In the summer of 2007 it rained in Britain. This isn’t unusual, but that year it rained with unusual enthusiasm, and meanwhile a pop song about umbrellas sat at the top of the charts for ten solid weeks. One tabloid went so far as to suggest that clubbers were accidentally rain-dancing to it. Coincidence, of course, but a pleasing one. The meaning of “Umbrella” by Rihanna is rather less soggy than the weather. Beneath the glossy production and the chorus you can’t get out of your head, it’s a song about loyalty: the promise that, whatever storm is coming, you’ll have somewhere dry to stand. Not a bad thing to offer anyone.
A Song Meant for Somebody Else
Rihanna wasn’t the first choice. The track was written in early 2007 in Atlanta by the producer Tricky Stewart, the songwriter The-Dream and the vocal producer Kuk Harrell, and they had Britney Spears in mind. They sent it to her label, who politely said she already had enough material for her album. So it went to the singer Mary J. Blige, who loved it but was swamped with awards-season commitments, and meanwhile another artist was circling.
That artist was Rihanna. At the Grammys that year, where she was presenting, she is said to have cornered The-Dream and told him, more or less, that the song was hers. Which, as it turned out, it was. It’s one of those lovely accidents of pop history, a record that needed a different singer to find its true shape. In Britney’s hands it would have been a different record entirely, probably a very good one. In Rihanna’s it became the one that defined her.
Written in a Minute
The-Dream has described how it came together. Tricky Stewart was working on a hi-hat loop, and had started laying chords over it, when the word umbrella popped into The-Dream’s head. He ran to the vocal booth and started singing, and by his account the first verse took about sixty seconds. That’s the kind of detail that makes songwriters weep into their notebooks. It’s a reminder that the best ideas are often the simplest, and that the simplest ones tend to arrive when you’re not looking.
The record was released at the end of March 2007, just over two months after it was written, which in the music industry is practically a land-speed record. It never had time to be overthought, and I suspect that’s a large part of its charm.
What the Words Are Promising
Strip away the production and the promise is touchingly simple. Whatever happens, I’ll cover you. The rain in the song stands for trouble of any kind, from heartbreak to hard times, and the umbrella is the person who stays. It isn’t a grand declaration of love, and that’s why it works. The song doesn’t say it will fix your problems. It says you won’t have to face them alone, which is often all anyone wants.
You can read it as a love song, and plenty of people do, but I’ve always thought it’s just as good as a song about friendship, or family, or anyone who has ever stuck by you when it would have been easier to leave. The chorus has a sing-song, nursery-rhyme quality, a hook so catchy it’s almost childlike, and that contrast is rather lovely: a vow of lifelong loyalty, delivered like a playground chant.
Jay-Z Clears His Throat
Then there’s the opening. Before Rihanna sings a note, Jay-Z delivers a verse of his own, a bit of swagger and a nod to his own legend, and it’s rather like having the headmaster introduce the school play. At the time he was the boss of her record label, Def Jam, and her mentor, so the guest spot carried real weight, a stamp of approval that told the world the label believed in her.
It paid off. The pair won the Grammy for Best Rap/Sung Collaboration at the 2008 ceremony, and the song was nominated for Record of the Year and Song of the Year too. The verse also gave the record a bit of rain-lashed grit, a reminder that the umbrella isn’t only for sunny afternoons.
The Silver Girl in the Rain
Then came the video, and the image people still remember: Rihanna covered in silver body paint, dancing and contorting in a rainstorm, a metallic figure that looked half goddess and half chrome sculpture. It was a spectacular piece of visual shorthand for her new direction. The song was the lead single from her third album, Good Girl Gone Bad, and the title wasn’t a joke. She had arrived as a bright teen-pop talent, and here she was, edgier, more adult, and quite clearly in charge of her own image.
That’s a quiet part of the song’s meaning. “Umbrella” isn’t only about shelter. It’s also, in hindsight, about an artist finding her own footing: a young woman choosing her own armour, and turning out to be very good at it.
The Quiet Winners
It’s easy to forget the people behind the microphone. For Stewart, The-Dream and Harrell, this was the record that changed everything. After it, their names turned up on songs for Beyoncé, Mariah Carey, Celine Dion, Justin Bieber, Katy Perry and a long list of others. Not bad for a team who had been turned down by two other stars on the way to Rihanna.
There’s a moral in that, and I’m rather fond of it. The best thing that can happen to a good song is sometimes that nobody wants it at first. A rejection isn’t always a verdict. Sometimes it’s just the universe clearing the way for the right voice.
A Record That Made It Rain
The chart numbers were absurd. In the United States it topped the Hot 100 for seven consecutive weeks. In Britain it stayed at number one for ten weeks, the longest run for any single in that decade, and it has sold more than six million copies worldwide. “Umbrella” didn’t just do well. It colonised the summer, from car radios to wedding discos, and the British papers, as noted, had the good grace to blame it for the weather.
Time has been kind to it. It sounds as fresh as it did then, and it has acquired a second life as one of those songs everybody seems to know, whether they admit to it or not. That’s the real mark of a great pop record: not that it was popular, but that it stayed useful.
Conclusion
So, what does “Umbrella” mean? It means loyalty, plainly put and gloriously delivered. It means that the best thing you can offer someone in a storm is your company. It also means a young singer stepping into her own power, in silver paint and a downpour, with a songwriting team who had already been turned down by two other stars. The next time rain starts spitting on your window and that chorus pops into your head, don’t fight it. It’s only doing what it was written to do: reminding you that somebody, somewhere, would happily hold the umbrella while you look for your keys.