Erykah Badu - The Soul of the New Amerykah

With five albums under her belt in nearly fifteen years of career, plus a sprawling and branching genealogy of productions, collaborations and appearances, Erica Abi Wright, better known as Erykah Badu, is one of the most representative Black artists in the history of contemporary songwriting.

A singer capable of effectively synthesizing the melancholy, intoxicated and irregular scat of a Billie Holiday, the unripe, bewitching, capricious sensuality of a Diana Ross or the more brazen one of Chaka Khan, the hybrid vocal styles (hip-hop, nu-soul, reggae) of an Aaliyah or a Lauryn Hill.

An artist capable of blending half a century of Black music through the jazz-blues standards of the Forties, the politically engaged soul of Marvin Gaye, the romantic and elegant soul of Stevie Wonder, the impetuous funk of blaxploitation, D'Angelo's nu-soul and the instrumental rap of the Roots, right through to contaminations with dub, psychedelic or ambient music. An icon who, despite the prevailing Black fashion stereotypes of MTV, christens a brand-new and daring aesthetic model, built on the expressiveness of a look as eccentric as it is refined and on the display of an urgent, genuine femininity that is the effective counterpart to her own musical style. Starting with the ever-changing, citational design of her clothing: huge turbans, regal tunics, blazing and exotic outfits that pay homage to African priestesses and the majesty of Nefertiti, the quirky Eartha Kitt-style outfits or the bold Seventies foxy-mama looks. And ending with a public and private life devoted to marital and romantic independence, underscored by a constant celebration of motherhood (Badu has had three children by three different men, without ever having been married to any of them).

Born in Dallas in 1971, she grows up alongside a brother and a sister raised by their maternal grandmother. Her mother is a stage actress who, to support the family, has to commit to constant tours around the United States, and she barely knew her father. It's in this world dominated by strong, independent women, in this affectionate and creative matriarchy, that Erykah embraces a recurring tenet in her life and her music: that men can be unreliable, that detachment and change, however painful, are necessary, and that, at the end of the day, you can only count on yourself.

She's a precocious child: at four she's already on the stage of the Dallas Theatre Centre singing and dancing alongside her mother; in elementary school she tries her hand at painting, dance and singing; at 14 hip-hop explodes and she falls in love with it, becoming a DJ and freestyler for a local radio station (in an exceptional duo: the beats were provided by future jazz star Roy A. Hargrove). After graduating in visual arts, intent on following in her mother's footsteps, she attends drama school. She doesn't know it yet, but music will be the stage of her life. When she bursts onto the scene, around the mid-Nineties, R&B seems by then to be the preserve of "bleached" divas like Whitney Houston or Mariah Carey.

And the impact of this twenty-year-old – who a few years earlier, like all the great rebels of the past from Elijah Muhammad to Malcolm X, from Kareem Abdul-Jabbar to Muhammad Ali, changed her name from a slave name to the one we know her by – on the Clintonian pantheon of political correctness is not to be underestimated.

Baduizm (1997)

After a demo recorded under the name Funky Cousins (and billing herself as Erykah Free), soon followed by a duet with D'Angelo, "Your Precious Love", a Marvin Gaye cover that offered plenty of proof of her talent, it's Baduizm (1997) that shoots Erykah like a comet into the firmament of emerging nu-soul.

Under the wing of the Roots and with James Poyser at the helm – the man with the golden touch who ferried the "Philly sound" into the new millennium – Badu can pour out all her love for 1940s jazz-blues (Billie Holiday, Ella Fitzgerald), 1970s soul, the atmospheric Stax sound and the more funk-oriented Philadelphia strain, fusing them all into hip-hop's metronomic "boom-klat". The opening track "Rim Shot" is exemplary in this respect. But it's her voice – playful, caressing, tender, haughty, dishevelled, flowing like a stream – that makes the difference. Like the great black heroines of the past, Erykah doesn't just interpret the songs she writes: she animates them, relives them, reinvents them differently every time, turning every performance into a moment of absolute, shameless nakedness (and truth).

Broadly speaking, the songs fall into two categories: the more modern ones, freely modelled on the hip-hop/nu-soul aesthetic of the late Nineties, and the more lounge, jazzy, retro ones, which savour nostalgia without dissipating their harmonic richness into mere aftertaste of quotation.

The first category includes: the vegetarian fable "Apple Tree", poised between soul and g-funk, between theremin embroidery and drum-machine stings; the soft, adulterous idyll of "Next Lifetime", a warm, welcoming groove modulated through a series of synth shadings; the more conventional pop-soul of "4 Leaf Clover"; and the sense of doléance and desolation that only faith in love can redeem in "Drama" (orchestral washes, piano inlays, swooning bass).

The other side is, if anything, even more luminous: "On & On" (the biggest commercial hit, peaking at number 12 on Billboard), with its Afro-centric spirituality, wah-wah guitar, spartan rhythm, jazz piano and Badu's inimitable scat-soul; "Certainly", with its claim to emotional independence and progressive pride, built on double bass (Ron Carter, extraordinary as usual), hip-hop quarter-notes, jazz horns, a lounge setting and vocal flourishes at times even more intoxicating than those mentioned above; the dark, deep soul-jazz of "Otherside Of The Game", social commitment as an inescapable calling, emotional and social precariousness as a metaphor for an ancestral condition (“Now, me and baby got this situation/ See brotha got this complex occupation/ And it ain’t that he don’t have education/ Cause I was right there at his graduation”). "Baduizm" goes on to earn triple platinum status, and Badu wins two Grammy Awards, for Best R&B Album and Best Female R&B Vocal Performance.

Mama's Gun (2000)

After the success of Baduizm and the live album Live (which includes several covers plus the previously unreleased "Tyrone"), Badu partially steps back from the scene to care for her son Seven, born in 1997 from her relationship with André 3000 of Outkast. Even so, she finds time to co-write, with the Roots, a hit like "Got Me" and to join the Soulquarians, a collective of black musicians that also includes, among others, D'Angelo, J Dilla, Q Tip, Common and Mos Def.

More or less the same team that would soon set to work on a follow-up to her dazzling debut. Produced by Badu herself alongside the usual ?uestlove and Poyser (with J Dilla joining the fold), and relying on a renewed roster of musicians (expanded to include a full string section), Mama's Gun (2000) has a creative backdrop shaped by two pivotal events: on one hand, the end of Erykah's relationship with André, which steers the overall mood toward a darker, more explicit, disillusioned awareness of human fragility; on the other, the killing of Amadou Diallo, an unarmed Guinean immigrant with no criminal record, gunned down with 41 shots by four NYPD officers on February 4, 1999, which pushes her, with greater anger and conviction, onto the path of civil rights and social commitment.

The sonic fresco is, by design, even more ambitious than its predecessor: Erykah stretches the song form to the edge of the jam session, folding into her fusion elements of ethno-progressive music, rock flare-ups, reggae trimmings, dub connections, blaxploitation soundscapes, and psychedelic preludes.

The album is largely built around four tracks, the longest and most significant, from which the "minor" compositions then radiate outward in different directions: first, "Penitentiary Philosophy", with its foxy-funk moves, hard-rock jolts and dreamlike interruptions, an angry declaration of powerlessness suspended between despair and a hunger for vindication; and finally "Green Eyes", a kind of cinematic suite in three movements (the first sounds like a 1930s gramophone, the second a delicate lounge-jazz, the third a soaring soul crescendo backed by horns) about a woman trying to come to terms with the failures of her love life; in between, the expansive soul-jazz of "A.D. 2000", an elegy for Diallo's death, and the substantial "Orange Moon", a languid, Billie Holiday-style blues built on piano, flute, murmuring double bass and ?uestlove's unmistakable touch on drums.

The singles are equally sophisticated: the stax-soul of "Bag Lady" (with its near-trip-hop rolls), the Afro percussion and dub-soul stride of the anguished "Didn't Cha Know", and the supremely elegant "Cleva", which partly demystifies her "black diva" status. More propulsive are the hip-hop-inflected rework of "...& On", incense-heavy with its clucking vocal runs and sudden jazzy breaks; the Seventies funk of "Booty" (all stop-and-go), in which she pokes fun at her reputation as a man-eater; and "Kiss Me On My Neck (Hesi)" (Afro-tinged drums, hypnotic flute flourishes and wah-wah reverb).

Despite the obvious risks of such an undertaking, Mama's Gun matches the success of its predecessor, climbing to number 11 on Billboard (with "Bag Lady" reaching third place among the singles) and earning three Grammy nominations (though no wins this time).

World Wide Underground (2003)

Satisfied with the overall success of Mama's Gun, Erykah takes another three-year hiatus, broken only in February 2002 by her contribution to the soundtrack of "Brown Sugar", an "all-black" romantic comedy set in the world of hip-hop, featuring the hit "Love Of My Life (An Ode To Hip-Hop)", a successful idyll in which she duets with rising star Common, blending smooth soul (bass, organ, flute), r&b and retro melodic phrasing over a distinctly rap-oriented backdrop (scratching, loops, electronic drums). The song is a hit: it spends four weeks atop Billboard's r&b/hip-hop chart and earns its author another Grammy Award. A track suspended, as is typical of Badu, between the past and present of black music, and one that, in a way, foreshadows the (partial) electronic turn of World Wide Underground.

Born as an EP and then expanded to include as many as 10 tracks (with "Love Of My Life" and "Hollywood" added as bonus tracks for foreign markets), World Wide Underground is a transitional album, more hybrid than eclectic, uneven in both songwriting and style, though buoyed by some strong compositions, capturing an artist on the verge of turning the page but still a little undecided about which direction to take.

The production also shifts, momentarily stepping away from the Soulquarians camp and splitting instead between progressive hip-hop duo Dead Prez and former enfant prodige and nu-soul demiurge Raphael Saadiq. The musical choices couldn't be more different: on one side, an exploration of Afro-centrism (both musical and cultural, with contributions from the aforementioned Dead Prez, Zap Mama and the extraordinary hand percussion of virtuoso Leonard Gibbs); on the other, a return to a more canonical hip-hop and neo-soul blueprint. On one hand, the extended, experimental openings of “Bump It” and “I Want You”, perhaps the two most significant tracks for the way they blur that mix of dub oriented dreaminess, lounge, psychedelia and hot buttered soul that would find fuller expression on the subsequent New Amerykah; on the other, a certain mainstream polish calibrated on the model of “Love Of My Life” (the r&b 2.0 of “Danger”, the basic hip-hop of “Woo” and “Love Of My Life Worldwide” featuring Queen Latifah).

Also worth noting is the agit rap of “The Grind” (driven by Stic Man of Dead Prez's fiery delivery), and the relaxed, dub-tinged soul of “Back In The Day (Puff)”, adorned with glitch touches (the guitar line is courtesy of Lenny Kravitz).

New Amerykah Part One (Fourth World War) (2008)

After nearly four years of silence (in 2006 she makes a cameo on Sergio Mendes's “Timeless”), in 2007 Badu reveals she's at work on three full albums to be released starting the following year.

As is clear from the title itself and from the superbly crafted musical trailers arranged as intro and outro, New Amerykah Part One (Fourth World War) is the first chapter of this trilogy. It's the album where the electro-dub leanings already hinted in nuce on its predecessor reach full fruition, merging the soul modernism of Baduizm with her more syncretic, cinematic side.

Her voice, warm and sensual, seems untouched by the long hiatus — if anything it sounds fuller, more eclectic and damn soulful. In contrast with the vocal melodies, the beats and backing tracks have never been so hip-hop oriented and tightly locked. Tracks like “The Healer” (Otis Jackson Jr. at the mixing desk: yes, he's involved here too, and once again he's King Midas) or “Master Teacher” (co-written with Georgia Anne Muldrow, also of the Stones Throw family) are excellent examples of modern, intelligent hip-hop, streaked with soul and carried by effective, loose-limbed rhythms.

But the greatest strength of this album lies in its song structures: even though talking about it in these terms flattens the feeling and passion that permeate the whole work, it must be said that Badu has delivered, with excellent help of course, songs that are long yet lean, flowing with ease and that entertain as much as they move you.

The opening track, “Amerykahn Promise”, is essentially a female-led renewal of seventies funk, immediately showcasing her splendid voice. The other standout moments are “Soldier”, marked by a direct, dry, effective beat that crashes down over a distant synth line, between melodic pauses and sweeping returns. With “Me”, dreamy, atmospheric soul-jazz, she lays bare the backstory of her five years of inactivity, a struggle of discouragement, weariness and hope (“This year i turned 36/ Damn it seems I came so quick/ My ass and legs have gotten thick/ It’s all me”, just to reiterate that trying to compete with whichever Rihanna is in vogue is a waste of time, and anyone who wants can happily drink from easier, more accessible sources), before dissolving the track into a scat joke for voice and trumpet.

“My People”, perhaps the best track on the whole album, is a classy, ecstatic mantra, a murderously dark bassline pulling the strings of a beat loaded with mephistophelian undertones; here the voice is repeated, layered across multiple strata that create a sense of claustrophobic, vaguely trip-hop warmth. “Master Teacher” steeps the soul in a dub bath with strings in the background and call-and-response between rap phrasing and gospel choirs, then, after a brief fade, picks back up in pure 70s Tamla Sound for organ and filigree glitch embroidery; “That Hump” borrows the same structure: a dub-soul framework, synth echoes, an atmosphere suspended between romanticism and psychedelia, then another fade and a vintage return like a classic orchestral black record from over thirty years ago. The extended “Telephone” is a lounge-soul piece that dilutes its intimate delivery into a rarefied, ambient arrangement.

All things considered, Erykah Badu's return is decidedly positive, gripping from the first note to the last, never predictable and always fresh, even while moving through territory (that of more classic hip-hop and r'n'b) at high risk of banality.

New Amerykah Part Two (Return Of The Ankh) (2010)

The Ankh, otherwise known as the key of life or the looped cross, is an ancient sacred Egyptian symbol. It represents the concept of life in all its nuances: the union of the female genital organ (the loop) and the male one (the vertical arm of the cross), of Isis and Osiris, the sun's path that animates nature and humankind along with it, and the delta of the Nile that fertilizes it and makes its offspring flourish. A duality that fits perfectly with the life and music of Erykah Badu. Particularly with her latest work New Amerykah, of which this “Part Two”, retitled Return Of The Ankh, is precisely the ideal continuation. The right side of her brain, the more instinctive, chaotic, emotional one.

New Amerykah Part Two has a lot in common with its predecessor, starting with the same team of prestigious names flanking Badu in writing and production: James Poyser, the immortal J Dilla, Questlove (of the Roots), Madlib, 9th Wonder and Georgia Anne Muldrow, among others. The two chapters also share the same concept-album structure, with tracks that, while retaining well-defined forms and textures, tend to flow together into a whole with high cinematic, dreamlike, atmospheric potential. The most significant difference from its twin album lies in a more extensive, widespread use of live instrumentation over sampling and electronics. Though one does get the impression that songs this off-center and elliptical would come off as mere style exercises if sung by anyone else. Take the soft, rarefied elegy of “20 Feet Fall” that opens the record, or the more rhythmic, syncopated soul of “Window Seat”, the standout track that Badu douses in sensual, brazen, insistent vocalizations and enveloping electronic streaks. Moving through opposite extremes like the winged p-funk with its progressive, polyrhythmic chemistry on “Agitation”, on one hand, and the metronomic, hip-hop squareness of “Turn Me Away (Get The Munny)” — frothy, playful pop-soul bordering on disco — “Fall In Love (Your Funeral)” and “Love”, saturated with electronic groove and almost glitch-like finishes, on the other.

A farewell in classic Badu style with the precious, meticulous sounds of “Incense”, Celtic harp over a Madlib boom-klat and ethereal vocalizations, and the “black to the future” of “Out My Mind, Just In Time”: a suite of just over ten minutes, a musical-temporal journey in three movements in the style of “Green Eyes” or “Orange Moon” (from “Mama’s Gun”). Here Badu first renews her love for Nina Simone and Billie Holiday, then, with a leap of almost half a century, brings us back into full, hazy nu-soul, before finally sinking into the whirlpool of a spacey, psychedelic jazz-lounge.

Fascinating, sophisticated, elusive, incorrigible — this is the art-soul of Erykah Badu. A music by now comparable only to itself. And, once again, equal to that comparison.

But You Caint Use My Phone (2015)

It took Canadian rapper Drake and his hit “Hotline Bling” to shake the nu-soul diva out of a silence that had lasted a full five years and convince her to return to the scene with But You Caint Use My Phone, a short mixtape recorded in just eleven days and built, besides the track mentioned above (whose sample lifted from Timmy Thomas's hit is twisted and reworked in a thousand different ways), around the concept of telephony and its influence on our lives. Not a particularly original theme, I'll admit, but Badu tackles it with just the right perspective, without leaning too hard on rhetoric and steering clear of tired platitudes: sure, the portrait the artist paints is a disenchanted, detached one, but there's enough variety and character across the eleven tracks of the record (released without Universal's knowledge, on the musician's own label) to justify its staying power.

Then again, it would have been a surprise if an artist like Wright had stayed boxed in by predictability. Coining the rather singular term “trap'n'b” to describe her own work, and moving with total freedom in and out of the contemporary moment (as has been her habit since the days of “Baduizm”), she crafts a sequence of tracks with a hallucinated, psychedelic allure, in which r&b, soul, hip-hop touches and electronics float suspended in a seamless continuum, in a kind of free-jam that in several spots feels like the ideal sequel to Worldwide Underground. So anyone expecting some preview of what will be the final chapter of the New Amerykah trilogy will likely come away empty-handed.

What's striking, in short, is the way Badu has tracked the evolution of “black” music and its surrounding languages, only to reclaim them as if the past five years had never happened, proving she can hold her own against plenty of fierce young “descendants.” The treatment given to “Hotline Bling,” expanded here into a dizzying psych-soul kaleidoscope onto which Erykah grafts gentle melodic lines, spoken-word digressions and shifts in rhythm, becomes the defining trait of the whole record, applying equally to the various reworkings and to the original compositions. There's plenty of fresh creative energy here, in short, used both for satisfying touches that tie back to the artist's more classic sound traits (the closing pair “I'll Call U Back” – “Hello,” a liquid, dreamlike downtempo duet with her ex-partner André 3000), and for entirely new ventures that make the price of admission worthwhile.

At the cost of a bit of overt cerebralism, it's still a pleasure to see just how deftly the queen of nu-soul handles trap's rhythmic structures, using them now as a frame to revive her flair as a spirited MC (“Phone Down”), now as a pretext to turn cloud-rap's hazy atmospheres inside out in a perfectly interlocking game (the medley with the woozy remix of “Telephone”). At the cost of some small loss of expressive freshness, finding Erykah Badu this relevant and this combative more than makes up for any shortcomings.

At this point, all that's left to do is wait patiently for this fateful third installment. With the class she has once again shown in a one-off experiment within her nearly two-decade career, the hope is that she won't leave us without new material for another five years.

Contributions by Mattia Braida (“New Amerykah Part One – 4th World War)”, Vassilios Karagiannis (“But You Caint Use My Phone”)

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