The Consequences of Keeping It On the Down Low

Is TLC's "Creep" a feminist anthem or does it perpetuate a cycle of revenge?

I’ve always had a fascination with number one hits. Not because number one hits are the greatest songs of their respective eras. Not because I have an innate desire to fit in with the majority (though that may be true). My fascination with number one hits stems from my belief that they have something to say about American Culture—an argument about who we are and how we should be. And so to begin this exploration of the music and culture that shaped the world of my birth year, I look to the song atop the charts the day I was born—R&B trio TLC’s “Creep.”

Now, I’m cheating a little bit already because “Creep,” the first single from TLC’s CrazySexyCool, has already passed the quarter-century mark. However, we’ll let it slide this time since the song’s influence bled into 1995, topping the charts from January until my birthday, February 18th…

1994-95 was a paradigm-shifting time in American music, and especially within the R&B and hip-hop scenes. While a cutthroat war for American music’s capital erupted between New York and LA, Atlanta slid its name into the ballot box like a third-party candidate who actually had a chance. The foundations had been laid in preceding years by the founding of Atlanta’s LaFace Records—founded by moguls Antonio “L.A.” Reid and Kenneth “Babyface” Edmonds—and continued to pick up steam with the discovery of TLC, OutKast, and their production team, Organized Noize (for a great documentary on them, check out The Art of Organized Noize). Today, Atlanta has just as much of a right to the music capital crown as any city as trap and southern hip-hop continues to pervade throughout pop culture.

But as we look back at Atlanta as an emerging music market, what was it about TLC’s number one smash “Creep” that related to America at large, and what does it say about the world I was born into?

Produced and written by influential Atlanta producer Dallas Austin, “Creep” plays out a scenario (inspired by the experience of TLC’s T-Boz) where a woman secretly cheats on her already-cheating lover because she needs “some affection.” Over a soulful Slick Rick sample (itself a sample of The Soul Searchers’ “Ashley’s Roachclip”), lonely trumpet blasts and faux-cinematic synth strings lay a bed of sound over which TLC’s silky harmonies absolutely soar. It’s so smooth, you forget the heartbreaking subject at hand.

In a time when misogyny continued to dominate hip-hop and R&B (a trend we still haven’t shaken), TLC’s “Creep” was interpreted and lauded as a feminist anthem. But I wonder if there is true strength in revenge, or if the eye-for-an-eye, looking-out-for-number-one approach of “Creep” is the easy way out. We’ve seen narratives recently in pop music of women “taking back their sexuality,” and there is value in this. Positive expressions and explorations of sex that combat misogyny (like what’s portrayed on Too $hort’s 1995 album Cocktails—a Quarter Note album so degrading and unlistenable that I gave up around track four) and seek to portray the beauty of this intimate gift to humanity should be celebrated.

For the Christian who views sex as an intimate picture of the marriage of Christ and his church, however, these positive expressions and explorations should be imbued with an ethic of unconditional, covenantal love, not vengeful infidelity as we see in “Creep.”

Let me clarify two things. First, I’m not suggesting that women—whether in song or reality—should simply forgive a cheating partner and maintain the status quo. But there are stronger acts of independence than revenge, which only perpetuates a cycle. Even TLC member Lisa “Left Eye” Lopes opposed the recording of the song, saying instead, “If a girl is gonna catch her man cheating—this was my thing—instead of telling her to cheat back, why don't we tell her [to] just leave?" It’s a false dichotomy to assume that putting up with the problem or getting revenge are the only options when facing infidelity. A stronger song could have explored those options.

Secondly, when I call for a Christian ethic of love to imbue songs about sex, I’m sure what you hear me say is “write prudish love songs and avoid erotic imagery.” Far from it. The Bible itself contains such imagery. What I do see missing in “Creep” and elsewhere is an ethic that recognizes sex as a selfless act rather than a selfish one. I admit, this ethic is easier grasped than lived out. The creative mystery of the saying “the two become one flesh” has deep implications about the transformative power of sex and about what it means to be a human in intimate relationship.

And this idea extends beyond sex, I believe, to all meaningful relationships. The underlying assumption in “Creep” is that you can act alone in this world with consequences that don’t affect anyone but yourself. “If he knew the things I did, he couldn't handle me / And I choose to keep him protected,” T-Boz sings. This elevates secrecy and little white lies to a virtuous status. But in reality, whether we see it or not, every action we take affects the people around us. We live in community, not a vacuum. And despite attempts to keep things “on the down low,” the consequences of our creeping will always seep into the lives of our neighbors.