D’ANGELO at Sound Academy, Friday, May 31. Rating: NNNNN
It’s been more than a decade since D’Angelo last performed in Toronto but when the reclusive R&B prodigy strolled on stage brandishing a bright pink guitar, it was as if time had been standing still.
Much like the music of Prince and James Brown, D’Angelo’s fiery funk is firmly planted in that ineffable realm between the spiritual and the sexual. Although R&B has moved in a chillier, introverted direction in recent years, D’Angelo continues to bask in luminous warmth. His old school showmanship is as commanding as ever, his honeyed falsetto voice still undercut with just enough raspy grit.
That consistency is all the more remarkable considering his turbulent recent past, descent into addiction and 12-year career hiatus, which ended last year with his return to the stage. (The follow-up to his widely acclaimed Voodoo album is “99% done,” according collaborator Questlove, but a release date has yet to be announced.)
And it’s all the more remarkable considering he apparently didn’t show up for sound check.
D’Angelo’s Toronto comeback attracted a near-full house at Sound Academy (including local superstars Drake and Feist) that buzzed with equal amounts of anticipation and skepticism as the wait for his appearance extended to nearly an hour past the scheduled start time.
Opening with a lively call-and-response take on Left And Right, he guided his eight-piece band through lengthy psychedelic funk re-workings of back catalogue numbers like Feel Like Makin’ Love, Chicken Grease, Shit Damn Motherfucker, as well as a rendition of neo-soul hit Lady featuring a surprise cameo by R&B crooner Anthony Hamilton.
The biggest change in D’Angelo’s music is his emphasis – and proficiency – on the guitar. There was a clear classic rock influence in two of the three new songs he included in the set. The Charade started off as a warbly, soulful power ballad that gradually morphed into taught, blistering funk that felt like live take on rock re-edit while the Spanish guitar riff on the sensual Really Love somehow went from maudlin to mind-melding by the song’s end.
He saved the heartthrob histrionics for encore, sing-a-long renditions of Cruisin’ and Untitled (How Does It Feel). Returning to the stage alone, he sat at the keyboard smoking and teased Untitled note by note, pausing a ridiculous amount of times to strike crossed-arm poses, soak in the ensuing shrieks, and reassert his status as an heir apparent in a long lineage of inimitable funk showmen.
