One year later...
HOW DOES IT FEEL?
Not real. It still feels WRONG.
People die every day. We Iose family members. Friends. Neighbors. People we admire and respect. But on this one-year anniversary of D’Angelo’s passing, I continue to wish it was a bad April Fool’s prank that dragged out for far too long.
The shock to my system that happened 365 days ago hasn’t dissipated. The memory remains fresh: a late morning call from my friend breaking the news. A bombardment of texts and emails followed; I hadn’t experienced such a tidal wave of concern for me since 9/11. I spoke to the media as my soul sank into the earth and my brain tried not to completely malfunction. If I could turn back time, I would jump at the chance for a do-over with the BBC. A more preferable outcome: there would not have been a reason for the interview in the first place.
Strangers contacted me on social media to tell me how much my book about Voodoo meant to them. Humbled by those messages, I am proud that my labor of love helped readers appreciate D’Angelo’s indelible contribution to music. For some, the book was a salve to help them navigate their grief. But the reality remains that the book didn’t do shit for my grief.
As sublime as his discography is, it isn’t enough. And this isn’t the case of a generation-defining artist dying too young to unlock his/her/their full potential—think Jeff Buckley, Donny Hathaway or Amy Winehouse. D’Angelo put out only three albums in two decades because he cared more about making music than disseminating it. And I’ll keep it a buck, that angers me. It’s too little from a musician who was capable of so much. Today, with a few exceptions (I’m looking at YOU, Isaiah Sharkey!), we’re stuck with “meh” D’ wannabes who are not equipped to “carry the torch” that burned brightly since the release of Brown Sugar in 1995.
It goes without saying that the pain and grief felt by his family, friends and the Soulquarians (who, for all intents and purposes, are also his family) eclipse mine exponentially. I will play D’Angelo’s music today to honor his life and talent as the lyrics and soundscapes cut through me with exsanguinating precision. Even in death, his songs kill me softly.