Peterson: Lost in the ‘Voodoo’
Why did D’Angelo dive into Questlove’s drum kit? And whatever happened to that red t-shirt?
Both questions nagged me this week after learning that D’Angelo, the reclusive soul singer whose sublime falsetto has been the soundtrack for so much of my life, died at 51.
I caught D’Angelo 25 years ago in late April at the Paramount Theatre in Denver. I was 19, home from college on spring break, and bought a pair of tickets to see the show with my girlfriend because I’d been listening to “Voodoo” nonstop since its release earlier that year.
I don’t remember a lot about the shows I saw in 2000 — everything from grunge (Smashing Pumpkins, Pearl Jam) to hip-hop (Busta Rhymes, Wu-Tang Clan) to cringe (Counting Crows, Dave Matthews Band) that included my one and only Phish show.
But I distinctly remember two things from D’Angelo doing “Voodoo” in downtown Denver.
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First, I was in the distinct minority of dudes in the packed auditorium of 1,800. Second, D’Angelo, seemingly out of nowhere, dived into Questlove’s drums at the end of the set before stomping off stage.
I also got that shirt — cherry red, with D’Angelo’s face on the front and all the dates on the back. It was made by Levi’s, which sponsored the tour.
That shirt would probably go for a few hundred bucks on eBay if I still had it. A jean jacket from the tour was going for nearly $600 the other day when I looked.
Seeing D’Angelo perform in the flesh didn’t mean that much to me at the time, since I always assumed there’d be more albums and more shows.
But after the tour, D’Angelo didn’t release another album for 14 years. He disappeared from public view while struggling with drugs and alcohol. He nearly died in a car crash. He went to rehab and lost the beefcake physique that made him such a sensation in the video for “Untitled (How Does It Feel).”
The reaction to that video explains why that theater was so packed with women.
The sight of D’Angelo, naked except for a crucifix around his neck, singing seductively as a camera scanned his pulsing, sweating, chiseled torso — yeah, I certainly was a believer in “R&B Jesus,” though I likely wasn’t his target audience.
The video, played endlessly on MTV and BET, sent him into orbit, with a No. 1 album and Grammys to follow. But the son of a Pentecostal preacher was uncomfortable as a heartthrob — or, for that matter, being classified as the “neo-soul” heir to Al Green and Marvin Gaye.
Maybe that’s why he dove into the drums of the “copilot” who’d helped him create that classic record. Or maybe it was just stagecraft — Jimi Hendrix playing the guitar with his teeth or James Brown tossing off his cape.
Questlove probably knows, but I don’t. The same goes for the whereabouts of that t-shirt. Perhaps the questions are part of the point. D’Angelo was always an enigma, which is why his music resonated so deeply. The mystery, the talent, the moments of brilliance — they created a legacy that still captivates and confounds.
His talent felt limitless that night, and it’s a tragedy that we only got to glimpse what he could have been. This much is certain: “Voodoo” still sounds as fresh and vital as it did then. It lives and breathes as a testament to an artist who, even with his struggles, left an indelible mark.
In the end, all that remains is what is remembered. T-shirts are just pieces of cotton.
I’m just glad that memory lives with me, along with the music.
Nate Peterson still has the ticket stub from the MC Hammer concert he saw when he was 10 years old, but he’s not selling it on eBay. Email him at npeterson@vaildaily.com.
