Album Review: "Voodoo" D’Angelo

I know. It just sounds like bedroom music. But this album is a virtual reality. For 79 minutes, the biggest dorks can simulate the life of a Black, Soul-prodigy and one of the most misunderstood artists of our time. 

Like so many iconic artists, D’Angelo became famous for a song that was unlike the rest of his body of work. And the misleading thing was his very body, which he trained 3 hours a day in preparation. The video of his first hit, “Untitled (How does it feel)”, features a panoramic view of his naked form. Tight-faced. slick-skinned. sleepy eyes with that sultry gaze. In 2000, as the video spent months on countdown shows, D’Angelo–against his own will–began to be portrayed as a sex-symbol. His carefully crafted sets were interrupted by rowdy female fans barking for his clothes. The introverted artist couldn’t handle it. He canceled shows, denied all interviews and with 2 Grammys under his belt, D’Angelo went on an album-drought for 12 years and counting. 12 years of mug-shots and rumored appearances. The Black Eyed Peas released 5 albums during this time. Clinton was President since we’ve last heard from our hero.

Appropriately, Voodoo seems to conjure Soul spirits for inspiration. D’Angelo recorded in Marvin Gaye’s studio, mixed on Hendrix’s board, and played Stevie Wonder’s rhodes. Like his video, his music feels naked. Stripped of distortion effects and production sounds, almost every song is recorded live on its first take.  In “Feel Like Making Love”, the lazy bass flirts with the rhythm, throbbing like a heartbeat. On “Africa”, his keyboard notes drip like trebled rain surrounding the track. “One Mo Gin” shows his masterful vocal layering through dissonant intervals and feathery vibrato. D'Angelo is almost always harmonizing but he does it without you noticing through his hypnotic melodies. 

In the media, critics labeled him NeoSoul. D'angelo dubs himself as funk.  And while his sound is usually described as ‘smooth’ and ‘chill’, what separates him from easy-listening R&B is the slow, aggressive power of his songs(stemming from his Gospel roots). It's the difference between shy and reserved. Between having nothing to say and simply waiting for the right time to say it. Voodoo's release, 5 years after his debut album, was triggered by the birth of his first son. The whole album seems to be muttered under his breath as if he doesn’t care all that much if you hear him.  In fact, he might not even notice you’re there. Imagining him in the studio before his producers, I always got the sense that D’Angelo was singing to himself. It is a level of smooth that has completely become a lost art. If you’ve read this far, do yourself a favor and listen to these songs and imagine being that comfortable in your own skin. Maybe that’s why he was naked and left it untitled in the first place.

(PS: Let's pray that D'Angelo finds Jesus and returns as the greatest praise leader of all time...)

Tongue

My students are always shocked when I tell them that English is my second language. By now, my Korean is nowhere near as good but it's still the language I think in. My curses and prayers always feel better in Korean. Lately I've been really enjoying my native tongue. I’ve been singing K-pop songs and dropping Hangul in conversations. I’ve even introduced myself as Taeyoung.

Korean is played in short, choppy sounds. If English rolls through its letters, Korean stutter-steps each character. Each vowel is rushed and married to a hard consonant. The cadence fluctuates wildly, jumping up and down; Korean speech can be charted on music staff. And we speak it rapidly, plugging in words to universal sentence structure. Nouns are attached to articles that make sentences easy to anticipate. Korean thoughts flow like mad libs.

But more than anything, it's endearing. with separate conjugations of verbs to show respect. completely different vocabulary when addressing your elder. Whenever I talk to my friend’s parents, meet esteemed speakers, or want to honor my Dad, I’m grateful for the honorific style of Korean. Ironically, there’s something self-empowering about submitting to others.

I used to be embarrassed to answer my mom’s phone calls around American friends. Meanwhile, my Latino students flaunt their Spanish like a rare talent, seamlessly code-switching when they address each other. Maybe I’m getting bored with English. or embracing my roots. But when I speak Korean, it feels familiar and natural. It fits the length of my tongue and the shape of my lips. It makes me wanna improve my Korean. Maybe even live there for a little. I want to understand my mom’s articles in the church newsletter. I want to communicate closely with my wife’s parents. I want my kids to speak Korean as their first language. As cultures change and parents pass, the language might be the only thing that remains.

Lady

The other day I overheard my 11 year old sister on the phone with my 27 year old sister. She's been married for a while living in NC. It's sad to think that Sarah, who changed Erin's diapers and warmed her bottles, now watches Erin grow up through Facebook pictures. I couldn't really hear what they were saying but I heard a comfort in Erin's voice that I had never really heard before. It made me wonder how Erin would be different had Sarah remained in her life. I never considered that there might be some things that I couldn’t provide for Erin, myself.

There's something different about a woman's presence. The female perspective is warm yet firm. Wise. When I talk to some of them, they place their hands on their folded legs. They listen and nod with squinted eyes of empathy. They retort calmly, pinching strands of hair behind their ear. Their gentle prodding coaxes me into my best behavior.

For the first time, I'm enjoying a handful of meaningful yet platonic relationships with different ladies in my life. One’s a married deaconess from church. Another led our team in India. M teaches History at my school. Y's a paralegal in the city. Phd students. Nutrition bloggers. Adopting mothers. There is something timelessly fascinating about the female psyche. I'm forever a fan. Partly because it's the one thing I can never fully understand, but really because of the woman's uncanny ability to comfort and empower. Somehow, at the same time.

Maybe it has something to do with child bearing. That God designed women with an innate gift of powerful love. This year, two of my juniors conceived children. Three of my seniors currently raise infants. It’s interesting when these girls come back from pregnancy. They come back with a solemn maturity. They work efficiently, with a chip on their shoulder. They study silently, indifferent to the gossip. They smile, but not in the same way. Sometimes during my lessons, I make eye contact with her and wonder how many hours of sleep she got. I try to give my most reassuring look because I'm familiar with the heavy brow of a single mother. I know in that moment, I’m witnessing the transition from girl to woman.

The biggest influences in my life have one thing in common. They truly believed in me, when it made no sense. They gave me the benefit of the doubt, when I didn't deserve it. More than anything, I was driven by the fear of disappointing them. I started becoming the person they thought I was.

my piece from "The Trumpet" (vol 15).

Tenali, India

During my two weeks in India, I spent a lot of time with children from different villages. For the most part, children are the same wherever you go–including the kids from Pastor Rufus’ orphanage. There were 40 of them, ages 5-12. And because they grew up together, I’m not sure how many of them actually knew they were orphans. During praise, they would sing and dance. During games, they would laugh and smile. But on the last night as we prayed over them, they began to cry. This was not the innocent, childhood bawling but a deeper, aching groan. Perhaps for the first time, they could sense that something was off in their lives. I held one boy named Heart as he sobbed into my chest with his arms around my waist. It was the unique posture of a child longing for his parents. The deep pain of missing something he doesn’t remember. As I prayed I cried out, “God, why is this happening? What is Your purpose?”

He assured me that He loves them very much and that He would be their father. So God let him cry, like He always does. He let the pain sink in. It was the hollowing of this orphan’s heart, to make space for Himself. I glimpsed the future of the Gospel in India that night. Leaders were being shaped in that very room. As I held Heart, I saw that he and I weren't that different. At the end of the day we are all spiritual orphans, separated from our Father in Heaven. Nostalgic for the eternity we haven’t yet experienced.

Dry Cleaners Ministry

Mom: You lost weight. Is everything okay?
Customer 1: My roommate is recovering from cancer.
Mom: What is her name? I will pray to Jesus for her.

Customer 2: How is Erin?
Mom: She has volleyball tryouts today. She asked me to pray in Jesus name.
Customer 2: I'll pray for her also.

Customer 3: Where is Ben?
Mom: He's in India.
Customer 3: Why?
Mom: Jesus sent him.

Damn mom... How you have so much swag?

Rookie Reflections

That was fun. Let's do it again!

Gut

Sometimes during college, my roommates and I would start craving a certain taste but we couldn't quite put a finger on what it was. So we would start bouncing ideas off each other through process of elimination. "Asian or American? Hot or cold?" Some days we would discover that we had wanted Halal cart all along. Other times, we would settle for Subway. One thing's for sure though, when you finally get it, it totally hits the spot.

It's funny because we would just be flipping through menus looking for something to tip us off. So often, we don't know what we want but we'll know it if we see it. It's the same reason my students prefer true or false questions to essay assignments. We can identify yes or no but struggle when asked to explain why.

Sometimes our gut can sense things before our minds can understand them. I'm convinced that girls who know nothing about basketball can recognize Michael Jordan's dominance during a game. Tone-deaf boys can still appreciate the sheer power of Whitney's voice. Even total strangers pick out their soulmates on the first encounter. It's the smell of passion and its truth can't be denied.

Thinking : Action

If you work out regularly, you know the therapy of a steady bench press. push. breathe. push. breathe. The cleansing sweat of a rhythmic jog. left. right. left. right. Sometimes, we need to channel our most carnal instincts just to feel human again.

More and more, I'm beginning to think that human beings were designed to work. move. toil. During my 11 day vacation, nothing was more dangerous than being idle. When our "thinking to action ratio" is too high, we become petty and dramatic. Delusional and complacent. I started thinking myself into ruts.

Personally, I really miss--and even need--the daily grind again. There's something sexy about 6 am. Refreshing about a full day's schedule. And nothing is more satisfying than loosening my tie at the end of the day.

Furthermore, repetition and exhaustion can really arouse the imagination. The best ideas have a way of falling into our lap when we're least looking for them. when we're buried at work. So many artists become out of touch over time, because they quit the day jobs that helped them write their best songs. They lose the tension of everyday experiences that once triggered their creative juices.

So Kanye, when you're done with your dark, twisted fantasy, I'll be at the gym waiting for the guy that wrote "Roses". Do you even remember why you rap anymore? Just think of that cheeky kid with the backpack. Hip Hop needs you and I miss you.

Werd

you'll see Him one day.
I just hope that I'm the one to show you.

Self-Assessment

Teacher: Ha
Subject: 11th English Language Arts
Term: 2010-2011

Classroom Management: B
Curriculum Building: B+
Faculty Rapport: A-
Student Relationships: A
Differentiation: C+
Representing Christ at work: F