Reflecting on D’
I don’t know what moved me, but as I was taking a shower today, I felt compelled to reflect on how much Michael Archer has changed my life. He’s been part of the soundtrack of my life since around 2022, and his music is truly transformative. There’s something sacred in the way he captures emotion — the kind that lingers long after the song ends. We lost a once-in-a-lifetime musician, but I’ll always be grateful for the way his art continues to live on in me.
When he passed, my friends were consoling me, which might sound strange since I never met him, but so many people know how much I love him and his music. Some even told me their first thoughts were about how I must be feeling. One of my friends said something that has stayed with me ever since: “At least you were put in the same universe, in the same time, where you could experience him and his work. You don’t know how many universes there might be where he never went down this path.”
That resonated deeply with me. It reminded me how special it is that I existed in a time where I could be moved, inspired, and changed by his art. Even though he’s gone, his presence, his sound, his soul — will always be with me.
I think I’m going to linger in the somberness a bit longer, because I know how influential he was in the lives of so many people, regardless of race, gender, or age. I shared his music with so many of my friends, and they too were captivated by the story he was here to tell. That Tuesday morning, we were all immobilized by the news. I remember just sitting there for hours, trying to process what had happened and how it all felt so sudden.
I’ve experienced loss before, but it never gets easier. You never really get past it. You just learn to carry through it, and for me, I’ll always carry D’s music as a reminder of what it means to feel deeply, to live authentically, and to create something that outlives you.
D’s Lesson on Love and Masculinity
D’Angelo was an absolutely pivotal icon for Black men and boys during the time of his peak fame. He showed us, in real time, how destructive it can be to one’s soul to be sexualized to the point of dehumanization. To have your art, identity, and worth reduced to sex appeal.
He was groped and emasculated every time he went on stage. Heckled by crowds to strip, showered with money as if he were an object of vice. When he tried to engage with his audience, fans grabbed and choked him, clawing at his clothes until he bruised. He began to question if anyone was there for him, or if they only came to feed on the image they’d created.
The anger that followed consumed him. He destroyed sets, broke things backstage, spiraled into substance use and self-loathing. He became trapped in a body that no longer felt like his own. He’d delay performances, staring into the mirror, hating what he saw — doing crunches backstage in desperation, as if carving his body back into worthiness for a crowd that would only ever want more. And so he ran.
His story became a reflection of what many Black men live every day. Since the moment our ancestors were brought from Africa, we have been forced into violent sexualization — commodified, displayed, and made to compete for value in systems that strip us of humanity. We’ve been told to accept that objectification as strength, to wear it as armor, to let it define our masculinity. D’Angelo’s concerts became a modern form of buck breaking — a painful echo of that historical cycle — and it wasn’t until he stepped away that he could begin to heal.
His fourteen-year absence became a joke to some, but those years were sacred. They were his becoming. In that silence, he rebuilt himself. He found alignment and peace. When he returned, he carried a confidence that wasn’t about perfection or physique — it was about purpose. He finally understood that his message was never just about sex or sound — it was about soul. As he would later express on Back to the Future, he had learned to love himself again, flaws and all.
He came back as a teacher, a teacher of soul. D’Angelo made vulnerability sound masculine again. He chased alignment between rhythm, history, and the divine. He taught us that real love isn’t glamorous or cinematic — it’s steady, imperfect, and consistent. He showed that strength comes from devotion, not dominance.
Through his transparency, he reminded us that to be human is to be flawed, and that peace comes from embracing those flaws rather than hiding them. He never portrayed himself as anything more than a man, one no different from the people working everyday jobs, finding meaning where they can.
He called himself old school, in his music, in his love, in his way of caring. And that devotion, that quiet, consistent love for what and who he cherished, is a lesson I’m endlessly grateful for.
D’Angelo helped me become a better man. To look inward, to identify my faults, and to learn how to grow not just for myself, but for the people around me.
The Deep Cuts
Over the last week, I found myself searching for whatever new piece of D’ I could find, live performances I’d never seen, unreleased tracks I never had the chance to hear. And through it all, I kept seeing how beautiful his energy was. That captivating, gentle smile that radiated through every song, every stage, every room he walked into. Knowing that we won’t see that again in this lifetime is heartbreaking. But we all have our time to go, and maybe his spirit was called home early, called back to where it all began.
But he did leave us behind with such great art — pieces of himself scattered across time — and I wanted to share some of those deeper cuts, the ones that become more intoxicating the longer you listen, the closer you lean in. The way he would tantalize his energy across a track, creating a vocal sound that almost whispers you forward, requiring you to come closer just to truly hear him. That was the gift — the intimacy of sound, the communion between artist and listener.
Greatdayndamornin’ / Booty — this track comes toward the end of Voodoo, and it’s such a jam. Funky and equally as sexy. It’s a medley that finds D’ just having his fun, singing about how great the days and mornings can be through it all, and diving into that sweet, sticky stuff that can transpire then. He’s almost gently tapping those keys, giving the track this spacy, otherworldly vibe. And Charlie Hunter? Man’s doing unreal work on his 8-string guitar and bass — at the same time. He’s occupying this pocket that’s so full, it’s almost overflowing. Then you’ve got Questlove on the drums simple, tight, completely in form.
And that falsetto at the end of Booty — the way he sings that closing chorus — it’s like a dance in your ear that moves entirely at its own pace. It’s free, confident, effortless. Just a hell of a fucking song, top to bottom, the track is just loose, sensual, improvisational, and soulful. I also forgot to mention, there’s this lovely clip of him at the 2016 Roots Picnic in NYC, dancing to the live band starting off this song, while he blows out a buff of smoke (I’ll link the full performance at the end)
Spanish Joint — I go back and forth with myself about whether this is my favorite track of his. I can never really decide, but my God, this is easily his most jazzy cut. Honestly, this song holds real weight in the jazz world. David Sanborn even did his own rendition and if you haven’t seen the live performance he did with Jan Prax, it’s on his YouTube, and it’s incredible.
Everything about this damn track just makes me want to get up and move. The energy, the tempo, the sheer joy of it. Especially the last minute or so — that outro feels like the ultimate D’Angelo send-off, the kind of ending that wraps his songs in this euphoric, spiritual fullness.
Charlie Hunter is back again, giving one of the best session performances I’ve ever heard and he’s the driving force here. His tone is silky smooth, vibrant, alive. Questlove is right behind him, locking in that groove with a rhythm that almost feels tango-esque — sensual, tight, perfectly human.
This track is also tied to Gina Figueroa, the same voice that opens Really Love with the Spanish spoken word piece. She was a former love interest of D’, and she inspired two of his best songs. She’s gotta be a tight joint, because whatever she brought out of him was magic.
And then there’s Roy Hargrove, the genius on the horn. He floats through the track like smoke, never forcing his way in, never overstaying. His additions were actually recorded after the main session, and yet they fit so naturally, so effortlessly, it’s like they were always meant to be there.
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Lastly, D’Angelo himself, my God. He’s still in his vocal prime here, and you feel it. He completely consumes the song with everything he’s got — harmonizing, scatting, bending notes, making the entire performance feel alive. I always imagine him during that last stretch, when he says, “Let’s go back to the chorus,” running to the back to join in on the bongos, just vibing out — harmonizing, sweating, shaking his ass, completely in the groove of his own creation.
But I have to mention the acoustic demo version of Spanish Joint. That recording is something else entirely, just D’ and his piano stripped down, intimate, like a private conversation between him and whoever’s listening. I’ve listened to it so many times. It’s such an intimate experience, hearing him use his tongue as percussion in the absence of traditional instruments, creating rhythm from breath and body. He replicates that tantalizing bassline and driving guitar performance all through his keys, and his voice raw, unguarded, soulful — fills in the rest.
That performance is something I’ll always want to share with anyone who finds meaning in this track. Because that version that stripped-down, human moment, feels like being let in on a secret. Just him, the piano, and the heartbeat of something eternal.
When we Get by — The eighth track on Brown Sugar, The world’s introduction to D’Angelo, is probably his most quintessential soul record. It’s almost a tribute to all the great works that came before him, a synthesis of everything that built the genre, filtered through his own sound.
It’s a love ballad, warm and tender, driven by a beautifully steady upright bass line and off-kilter horns arranged by Bob “Bassy” Brockman. Those horns create this delightful contrast — slightly askew, yet perfectly placed, like an echo of something vintage made new again.
D’s vocals are in full form here reaching across his range, balancing power and restraint. He moves effortlessly between strength and falsetto, like breath and heartbeat. He’s describing a love that feels rich and enduring, one that keeps moving forward with the same steady flow the track itself carries.
He sings these sweet nothings about his sugar, his voice wrapping itself around that brass horn section, that dancing bassline, those crisp drums, and the smooth piano underneath. It’s a song that doesn’t need to announce itself as special — it just is. Perfect in every way it can be. A track that lingers long after it ends, content simply in being a damn good song.
Black Hole Sun — This is D’s unreleased cover of the Soundgarden classic, and he absolutely transforms it into something entirely new. He doesn’t just cover it, he possesses it. He reshapes the song’s bones, turning it into a smoky, jazz-infused piece that feels both familiar and foreign.
What’s most striking is the atmosphere. The track has this rich, murky texture. The vocals are layered and hazy, almost suspended in air. His harmonies wrap around the melody with deliberate precision, but also that intuitive looseness only he could manage. He alters some of the lyrics too, subtly bending the meaning to fit his own world while keeping the soul of the original intact.
It’s a sonic fog, jazzy, heavy, and hypnotic. The instrumentation itself is deceptively simple, but it’s the feel that elevates it. The trio of D’, Pino Palladino, and Questlove takes the forefront, each of them finding that sweet spot between groove and restraint. D’ himself provides some beautiful rhythm and solo guitar work, showing just how much control and range he had beyond his vocals.
This cover was recorded during the period when he was working on his original third album, the one Virgin scrapped before Black Messiah. Some say it was recorded in 2002, others around 2010, but you can hear so much of Black Messiah’s DNA in it . The grit, the groove, the spirituality buried inside the distortion.
It’s one of his most ethereal works, shimmering with quiet mastery. It reminds you how deeply D’ understood simplicity — that music doesn’t need to be busy to be powerful. Sometimes it just needs truth, space, and soul.
Till It’s Done (Tutu) - The last track I want to mention is one that, to me, encapsulates the sound D’ mastered during his hiatus. When he became a true force of funk, rhythm, and reflection.
The standout element here is his voice. It’s unlike anything he had done before, altered, spectral, and otherworldly. Russ Elevado, D’s longtime engineer, once mentioned that on this track, he played around with the variable speed on the tape machine, which gave those higher-pitched, ethereal vocals their distinct tone. The result is haunting, both human and divine.
The song itself dives deep into D’s existential questioning of the modern world. He mourns the destruction we inflict on our planet, asking if we will have the strength and humility to rebuild once it all falls apart. He challenges the notion of “an eye for an eye,” seeing it instead as a cycle of destruction that robs us of connection. Beneath the sorrow, though, lies a quiet, glowing hope. Abelief that love might still win if we learn to reflect and change.
Musically, it shares the same atmospheric space as his Black Hole Sun cover — hazy, cosmic, and filled with air and light. Yet, where that cover feels suspended in melancholy, Till It’s Done feels hopeful. Despite the tragic reality he describes, the tone is uplifting, a plea for renewal, a prayer for peace.
It’s the sound of D’Angelo fully realized: spiritual, searching, and whole.
Thank you for being you, Michael Eugene “D’Angelo” Archer. You inspired me, and so many others around the world with your presence, your energy, and your message. Even though you’ve left through your transit, we carry you with us. And one day, I hope we align again in rhythm, in love, in soul.
