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D’Angelo and Questlove sat on a couch in a fancy hotel and watched a 1964 video of James Brown – or rather, analyzed it in detail. D and Quest watched every gesture, every dance step and every light signal, every time the Godfather of Soul subtly signaled his band what to do. This scene took place 25 years ago. I was in the room reporting on D’Angelo for Rolling Stone.
He was one of the hottest artists in the world at that point. His second album, Voodoo, had established him as an undeniable musical genius. A highlight of modern soul: deep, powerful, sexual, sensual and intimate. That’s exactly what fascinated so many people about soul music – an album with long, dirty grooves, falsetto serenades and bass-heavy sounds that made the heart beat faster. And it wasn’t just music. It was D’Angelo’s declaration of war on the future of music. D’Angelo explained to me at the time that he saw it this way: The music had become too commercial, and “Voodoo” was an attempt to dissuade artists from that and encourage them to follow their inner voice – wherever it might lead them.
“Voodoo” was also intended to catch Prince’s attention in hopes of convincing the Purple One to collaborate on an album with D and Quest. Sort of like an audition for Prince. But that’s another story. D was at the pinnacle of success – a true superstar – and yet he sat there studying the greats like an ambitious student. James Brown, Stevie Wonder, Prince, Al Green, Aretha Franklin, Marvin Gaye – the canons of soul. They called these predecessors “Yodas” and the videos “Treats.” That day, Questlove asked D, “What would your life be like if you hadn’t seen that George Clinton treatise?” D replied: “Completely different.”
The student of the greats
Seeing him hyper-analyze older musicians gave me a better understanding of where D’s greatness came from. He was a serious student of his craft and a diligent worker, although he was exceptionally gifted. He was so talented even as a child that his older brother told me they never thought D could be anything other than a musician.
He grew up in a Pentecostal church in Virginia and moved to New York City with a trio as a teenager to get a record deal. However, the label only wanted him. His debut album “Brown Sugar” made him instantly famous – there was a new soul giant in town. The single of the same name, a cheeky back-and-forth about his love of marijuana, was one of the top songs of the summer of 1995. However, some felt the album was unfinished, as if the songs were more like sketches. Five years later, D made everything forgotten with his second album “Voodoo”.
It was an outstanding performance that showed he was not just a student of the soul legends, but their equal.
The Problem with “Voodoo”
But “Voodoo” also brought with it a problem. The song “Untitled (How Does It Feel)” was D’Angelo’s masterpiece. A swirling, erotic funk groove so intense you could get pregnant just from listening to it. His manager, Dominique Trenier, imagined a video of D standing alone on a stage while the camera showed close-ups of his body – from his cornrows to just below his belly button.
Simple, sexual, powerful. It was supposed to be the culmination of years of physical labor. When D released “Brown Sugar,” he was overweight. In the five years that followed, while working on Voodoo, he changed his diet and exercised obsessively. When the video for “Untitled” came around, he was at his absolute best. But he didn’t want to shoot the video. His limo pulled up to the set and he refused to get out. He was nervous. Trenier sat with him until he finally agreed. They went in and created one of the most iconic music videos of all time. It hit the culture like a neutron bomb.
Was this the best looking man in the world? Perhaps. The video made D’Angelo even more famous. But it had a price. After Untitled, people started to see him differently. At concerts, fans shouted for him to take his shirt off. This was a problem for him, who wanted to be recognized as a musician.
From genius to sex symbol – and back again
D had studied music like a graduate student and worked on “Voodoo” for five years. He wanted it to be about the songs – about being taken seriously as a musician. But the fans were screaming so loudly for his abs that the music was barely audible.
He felt like he had been demoted from genius to sex symbol. He disappeared in protest. Nothing was heard from him for years. His third and final album, “Black Messiah,” wasn’t released until 2014 – more than a decade later.
The legacy
“Voodoo” remains a standout achievement. It will be remembered as a powerful source of inspiration – proof that D’Angelo ultimately persevered in the war he fought so courageously. He showed that you can be successful by following your muse, ignoring industry trends and giving people honest, innovative music. Now D’Angelo is no longer there.
When I listen to his descendants – artists like Frank Ocean, HER and SZA – it’s like seeing flowers bloom from the musical seeds he once sowed. In the end he won.