveals an almost aching need beneath that bravado. She admits a kind of desperate hunger for validation, a practically tragic need to be loved by the world. “I wanna be famous,” she belts in the chorus, and you can hear both yearning and resolve in the way she stretches the word famous into a passionate run. This songwriting is Sullivan coming full circle: after exploring characters and relationships throughout the album, she’s now effectively turning the mirror on herself. Love Me Back, as a phrase, can sound like a lover’s plea, but here it also feels like Jazmine’s plea to the industry or the audience—love me back, because I’m giving you everything I have. There’s strength in her vulnerability. You genuinely believe Jazmine Sullivan has earned her place under the spotlight. It’s a goosebump moment and a highlight in her discography, showing her growth as both a self-aware songwriter and a formidable performer who can turn her own insecurities into an anthem.
The album doesn’t end there, though. Sullivan leaves us with “Luv Back,” a funky coda that brings a sense of closure and even levity after the intensity of “Famous.” Over a bouncing, dancehall-tinged beat (Missy Elliott’s handiwork is evident again here), Jazmine flips the breakup blues on their head—demanding her love back from the man who wasted it. “Just give me my love back,” she sings with a smirk, backed by upbeat electronic claps and a choir of background voices that make the track feel like a block party celebration. It’s part kiss-off, part reclamation of self. Throughout Love Me Back, Sullivan has taken us through the wringer of love—the circles of confusion, the seconds of fury, the depths of despair, the heights of desire, the hunger for fame—and with “Luv Back,” she came back smiling, empowered, and just a little bit cheeky.