Anniversaries: Woman by Jill Scott

Jill Scott’s latest release sits at an interesting crossroads between refinement and retread. It does play it safe, whether or not it lights a new path forward.

Courtesy of Blues Babe Records/Atlantic.

Nearly a decade on, Jill Scott’s Woman still greets us with slow-burning warmth and the comforting scent of something cooking, figuratively speaking. The album opens not with a bang but with a spoken-word manifesto: “Wild Cookie.” Over a swirl of soft strings and drums, Scott delivers an audacious poetic monologue in which “Cookie” becomes an alter-ego for her own desirous autonomy. At first blush, it sounds like a playful homage to Empire’s bold matriarch Cookie Lyon, but soon Jill’s intent becomes clear. “Wild Cookie choices lead to lonely pregnancy,” she intones matter-of-factly, her tone wry yet cautionary. In Jill’s hands, the innocuous term “cookie” transforms into a symbol of feminine will and sexual appetite. She personifies her vagina as a wayward companion with a mind of its own, “detached from its seat,” as she half-jokes, conveying both the magnetic power of desire and the personal responsibility it demands. It’s a bold, cheeky introduction that sets the tone for Woman: intimate, unflinchingly honest, and grounded in everyday imagery. Scott’s poetic roots shine here; much like her earliest work, she isn’t afraid to begin an album with spoken word, signaling that Woman will be as much about storytelling and self-expression as it is about melody.

From that provocative intro, Woman eases into a suite of slow, familiar grooves that feel like home. Jill Scott has always excelled at making R&B that’s warm and lived-in, music you can slow-cook to. On this record, she doubles down on that domestic vibe. “Prepared,” the first full song, finds Scott literally and metaphorically readying herself for love as if prepping a meal. “I’ve been getting recipes off the Internet… I’ve been eating more greens,” she sings with a knowing smile. Over a mid-tempo neo-soul groove, she uses the language of kitchen wisdom and self-care to show she’s “prepared” for whatever life brings next. It’s a classic Jill move: blending soul nourishment with soul music. Longtime fans will recall that back on her debut, Who Is Jill Scott?, she was already singing about making breakfast for a lover on “The Way.” Food and love have always intertwined in her songwriting, symbols of nurture, comfort, and intimacy. On “Prepared,” those symbols signal personal growth, the sense that Scott is tending to herself, cooking up contentment in her own kitchen before Mr. Right even arrives.

“Closure” serves a dish of reality, and no more home-cooked breakfasts for the ex. Over a bouncy, vintage-tinged R&B arrangement (seasoned with a dash of funk from producer David Banner), Scott pointedly croons that she’s done indulging a man who did her wrong. “No more quiches, no more waffles, I won’t be cooking for you,” she all but laughs, turning a breakup into a sassy domestic metaphor. The very acts of service that symbolized love, those tender morning meals, are rescinded. It’s Jill’s witty way of saying “Boy, bye.” She withholds the comfort of her kitchen as she kicks him to the curb. The humor is rich and unmistakable. In “Closure,” Scott demonstrates that her sense of humor and sensuality are finely tuned tools; she can be scathingly funny and resolutely sexy in the same breath. By couching heartbreak in everyday rituals, such as cooking breakfast, she makes the song instantly relatable. We’ve all heard breakup songs, but Jill’s twist is to sing, essentially, “Don’t look for biscuits at my table—we’re done.” It’s both nurturing and savage, conveying the finality of a romance’s end with a homey, ironic wink.

These tracks bask in a languid warmth, the kind of grown-folks soul that Jill Scott has perfected over the years. Much of Woman moves at an unhurried pace, inviting listeners to sit back as if at a family gathering on a summer afternoon. The production relies on mellow, live-band instrumentation, featuring buttery bass lines, gentle keys, and understated horn riffs. There’s a reason one critic described the album as “slow in the way that the familiar is slow”—Scott isn’t in a rush to prove anything here. Instead, she settles into comfortable mid-tempo grooves and ballads that evoke the feeling of “mom-and-pop, all-you-can-eat R&B—sexy fun for grown folk over the age of 40, like speed dating at church.” It’s a deliberate throwback to classic soul sensibilities, an aesthetic that prefers rich flavor over flashy experimentation. Throughout the album, organs hum and guitars twang in subtle homage to Scott’s Philadelphia soul roots. (In her liner notes, Scott mentions blending “70s Philly soul” with a touch of country on some songs, and you can hear that earthy, analog warmth.) This is R&B comfort food, prepared by a chef who knows exactly how to season it.

Yet Woman isn’t entirely content to stay in simmer mode. Partway through, Jill turns up the heat with “Coming to You,” a track that breaks the album’s sleepy spell like a shot of espresso. Propelled by insistent percussion and a funky bassline, “Coming to You” charges forward with a sense of mission. “I’m on my way, I’m almost there,” Scott belts urgently, injecting a dose of kinetic energy into an otherwise laid-back record. Her vocals are breathy and impassioned, riding the groove as the band hits a classic soul stomp. It’s the most up-tempo, urgent pulse on Woman, a song that harkens back to the driving soul of the late ‘60s and early ‘70s. One can catch a whiff of Shaft-era funk in its DNA, the kind of strutting beat that dares you not to move. Scott uses it to demonstrate resolve and tenacity more than just being a party starter. Indeed, the real fun on Woman often resides in the sultrier, more shimmering cuts that surround this tune. “Coming to You” provides contrast, a burst of forward momentum, but its urgency only underscores how much Jill excels when she lays back in the pocket and lets a song simmer.

If “Coming to You” is the record’s brief sprint, “Fool’s Gold” is its irresistible stroll, and arguably Woman’s crowning moment. Over a buoyant, bouncy instrumental that sparkles with a dreamy lightness, Scott sings about the hard lesson of romantic disillusionment. The melody is so catchy, so radio-friendly, one might at first miss the ache in the lyrics. Jill opens the song in a sweet, clear tone: “I was living the dream, believing things that just ain’t true…” It’s a confession of a woman waking up from a love that turned out to be fool’s gold, glittering with promise but ultimately worthless. “Oh, I can’t believe I ever believed in you,” she chides her former lover with a mix of bitterness and bemusement, “Had me chasing fool’s gold.” The phrase ties the song directly to its theme: just as fool’s gold deceives prospectors, a charming man deceived Jill’s heart. And yet, paradoxically, “Fool’s Gold” sounds uplifting. Its groove bounces along at a midtempo trot; bright piano chords and a snapping backbeat give it the polish of a summer jam rather than a torch song. Scott’s vocals are multi-tracked into lush harmonies on the hook, reinforcing a dreamy atmosphere.

Amid these shifts from sultry to urgent to bubbly, Woman finds its emotional center in songs like “Lighthouse.” This ballad is a gentle, slow-burning, anchored by a soothing electric piano and the tender caress of Scott’s voice. This song blends two roles that are often portrayed separately in love songs; here, Jill is both protector and seductress, sanctuary and temptation in one. “I’m your shelter,” she assures her lover, a line delivered with such warmth and sensuality that it sounds like both a promise of safety and a siren’s call. She offers herself as a beacon in the night, a guiding light for her partner’s weary soul, even as her velvety vocals wrap around the listener like a lover’s embrace. There’s a dual power in the song: on one hand, it’s almost spiritual in its reassurance (one can imagine a lighthouse guiding ships to safe harbor, a gospel-like metaphor for guidance through stormy times), and on the other hand, Jill’s tone is undeniably seductive, letting the “siren” in her shine through.

In the context of Jill Scott’s wider body of work, Woman sits at an interesting crossroads between refinement and retread. When Jill burst onto the scene with 2000’s Who Is Jill Scott?: Words and Sounds, Vol. 1, she was rightfully hailed as a fresh voice in neo-soul, a poetic bohemian from Philadelphia who blended jazz, spoken word, and R&B in innovative ways. That debut felt revelatory, brimming with youthful innovation: it had sparse, sultry grooves that left space for her poetic musings, and a fearless approach to subject matter (from the ecstatic scat-sung devotion of “He Loves Me (Lyzel in E Flat)” to the everyday romance of “A Long Walk”). Jill’s seductive debut intimated that Erykah Badu had a rival for the title of queen of cosmic soul. The understated cosmic beauty of that first LP has largely been replaced by a more formulaic Philly soul approach, where Jill often hollers and chastises ex-lovers in a traditional R&B fashion. The comparison is striking: Who Is Jill Scott? felt like it was pointing R&B toward the future, whereas Woman leans on tried-and-true retro soul vibes – perhaps intentionally so. In the interim, Jill’s career saw her branching out. By 2011’s The Light of the Sun, she was incorporating hip-hop elements and collaborating with rappers, adding a modern edginess to her sound. The Light of the Sun had a loose, jam-session quality, complete with spoken interludes and rap-inflected duets – from the playful brag of “Shame” (trading lines with Eve) to the sultry, slow jam-laced “So Gone (What My Mind Says)” featuring Paul Wall. Those experiments showed Jill’s willingness to push her music into new territory.

Compared to that, Woman is deliberately grounded in “old soul” aesthetics. Notably, it features no rap verses or obvious contemporary trend-chasing. Instead, Scott re-enlisted longtime collaborators like Andre Harris (who helped craft her early hits) and focused on rich live instrumentation. In doing so, she created an album that one could argue “Scott’s mastered the formula of candlelit, slow-cooker music” with all her trademark humor and heart on display. There’s a comforting sense of coming full circle; the record even debuted at No. 1 on the Billboard 200, affirming that her audience loves this familiar recipe. But does mastering the formula equate to stagnation? That’s the lingering question Woman leaves in Jill Scott’s catalog. Some critics in 2015 found the album good but underwhelming, precisely because it didn’t surprise. The consensus was that Woman “lacks the dynamism” of Jill’s most groundbreaking work and misses the mark… because it’s less inventive than what came before. It’s as if Jill traded the element of surprise for consistency. The album’s most decisive moments, the sultry, moodier tracks like “Lighthouse” or the ultra-melodic “Fool’s Gold,” indeed shine, but a few of the filler tracks feel unnecessary. There’s no doubting Scott’s talent; her voice remains a force of nature, capable of both power and restraint in equal measure. Yet Woman plays it safe, relying on the mature mom-and-pop soul toolkit she’s sharpened over the years, rather than inventing a new sound for herself.

So, nearly ten years later, how does Woman hold up? In truth, it depends on what you seek in a Jill Scott record. If you come for the rich vocals, the earthy humor, and the sensual slow jams that feel like a warm hug, Woman delivers in spades—its laid-back charm has aged well, like a favorite comfort food recipe passed down through generations. The album remains a masterclass in mood: put it on, and you can practically feel the candlelight and smell the incense. Scott’s ability to make you feel seen and soothed as a listener is intact; the songs still invite sing-alongs and head-nods, and those lyrical details (the cookies and quiches, the fool’s gold and lighthouses) still spark smiles of recognition. In that sense, Woman’s mastery of its own formula does feel fresh in its sincerity, it’s refreshingly unbothered by trends, proudly adult in its perspective. But if you hunger for the thrill of innovation, the Jill who once blew our minds by fusing spoken word and neo-soul in novel ways, you might find Woman a tad too comfortable. Its pleasures are more about basking in familiarity than forging new ground. And for Jill Scott, that in itself may be a triumph: an album that, like a lighthouse in the dark, guides her fans safely back to the qualities that made us love her in the first place, whether or not it lights a new path forward.