D'Angelo
Black Messiah

THE REVIEW

The woman, a former club dancer, is sitting by the window. The house lights are low, she thoughtfully observes the street below, waiting for “him”. A tank top and thong, everything is perfect, she thinks. Just sex, it’s just sex.

Michael Eugene Archer, multi-instrumentalist, known in the art world as D’Angelo, born in '74.

In nearly 30 years, he has released only three albums, the truly remarkable debut in 1995, Brown Sugar, then Voodoo in 2000, and the latest Black Messiah in 2014. Brown sugar… how bold must one be to name a debut album after the first track of Sticky Fingers?

What a life… Married for 25 years but now I’m free, I have no societal or marital constraints, I sleep with whomever I want, no one can judge me. She smooths her legs, a drop of perfume, everything is going wonderfully. Soon he’ll come, just sex, it’s just sex.

Three albums, a continuous escalation of quality, up to the final masterpiece. Love is the dominant theme, his voice makes me think of my own Love, I feel serene… In the distance echoes of Prince, but especially of Curtis Mayfield, so much so that he’s credited as co-author in “Really love.”

“With the body, more demanding promises are made than with words”… my neighbor must be a philosopher or something; otherwise, he wouldn’t have written this note to accompany his stupid gift. A record, tell me if it makes sense… But where is he? He’s late… Better, something’s missing, yes, maybe I can use a stupid gift and play some music. Not bad cover art. Don’t worry, just sex, it’s just sex.

Take a puff of smoke from me while you dream inside

Let your days slip away, come with me and ride

My dear You need the comfort of my love

Many guitars, a captivating melody in the initial Ain’t that easy leaves me speechless, I listen to it several times. 1000 deaths comes directly from the Parliament/Funkadelic repertoire, acidic and abrasive, truly from the seventies. The Charade is a heartbreaker:

Crawling in a regular maze
and it hurts to convey
the pain in your eyes
the effort to drown, swimming laboriously through your lies
degradation so strong you can’t hear the sound of our desperation
all the dreamers have gone to the side of the road where they’ll stay
flooded by media, the virtual mind messes in the currents

All we wanted was a chance to speak
instead, our outline was marked with chalk

(the police mark with chalk the outlines of the victim lying
on the ground. D'Angelo means it’s as if he’s been killed)

A tear runs down my cheek. There's a knock at the door; I’ve decided I won’t open it, I’ll continue listening to this record, actually, I’ll turn up the volume to make it clear I’m home, but I don’t want to open. I’ll sleep in a tank top and thong. I worry, just sex, it’s just sex.

I cry

Another life, a splendid ballad closes it all

I just want to take you with me

In another life, I bet you were my girl

I don’t want to settle for anything less