I imagine it’s difficult being D’Angelo. The musician, who recently turned 41, has had one of those careers: an acclaimed debut, a dazzling sophomore album and then, for the longest time, seemingly nothing. Or at least, not enough. He returned late last year with a surprise new studio album, Black Messiah, and as the title sort of promises, saved his fans. This record is, to my ears, near perfect – and not just because I’ve been waiting 15 years.
I was too young to appreciate Brown Sugar, D’Angelo’s 1995 debut, but by 2000’s Voodoo (featuring his best-known song, Untitled), I was very much on board. As a musician he offers an embarrassment of riches: a voice that is as comfortable yelping a sweet falsetto as it is grunting along to a funk bassline, as well as being a skilled multi-instrumentalist. I was a teenager when Voodoo was released, and struck by both the sound and the visuals: the video for Untitled features a topless D’Angelo in extreme closeup, which prompted a wave of objectification the singer has said he struggled with. He largely withdrew from public life, crashing his car in 2005, and finding some solace in drink and drugs.
He’s now clean, and the quiet years seem to have done D’Angelo a world of good. I saw him last week at the Hammersmith Apollo in London, and he had the energy of a starlet. Any memory of his lacklustre 2012 gigs melted away as he strutted on to the stage and put on the show of a lifetime, his wide grin brighter than the floodlights. “How does it feel, London?” he crooned. It felt great.
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