FEATURE:
Alright
D'Angelo’s Brown Sugar at Thirty
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1995 is a year…
when some all-time classic debut albums were released. One of the absolute best was Brown Sugar from D’Angelo. Among the very best albums of that the 1990s, it turns thirty on 3rd July. I want to celebrate that upcoming anniversary by exploring the album. Fusing contemporary R&B and traditional Soul music, Brown Sugar sprinkles in other genres and sounds to create this heady and intoxicating brew! I love how D’Angelo played so many of the instruments and was very much at the centre. A prodigious talent and incredible voice, Brown Sugar still holds up thirty years later. It is one of those classics that is not played and talked about as much as it should. Perhaps not as celebrated as its follow-up, 2000’s Voodoo, I know there will be people writing about Brown Sugar at thirty. I am going to end with a couple of (the many) positive reviews for this 1995 jewel. An album that sounded unlike anything around it at the time. I will start out by bringing in some retrospective examination of Brown Sugar. I am starting out with a twenty-fifth anniversary feature from Albumism. An album that arrived on 3rd July, 1995 in the U.K. and the following day in the U.S. It remains this flawless masterpiece:
“D’Angelo’s DIY approach to recording was a rare phenomenon, particularly so among new R&B artists who typically surrounded themselves with marquee producers and peppered their albums with cameos from other artists. His record label was more than a little skeptical of their superstar-in-the-making’s independent streak. “I wrote [Brown Sugar]—the majority of that record—in my bedroom in Richmond,” D’Angelo explained during a 2014 Red Bull Music Academy interview. “All of the demos for it were done on a 4-track, in my bedroom. And I think EMI was a little leery of me being in the studio producing it on my own, which was what I was fighting for. So it was important for them that I go in with someone, an engineer. I picked [revered studio engineer] Bob Power, because of my love for [A Tribe Called Quest] and what they were doing [together].”
The consummate virtuoso with multi-dimensional expertise, D’Angelo supplied the majority of the vocals and played the lion’s share of the instruments heard on the album, taking after his musical hero Prince. “Everything [Prince] did was the bomb,” he reflected to Wax Poetics. “And, he could do it all himself. I was one of those kids reading the album credits. I knew back then that I wanted to do that type of shit.”
As further testament to his unparalleled ambition and self-sufficient work ethic, D’Angelo also produced all ten tracks, with help from Power on a handful of tracks, as well as Ali Shaheed Muhammad and Raphael Saadiq, who co-produced the title track and “Lady,” respectively.
By the middle of the decade, soul music had stagnated and was starved for revitalization. Whatever creative energy had flowed during the early ‘90s apex of the New Jack Swing movement had effectively been sapped by 1995. Only a small handful of adventurous artists—Tony! Toni! Toné! and Meshell Ndegeocello most notable among them—were pushing the sonic envelope for soul music at the time, so to speak. While there were a few stellar soul albums released that year, most offered little to nothing beyond the predictable fare squarely calculated for mainstream airplay and sales.
The then 21-year-old D’Angelo arguably reignited the artistic flame of contemporary soul with Brown Sugar, and his motivations for doing so were fueled by purer forces of unbridled passion and perfectionism. Shortly after the album’s release, he clarified to the Los Angeles Times that, “I just want to make some dope black music, some good soul music. I could [not] care less about a hit song. This is only my first album. I feel like I’m growing musically, that now I know what I want to do, and how better to do it. I just want to keep elevating my music to a new level.”
D’Angelo always envisioned the album’s sound as more organic, less artificially polished. Although he has since alluded to harboring at least some dissatisfaction with the final output—which he has referred to as too “buttery”—D’Angelo’s original vision was largely fulfilled. From vintage analog instruments (Wurlitzer, Fender Rhodes, Hammond organ) to more modern digital technology (drum machines, computers), the mélange of sonic ingredients used during recording coalesced to form a savory gumbo of an album founded upon a warmer, more natural sound.
Brown Sugar expanded beyond its obvious classic soul evocations to integrate hip-hop flavors, jazz stylings, traditional blues and gospel inspirations throughout. In other words, this was quintessentially neo-soul, the marketing-driven term that the early D’Angelo champion Massenburg would coin a few years later as a way to differentiate the emerging sound and aesthetic from those that came before.
Propelled by D’Angelo’s southern drawl-drenched falsetto vocals layered atop lushly languid grooves, Brown Sugar’s filler-free ten tracks exude a palpable swagger, an effortless cool. Nowhere is this more richly manifested than on the album-opening title track. As the first of four singles released from the LP, the hypnotic “Brown Sugar” was our formal introduction to D’Angelo’s many charms, though the song’s innuendos may have been lost on some. Not, in fact, a tune about one of D’Angelo’s lady friends, “Brown Sugar” was a slyly clever ode to Mary Jane, in the same spirit of Rick James’ 1978 hit song. Check the lines midway through the song’s first verse (“See, we be making love constantly / That’s why my eyes are a shade blood burgundy”) and you’ll wonder how you could have missed the true meaning all along.
The rest of the album is largely comprised of laid-back love songs awash in thick bass lines and heavy organ and piano riffs, the highlights of which are “Alright,” “Me and Those Dreamin’ Eyes of Mine, “Lady,” and “When We Get By.” Two additional standouts are the gospel-tinged “Higher,” an impassioned hymn to the power of love, and the funky “Shit, Damn, Motherfucker,” a slowly smoldering lament for a cheating wife that ultimately takes a twisted, fatal turn.
Twenty-five years ago, Brown Sugar redefined the soul long player as we knew it then and ushered in a crucial pivot point in the history of the genre. Merging critical aplomb with commercial viability, it became the new prototype for contemporary soul—subsequently branded as neo-soul—and one that countless artists would work hard to emulate during the latter half of the 1990s and beyond.
And while D’Angelo’s recorded output to date may be sparse relative to others who have been in the game for nearly three decades, from a consistency and quality perspective, his body of work is unparalleled and it all began with Brown Sugar”.
I love reading about the background of Brown Sugar. This incredible and young talent who burst through with this amazing album. Though it did not get the same hype and spark as other albums from 1995, it is one of the most accomplished and enduring albums of its time. I want to come on to a great feature from CRACK. In 2020, they spent some time investigating a listening experience like nothing else. I think I first heard Brown Sugar many years after its release. I regret I did not hear it in 1995, as it would have opened me open to artists like D’Angelo:
“Just out of his teens when he recorded his debut record, D’Angelo – real name Michael Archer, the son of a preacher man – surrounded himself with equally funky creatives like Ali Shaheed Muhammad, Raphael Saadiq and music producer Bob Power. The result is an LP that sounds like it was cut in the dead of night by bugged-out geniuses; you can almost hear the sound of weed smoke blowing from the speakers and the creative spirits of Al Green, Sly Stone, Marvin Gaye and Prince circling overhead. Like The Purple One, there was an aura surrounding D’Angelo. In real life, he was shy, difficult to read, more mystic than man. Unlike Prince, his powerlessness to create the body of work his genius demanded became the stuff of legend as he spent years struggling with his demons.
The D’Angelo mythos starts on the jazzy opening chords of the title track. D’s impossibly high falsetto rings with a carnal sensuality as he croons about sex or weed or maybe both. He sounds equally stoned and surly on Jonz in My Bonz, allowing his funky fingers to run over his organ as the beat summons the dusty sounds of New York hip-hop. Like most numbers on Brown Sugar, the song has a free-spirited feel, as though the whole record was laid down on analogue tape during the most perfect late night jam session that the gods and goddesses ever bore witness to.
D’Angelo’s Christian roots stir on the gospel opening of Me and Those Dreamin’ Eyes of Mine and sanctified closer Higher, while there’s an underground jazz club feel to the plucked double bass and tinkling piano of tap-along classic When We Get By. It’s not all saintly: D gets nasty on Shit, Damn, Motherfucker, calling out the dude his wife’s been creeping with. “I’m ‘bout to go get my nine/ And kill both of y’all behind,” he threatens, a whole six years before Ronald Isley gained significant pop culture traction by playing a similar role in The Isley Brothers’ Contagious. Brown Sugar’s own songs for the radio come in the form of a lustrous cover of Smokey Robinson’s Crusin’ and Lady, a pretty pop track D’Angelo supposedly hated. That was, until fans started telling him their kids had been conceived to it.
This aversion to Lady probably stemmed from the simplicity of its structure, and D’Angelo’s hunger to experiment with arrangements would manifest on the darkly hypnotic psych-funk album Voodoo five years later. In the process, he dumped the oversized leather jacket and pudgy-cheeked look for a more overtly sexualised styling. His unhappiness with the image almost buried the singer as he collapsed into substances and depression. A 14-year album drought was finally broken in 2014 when D’Angelo dropped Black Messiah with band The Vanguard, another instant classic. All the while neo soul lived on through Bilal, Musiq Soulchild, India.Arie, Eric Roberson and Alicia Keys, offering a raw, lustful alternative to the sensibilities of most contemporary R&B. And so Brown Sugar helped start a musical moment. Twenty-five years later, it still feels out of step, out of time, eternally innovative, and just as gorgeous as it did on first rotation”.
There are two reviews I want to highlight a 2017 review from Pitchfork. An expanded edition of Brown Sugar was released. It showcased this incredible genius who arrived fully formed in 1995. There is not a weak or insincere moment on D’Angelo’s debut album. I wonder whether the man himself will post anything to social media on 3rd July. He should be incredibly proud of what he released in 1995. One of the finest albums ever in my view:
“Brown Sugar arrived during the peak of hip-hop’s golden era, when rappers like Nas and The Notorious B.I.G., and groups like Wu-Tang Clan and A Tribe Called Quest were at the height of their powers. D’Angelo instantly fit the mold. With his straight-back cornrow braids and baggy clothes, he looked like a rapper of that period, yet his music countered that which dominated the airwaves. Until Brown Sugar arrived, Top 40 R&B skewed very much toward hip-hop, from the upbeat tick of its beats to the guest rap verses that felt obligatory for almost every single. Songs like Monica’s “Don’t Take It Personal,” Montell Jordan’s “This Is How We Do It” and Adina Howard’s “Freak Like Me” seemed influenced by Teddy Riley’s New Jack Swing-style production, which dominated urban music in the late ’80s and early ’90s.
D’Angelo was different, the perfect amalgamation of modern rap and old soul, and Brown Sugar was a masterclass in this alchemy. It was as if, from the very beginning, he wasn’t trying to go against the grain, he just wanted to keep things low-key. For instance, in the video for “Brown Sugar,” the scene unfolds in a smoky jazz club on what looks to be open mic night. It harkened back to the essence of soul and jazz music, live records cut at the Village Vanguard or Five Spot. The title track and the album felt honest and organic; you could feel the lush instrumentation, the sincerity in the lyrics, the warmth of the keys. This wasn’t R&B purposely intended for younger ears; Brown Sugar was grown folks music, it just so happened that a 21-year-old created it.
All these years later, Brown Sugar is still just as resonant, emitting a strong vintage quality that works in any era. It had everything: “Shit, Damn, Motherfucker,” a dark tale about death and infidelity, became a gritty street anthem that soundtracked a pivotal scene in 1999 film The Best Man. With its upbeat gospel sway, “When We Get By” was an uplifting tune in the vein of Ray Charles, as a track that meshed the genre’s traditional and contemporary aspects. On “Cruisin’,” the Smokey Robinson classic of the same name, D’Angelo kept the integrity of the original—the fluid guitar riff and wafting strings—yet he quickened the pace just slightly, and added weight to the drum kick. The finished product paid rightful homage to Smokey and might be a little better than the 1979 cut. The two-disc deluxe edition of Brown Sugar includes four remixes of D’Angelo’s “Cruisin’,” one apiece from producers King Tech and Dallas Austin, and two others labeled “Wet Remix” and “God Made Me Funky Remix.” Of the “Cruisin’” renditions, Austin’s is closest to D’Angelo’s portrayal; canned drums give it a distinct ’90s knock, but the strings and vocal arrangements are unchanged. The title track, “Lady” and “Me and Those Dreamin’ Eyes of Mine” also get a few different a capellas, instrumentals, and remixes here.
Listening to Brown Sugar’s deluxe edition is like walking through the mid-90s. The record feels like an artifact in that way, capturing D’Angelo at a nascent stage in his creative development while dusting off rhymes from Kool G. Rap (who originally appeared on King Tech’s remix of “Brown Sugar”), Redman (featured on the Def Squad remix of “Me and Those Dreamin’ Eyes of Mine”) and AZ (himself a featured rapper on DJ Premier’s “Lady” remix). Where Voodoo and Black Messiah felt especially grainy and dark, Brown Sugar feels especially lush and radiant, an outcome of Bob Power’s and Russell Elevado’s masterful engineering work. (Conversely, for Voodoo, Elevado and D’Angelo recorded everything on tape, which gave the record its lo-fi sound). Brown Sugar shifted modern soul, not only putting pressure on himself to exceed expectations moving forward, but it opened a door for a new movement in black music”.
I am going to finish off with another review around the reissue of Brown Sugar. Marking twenty years of a classic, The Line of Best Fit shared their thoughts on an album that has this incredible legacy. There are articles like this and this, that give you more insight into the seismic Brown Sugar. An album, as I said, that still sounds fresh and new. You can tell which artists recording today are influenced by D’Angelo’s masterful debut album. It will continue to inspire artists for generations:
“What’s remarkable about Brown Sugar is that it doesn’t fall prey to either of the likely fates for a solo record that draws on so many influences and was born of such a range of instrumental ability; it feels neither disparate nor like a kitchen sink job. In fact, on the contrary; Brown Sugar is masterfully restrained, an exercise in tasteful minimalism. The rhythm section drives the record, yet rarely seems to amount to much more than the crackle of the snare and a wandering bassline. The piano lines are unobtrusive, yet crucial; on the jazzier tracks - “Smooth” and “When We Get By”, for instance - they almost seem independent of the song, running parallel to it rather than feeling part of it. The guitar is used almost entirely for punctuation, but when it is - on “Alright” and “Me and Those Dreamin’ Eyes of Mine”, especially - it’s indispensable.
There’s early evidence, too, of D’Angelo’s flirtations with classical arrangements; the string section on that now-classic cover of Smokey Robinson’s “Cruisin’” is a masterstroke. In the larger scheme of the record, it was just another factor setting D’Angelo apart from the rest of the mainstream R&B world in the mid-nineties. At that point, the transition in the very meaning of that tag - from the rhythm and blues classicism that it actually stood for to where it stands today, effectively as a byword for urban-inflected pop music - was already underway, and in 1995, when the likes of Jodeci and Brandy had one eye on the charts, D’Angelo was continuing to fly the flag for purism - that he still managed to deliver something startlingly original in doing so is testament to his ability as a songwriter.
Also distinguishing him from his peers was his lyricism, which, on Brown Sugar, largely felt like a throwback to classic soul; this is an album replete with love songs, making it far and away his least complex album in conceptual terms. There’s nothing wrong with that, by any means; if you’re going to delve into straightforward balladry, then at least take your cues from the old maestros. Stevie Wonder’s presence is palpable on “Dreamin’ Eyes”, “Smooth” and “Alright”, whilst the spiritual leanings of “Higher” are a direct thematic nod to D’Angelo’s gospel roots. That he still found room for a chillingly sedate murder ballad - “Shit, Damn, Motherfucker” - and the nudge-wink of the title track, an ode to good weed rather than women, is impressive in itself.
And then, there’s that voice - and something else that has you realising what a one-off the man is. So much of a soul singer’s force of personality is wrapped up in their vocal delivery, so for D’Angelo - who by no means is a slouch in that department, with a readily recognisable falsetto - to pare back the importance of the vocals in the overall mix - to treat them as just another instrument, and to apply to them the same principles of minimalism as he does to every other area of Brown Sugar’s compositions - was a maverick move. He pitches his vocal approach somewhere between the soul that pervades the album’s instrumentation and the languidness that his hip hop heroes could lay claim to. His voice might sound smooth throughout the album, but his actual delivery was often not - there’s an offbeat confidence to his refusal to be bound by conventional standards of where the vocals should sit in relation to the rest of the track, something he probably owes as much to his jazz influences as to his admiration of Rakim or A Tribe Called Quest.
This new vinyl reissue is no remaster, and with just reason; there’s nothing wrong with the original. It’s all too easy to romanticise analog recording and the vinyl format itself in this day and age, but Brown Sugar provides compelling reason to feel nostalgic about both; it’s difficult to imagine how an album this sparse could still feel so warm if it had been digitally recorded, rather than cut to tape. Long since out of print on wax, this repress will allow a new generation to hear such a crisply captured R&B album the way it was intended. More than that, though - two decades on from its release - it provides an excuse, if anybody needed one, to revisit a game-changing classic of the genre, and in doing so, allow it to step out of the shadow cast by Voodoo and, more recently, Black Messiah”.
It is important that we mark thirty years of Brown Sugar. A stunning debut album from D’Angelo, I do wonder if he will follow up 2014’s Black Messiah (as D’Angelo and The Vanguard). He is one of the most consistent and talented artists of his generation. If you have not heard Brown Sugar then play it now. A sublime, soulful and scintillating work of genius, go and spend some time with…
THE perfect Brown Sugar.