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Sharps & Flats | page 1, 2
That's not to say that D'Angelo is never aggressive. Even so, his invitations to debauchery are always just that: invitations. On "Left and Right," he leaves it to his guests, Wu-Tang Clan's Method Man and Redman, to talk about the cruder specifics ("Who's got the biggest ass in the house?") while he works his velvety tongue around the subtleties -- and if his talent lies anywhere, it's in his ability to make a line like "Smack your ass, pull your hair," read like a subtlety. Other times, as on "The Root," he takes pleasure in his very powerlessness in the face of womankind. "She done worked a root," he muses, almost in disbelief, but not without a measure of delight. "Left my mojo in my favorite suit." After his voice, D'Angelo's second secret weapon is his skill at layering sound textures, building them bit by bit like the narrative in a novel or a movie. The fat, ropy bass line that kicks in near the beginning of "Playa Playa" gets extra body from fingersnaps and chanting that sounds like it's coming from some deep-in-the-forest reaches of the subconscious. Roy Hargrove's mellow rose-gold trumpet fills sneak into all the right corners. On "Chicken Grease," D'Angelo leans into a deep bass-heavy groove, only half-suggesting some of the words: In some places they're like a charcoal sketch, a flowing line broken softly here and there where the chalk skipped off the paper. In other places, the words touch down lightly but resolutely. They're more like a percussion element than anything else. But in the end, it probably isn't the craftsmanship of "Voodoo," as wonderful as it is, that's most alluring. Without even considering that they might be a mismatch, D'Angelo melds spirituality with carnality, just as seamlessly as Prince ever did. For many of us, the Artist Formerly Known as Prince was the first singer to make us seriously consider what happens to a man's sensuality when he goes to pray. His love for one couldn't be divorced from his love for the other. D'Angelo's "Africa," the album's gorgeous, opalescent closer, is a prayer of sorts, a song about finding a spiritual home in the midst of geographical displacement, and of passing that sense of belonging on to one's children. It opens with a shimmery rustle of chimes that conjures the delicate fluttering of snowflakes -- a beautiful little paradox in itself. "Africa is my descent," D'Angelo explains, "and here I'm far from home." "Africa" is almost a lullaby. But what's most remarkable about it is that even here, D'Angelo doesn't do anything to muffle his sense of himself as a sexual creature. "The blood of God is my defense/Let it drop down to my seed," he sings gently, a line that links sexual congress with God's might pretty straightforwardly. What does a man do with his sensuality when he goes to pray? If he's D'Angelo, he keeps it close to where he lives. He knows no other way.
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