Some things are worth the wait.

14 years after 'Voodoo' was released to the world, causing untold numbers of accidental pregnancies and a uniformly adoring critical response, D’Angelo released his new album, suddenly and unexpectedly. Oh, sure there were rumblings. Questlove had said a few things, the man himself was touring… but these kinds of rumours have been floating around for YEARS. The third D’Angelo album had become one of music’s great myths, like the Basement Tapes, Jimi Hendrix’s solo project at the time of his death, Neil Young’s 'Chrome Dreams' or any number of Prince albums that never saw the light of day. But then one Sunday night (US time) it dropped. At midnight. With no warning.

After 14 years it arrives right at your doorstep, uninvited but oh-so welcome.

D’Angelo is one sexy son of a bitch. Women want him and men want to be him. It’s that old cliché but with this guy it’s truer than ever. It’s a prevailing concept that inhabits his music, his image, his songs themselves. Depending on your preferences, you hear a song like ‘Untitled’ (only a certified genius would name their biggest hit: ‘Untitled’) and he’s either singing DIRECTLY TO you, or DIRECTLY AS you. There is no middle man, only a pure line from D’Angelo’s tongue to your ears (and maybe somewhere else).

That insatiability is part of why he disappeared. His public image was getting in the way of his art and his message. And so D’Angelo sunk into the background. Rumours swirled over possible new recordings. There were personal issues, the odd guest appearance and now and then Questlove would leak a detail or two while the notoriously media-shy D’Angelo supposedly worked late into the night at the studio. Or maybe he was living in a cabin in the woods. Or walking among us unrecognised in his self-obtained anonymity.

"You say you wanna be the one she chooses to star in her meaningless romance"

We don’t know for sure how he spent the last 14 years, so we’re free to make up our own story. It reminds me of author Thomas Pynchon. An utter master of the written word, he hasn’t given an interview in his entire 50 year career, only a few confirmed photos of him exist (from his navy years and high school yearbook). One of the most critically acclaimed living authors on the planet and we don’t even know what he looks like! All that missing information is filled in with mythology. Pynchon’s lack of an appearance almost puts him on par with Robert Johnson, the legendary blues musician. Johnson allegedly sold his soul to the devil to attain his brilliance. In reality he was probably a devoted student and a gifted musician, but when only the remnants of two 1937-38 recording sessions and just a handful of photographs of you still exist (Johnson died in ’38, poisoned by the jealous boyfriend of a woman he met in a bar - supposedly), then people will fill in the blanks with the story they want to believe.

D’Angelo walked away from his career and by extension he made himself more (in)famous than ever. But when a person is as capable of such creative virtuosity, the muse is a difficult lover to tame.

“You can’t leave me/It ain’t that easy/Walk away/When I want you to stay”

Apparently he rushed forward the release of this album in the wake of all the civil unrest going on in the States. As the album became available on iTunes, there was a listening party in the rooftop lounge of a Manhattan hotel. It was the first time many record execs had even heard it. Likewise the title, ‘Black Messiah’ provokes some thinking, especially coming from a guy that Robert Christgau once dubbed: The R&B Jesus. I don’t really know what it means beyond that it sounds cool and deep, though I’m sure it has meaning for D’Angelo. In his liner notes he clarifies a little of it, albeit kinda cryptically.

Tragedies like that in Ferguson, Missouri are clearly on D’s mind. So obviously there are some hard hitting social commentaries found within. Hard hitting in a Curtis Mayfield way. In a Sly & the Family Stone way. In a Marvin Gaye way. ‘1000 Deaths’ starts with 90 seconds of spoken word overdubs on a funky background and his vocals, when they kick in, are shallow and distorted. ‘The Charade’ carries on the same theme.

“All we wanted was a chance to talk/Instead we only got outlined in chalk/Feet have bled a million miles we’ve walked/Revealing at the end of the day, the charade.”

That’s a brilliantly written line, and plenty of credit for that needs to go to contributor Kendra Foster, of Parliament/Funkadelic, who is credited as a co-writer on 8 of the 12 songs here (as well as Q-Tip on ‘Ain’t That Easy’ & ‘Sugah Daddy’). Foster gives these songs the lyrical boost they deserve – D’s voice does the rest. Don’t overlook the fact that ‘Black Messiah’ is credited to D’Angelo and the Vanguard. He has plenty of help here in creating his most musically diverse album, including the likes of Pino Palladino (bass), Roy Harper (trumpet) and of course Questlove, all of whom were there to help craft the brilliant ‘Voodoo’ way back at the turn of the millennium.

There’s a certain kind of album where each listen brings a new perspective. Different elements rise to your attention, maybe the lyrics or the guitars or the beats or themes. Every spin brings a new standout song, a new favourite. ‘Black Messiah’ is very much like that. At first, given my own bluesy inclinations, I really dug ‘The Door’ with its front-porch blues instrumentals, padded by a catchy melody and a whistled intro. Like, literally whistled. That and ‘Sugah Daddy’, the first single and probably the track closest to what we’d expect of D’Angelo. Smooth and sexy, dangerous but vulnerable. Wise yet primal. Those were the first tracks I wanted to play back in isolation.

But then you listen to the whole record again and the brilliance of things like ‘The Charade’ and the magnificently transcendent ‘Another Life’ get you. The next time through you see why ‘Betray My Heart’ is so powerful, the same goes for ‘1000 Deaths’ with its social commentary and the opener ‘Ain’t That Easy’ – which might be the most sing-along-able of the set. Eventually, and I can attest to this personally, you spend enough time with the record and every single song will at some point be your favourite song. That’s an incredible feat, something off the top of my head I can only think of as matched by the Stones’ ‘Exile on Main St’. Though I’m sure there are one or two others out there.

"The seasons may come and your luck may just run out/And all that you'll have is a memory, oh"

I had the bass riff from ‘Till It’s Done (Tutu)’ stuck in my head all weekend as if it had always been there. The way that happens with the classics. Nestled up in my brain in all its funky glory – despite the fact I only heard it for the first time a week ago! In fact the bass, supplied by Palladino & D himself, may just be the secret weapon of this entire work of art. Immaculate.

It’s as if it all just shines through him. Honesty, beauty and rhythm and sweet music direct from the soul. Rising up through him and back through us as we hear it. Like an entity of its own, a gift from some place we can never comprehend.

“You don’t ever have to fear/That my love is not sincere/I will never betray my heart”

Just look at all the elements he encompasses. Whereas some probably expected a straight neo-soul album, D’Angelo is never one not to push the boundaries. He expands on the expected sound and takes it to different realms – but never jarringly so or without inspiration. I mean, who else builds a song around a whistled tune, or begins one with some free-jazz brass or a minute and a half long excerpt from an impassioned civil rights speech or some disembodied Spanish soap opera banter? Or all of the above across the course of an album. He does things with the keyboards that barely even make sense, his guitar sounds better than ever. The beats are slick and funky (obviously, given Questlove’s involvement). And his voice… his voice is all that we remember it was.

Yet at the same time D’Angelo reaches further than ever before. Listen closely and you can here elements of all great forms of black music. Hip-hop, jazz, funk, rock and roll (taken by white kids but still a black form as Chuck Berry would tell ya), soul, gospel and blues. Most music is black music, to be honest, and it’s all there buried beneath the surface. But then there’s also a track like ‘Really Love’ which is built around a string section and some flamenco guitar. Oh, and those high-pitched sultry vocals.

"Take my hand, I swear I'll take my time"

It defies all logic that he’s been able to follow up ‘Voodoo’ with something this good – even if it did take 14 years. But this isn’t an album he could have made back then. It’s modern, fresh and exactly what the world needs right now. D’Angelo has created an affirmingly human masterpiece. It took 14 years but I’d gladly wait that long again. By whatever means necessary, you need to hear this.

It's perfect.