“Black Messiah” by D’Angelo and the Vanguard

One of the greatest R&B records of the century from one of the genre's most mercurial talents.

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Welcome to a new edition of the Best Music of All Time newsletter!

Today’s music pick looks back at a singular, soulful statement record from one of R&B and neo-soul’s most mercurial talents.

Genre: R&B, Neo-Soul, Funk

Label: RCA

Release Date: December 14, 2014

Vibe: 💯

Much has been written over the years about D’Angelo’s talent and work ethic. Like Prince, there are rumors of hours and hours of unreleased material sitting in a vault somewhere that may never see the light of day. Entire albums were scrapped after Voodoo, his masterful 2000 LP that helped him achieve sex symbol status from the titillating music video for “Untitled (How Does It Feel).” Words like “genius,” “perfectionist,” and, in Robert Christgau’s case, “R&B Jesus” are thrown around liberally to describe him, and I don’t even mind because those adjectives are mostly true. But, if I had to encapsulate D’Angelo’s career in a single term, it’d be “resilient.”

See, the story unfolding in the 14 years between Voodoo and Black Messiah, another near-perfect record that turns 10 years old this week, is one of talent overcoming nearly insurmountable personal struggles. His music and, more disconcertingly for him, his body was now under the microscope. Former manager Dominique Trenier said that, following the aforementioned music video, D’Angelo was pegged as “the naked dude” in the minds of casual fans and consumers. We can all scoff at celebrities complaining about the downsides of fame and so on, but if we’re honest, that burden would weigh on even the sturdiest psychological makeup.

That distinction, coupled with the sudden loss of close friend Fred Jordon in April 2001, sent him into an addiction-fueled tailspin. By the time he was involved in a serious car accident outside his Richmond, Virginia, hometown, he’d pled guilty to DUI and drug possession charges, alienated most of his close friends and family, and had funding for his next studio project cut off by Virgin executives. There was a moment when it looked like addiction and self-sabotage would permanently derail R&B’s heir apparent.

But, years later, tantalizing bits and pieces started floating out into the public discourse. Whispers that D’Angelo was in terrific shape, fresh out of rehab, and making a new album. Two song leaks, one in 2007 and another in 2010, were followed by producer/engineer Russell Elevado's statement that he and D’Angelo’s team were finally cutting a new LP together. “I don't need to tell everyone that this will be an amazing album,” he said at the time. “D'Angelo fans will be extremely happy to know, the wait will be over soon and it will surely be a future classic.”

And then … no album. Not for nearly another four years, anyway. Fans gobbled up other small morsels along the way, including a European tour in early 2012 where he debuted nearly-done versions of new songs, including “Sugah Daddy,” which has been a live staple of his ever since. Then, in response to police brutality protests following tragedies in Ferguson, Missouri, and Staten Island, New York, D’Angelo dropped Black Messiah without much build-up in December 2014. Almost immediately, the fan and critical response was rapturous. As NME’s Angus Batey wrote, “[it] repays a decade and a half's faith and patience.” It was official—the comeback was in full swing.

Right from the get-go, D’Angelo lets the listener know that his power hasn’t diminished one iota since he last put out a record. Following a spacy, Hendrix-like introduction, opener “Ain’t That Easy” snaps into a beefy P-funk groove that dares you not to nod your head in time to the beat. His writing is as vivid as ever, describing a seductively unhealthy relationship (with a person or substance, who can say) in deceptively simple language: “Take a toke of smoke from me as you dream inside/Let your days slip away come with me and ride.” In spite of the fact that he wears his influences on his sleeve, D’Angelo’s music never sounds like a microwaved imitation of past R&B glory. Those nods to timeless artists and styles are fused together in such a way that it’s never short of invigorating. I don’t know how he does it, frankly, but you’d never mistake a D’Angelo record for anyone else’s material.

One of the most impressive elements on display throughout Black Messiah is how he takes those influences and uses them to make searing, contemporary political statements. “1000 Deaths” begins with two knowing vocal samples from former Nation of Islam leader Khalid Abdul Muhammed and the late Black Panther revolutionary Fred Hampton. Referring to the racist resistance the Panthers faced at the time, Hampton’s quote really hits home when you realize how little progress we’ve made since then: “[They] don't even understand what peace means. We've got to fight them. We've got to struggle with them to make them understand what peace means.” Later on, D’Angelo seems to take up the fight his predecessors had been forced to fight, saying, “I been a witness to this game for ages/And if I stare death in face, no time to waste.” It’s stating the obvious, but the rise of regressive political ideology in recent years puts those words into stark context.

As if that weren’t hard-hitting enough, D’Angelo delivers his most impressive songwriting piece to date on “The Charade.” It’s full of gut-wrenching one-liners set against an expansive soul instrumental that goes from warm to eerie without you fully noticing the subtle tonal shifts. The first verse alone is about as perfect a piece of writing as you’ll see or hear on an R&B record, positioning the Black American experience as “degradation so loud that you can't hear the sound of our cries.” There are direct references to murders perpetrated by members of law enforcement in the chorus, too: “All we wanted was a chance to talk/'Stead we only got outlined in chalk.” In this instance, D’Angelo demonstrates how thoroughly he’s elevated the art form, etching his name next to legends like Marvin Gaye, who, on What’s Going On, legitimately changed how Black music was heard and discussed.

To balance everything out, the R&B impresario also reconfirms he can sell a ballad like few others. “Really Love” and especially the gospel-leaning closer “Another Life” prove he’s still got some of that “Untitled” heartthrob in him, but times have changed. He and everything else around him is much different now. Older, wiser, more understanding of what true love sounds, tastes, and feels like, these love songs are almost more relatable versions of previous hits like “Brown Sugar” and “Lady.” You can hear the hope emanating from his soul in his performances, which leads to statements like “I'm in really love with you,” hitting on a much deeper emotional level than they might in lesser hands. Again, I got back to the idea of deceptively simple. Few artists can communicate so much with melodies and arrangements so pared down and unvarnished. Free of studio trickery and any mechanism that would put distance between them and their audience.

Oddly enough, you only notice the degree of difficulty when it slips by you without calling attention to itself. Like a sleight-of-hand master, you know there’s an incredible amount of technique on display, but you hardly notice. That’s the magic of D’Angelo for you.

👉 Don’t forget to click the album image to stream the album on your favorite platform 👈