For BG, Zeimani, and Kucha Womack, the expectations that accompany their last name are impossible to escape. As descendants of one of soul music’s most celebrated families, they’re used to fielding questions about their lineage. (Their father, Cecil Womack, was one half of both the Womack Brothers, alongside his brother Bobby, and Womack & Womack, with his wife, Linda; their grandfather—Linda’s father—was Sam Cooke, aka the King of Soul.) “As a family, we try to stay together because that energy and that deep history that we have between us is what keeps us sane in the face of all the things we’ve gone through,” Zeimani has said. “That’s the reason why we called ourselves the Womack Sisters to begin with—to honor our uncles and our dad.”
On their self-titled debut album, the Womack Sisters inhabit family history instead of outrunning it. A conversation between generations, the record blends Southern soul, gospel, and classic R&B into a fluid mix steeped in the ’60s. Think Stax and Hi Records, the ethos of Muscle Shoals glimmering through the sheen of Los Angeles sun. It’s an efficient set: 11 tracks of brassy arrangements and sharp songwriting in 38 minutes, delivered without fluff or obvious digital manipulation. It takes me back to the type of soul my elders played during my childhood: Mavis Staples on a humid summer evening, the flimsy metal screen door the only thing protecting us from 80-degree heat.
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Produced by Daptone Records’ Gabe Roth, the album benefits from the pronounced grit of its tape-saturated mixdown and close-harmonized vocals, and their no-bullshit style of storytelling adds to the intrigue. On “Didn’t Mean Much to Me,” over muted guitar chords and a percolating electronic rhythm reminiscent of old home organs, Zeimani brushes off an ex. “Did you think I was stuck on you? Well you had me wrong,” she sings, with almost ecstatic nonchalance. “’Cause you never even crossed my mind, until I had to sing this song.” “Laughter and Tears” is more bittersweet: The song follows the highs and lows of a romance over the span of seven days, but its sing-song chorus and funky clavinet riffs are spirited enough to keep self-pity at bay.
Inspired by the sisters’ experiences driving for rideshare services while making music on the side, “Chauffeur” tells a story of stoic resilience—the long hours behind the wheel, the passengers drinking in the backseat, and the fleeting moments of reflection in between destinations. “Driving across town to get you who knows where,” they sing, trading the lead, their voices dipping into a deep, gritty, gospel-inflected register. “Take another sip, but don’t forget to tip, you’re just another fare.” It’s a charmingly contemporary take on an age-old tale of struggle.
The album never wallows, though. The sisters sound more interested in hushed endurance than cathartic breakthroughs. And perhaps that’s the record’s central achievement: It doesn’t pretend that day-to-day existence is either always beautiful or irredeemably difficult. Instead, the sisters suggest that both extremes go together: You can wonder where the next check is coming from and still laugh through the night with friends. You can be exhausted and grateful, afraid and hopeful at the same time. The arrangements recall the Civil Rights-era soundtrack that my family had in constant rotation, but with modernized lyrics and themes; the group’s aesthetic evokes visions of yesteryear, but remade for rideshare apps and smartphones. Inspired by their family history but never constrained by it, the Womack Sisters and their retro-modern sound thrive in the messy middle.
