EDITORIAL:
MUSIC
D'Angelo
"Voodoo" (Virgin)
***1/2 (three and one-half)
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by gerald poindexter
 In
a perfect world, the return of Michael D’Angelo Archer would
be the balance-altering, artistic groundswell that makes popular
music safe again. Like a natural R & B phenomenon, his legitimate
musical gifts – sweet falsetto, fearless musicianship, production
prowess – would be a ripple effect beneath the feet of studio-polished
moppets and radio-friendly boy/girl groups.
The sight and sound of D’Angelo (who unlike them, dares to
be even different-enough and commands respect while still moving
albums), would topple even the hardiest pop star replicant.
But given mainstream tastes, that scenario probably won’t
happen anytime soon. If it did, D’Angelo would neither notice
nor care. He’d be busy making beautiful retro-soul music that’s
built to last. Like the kind he probably heard on his parents’
hi-fi when he was a kid. And like that which was released four years
ago on his near-perfect debut “Brown Sugar,” and now
again on “Voodoo,” his near-flawless follow-up.
D’Angelo can cut a creative swath through his contemporaries
because he channels the past – particularly 60s and 70s soul
– as if it were his birthright. The long layoff between albums,
while unsavory for some fans, probably gave many a chance to further
brand him as the successor to Marvin Gaye and Al Green, two of his
primary influences.
During that time, “neo-soul”
artists like Me’shell Ndgeocello and Maxwell got popular,
while others merely subsisted, like the lesser-known but gifted
Rahsaan Paterson and Angie Stone (the mother of D’Angelo’s
3-year old son). And, ironically, cheap knockoffs like Chico DeBarge
and Donnell Jones were offered up as temporary soul solutions (with
mixed results), even though D’Angelo was really the “final
answer.”
 But
aside from him occasionally contributing a song to a soundtrack,
the question about D’Angelo was this: What could be taking
the ultimate ‘90s Funk Soul Brother so long? Hopefully, it
was more smoky, organ-ground grooves along the lines of the single
“Brown Sugar.” Or perhaps something similar to the street-bred,
romantic sentimentality of “Lady.”
It turns out that “Voodoo,” as an album, is as strong
those songs, and more. D’Angelo hits a decisive artistic stride
in an “I jam, therefore I am” sort of way. Organic musical
workouts, as opposed to itty-bitty, four-minute ditties –
dominate the new album. They play like an assortment of manchild-like
self-revelations that seamlessly segue into one another with the
precision befitting his status a son and grandson of a preacherman.
And often, the proceedings take on the intimacy and flow of church:
A story here, a message there; sudden energetic bursts of “hallelujah,”
tempered by gentle whispers of “amen.”
It’s depth of spirit in action for 70-plus minutes, an honest
and original D’Angelo-nian gospel of faith, hope and charity,
that’s inextricably aligned with funk, attitude and swagger.
The opening track, “Playa Playa” is lyrically a “boys
will be boys”-themed refrain over an utterly wicked melange
of bass, guitar, drums and happy horns that nicely sets the tone
for the album’s rich instrumental backdrop. The groove established
here is a simmering midtempo one that lends itself to D’Angelo’s
predominant R & B melodies, as well as his increased fondness
for drop-on–a-dime shifts into traditional jazz and hip hop.
Playing live behind him
throughout are interesting contemporary musicians including acid
jazz guitarist Charlie Hunter, jazz trumpeter Roy Hargrove and Ahmir
(?uestlove) Thompson, the Roots’ iconic hip hop drummer. Together,
they feel D’Angelo’s vibe and step up their game in
total brotherhood, which is fitting since the album often has the
tone of one man’s diary.
Built into this assessment of various phases and contradictions
of manhood, are D’Angelo’s laundry list of man’s
pitfalls on the cautionary “Devil Pie;” his primal misogyny
on “Left and Right,” a senseless joyride with pals Method
Man and Redman; his need to cut loose as on the fancy-free “Chicken
Grease” and the Latin-tinged “Spanish Joint”;
and of course, his need to work his mojo, as addressed on a slick,
sensitive remake of Roberta Flack’s “Feel Like Makin’
Love.”
Within those triumphs and travails is the album highlight, “The
Root.” This gloriously constructed track seems to wind through
every potential sonic twist, and yet strikes a gentle melody to
complement lyrics that summarize the album’s every thought
and sentiment. Additionally, the song, with its layered, co-mingling
falsetto harmonies, is notable as one of several obvious homages
to The Artist/Prince/whomever. At times, D’Angelo seems on
the brink of morphing into Prince as well as other influences including
Ronald Isley and the Whispers’ vocalists Walter and Scotty.
Nonetheless, he manages to carve out his own musical dynamic identity
through his status as a 24-year old child of hip hop, as well as
a combination of snarling sensuality and warm, workman-like conceptualism.
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