Let Him Cook and Eat

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Look here, y’all. I’ve been waiting for D’Angelo to come back for a very, very long time. Obviously, I’m overjoyed to see that not only is he back on stage, he’s back on it without sounding like a damn fool. This is a feat and anyone who’s heard any of those sorry (!) demos of his that have leaked in recent years is relishing in it. Indeed, glory be to God that he doesn’t sound like the WB Frog. To that end, I need some of you folks to do me a favor: shut up. Do not scare this man away. I need him more than you know.

Yesterday, Wendy Williams did an impromptu poll among her audience about D’Angelo’s return. The results? They want him to stop eating fried fat back and hire a trainer. They prefer D’Angelo shirtless and with hard rock abs. Go download some porn. Admittedly, D’Angelo continues to look like he ate ODB. Give him credit for at least doing some push ups and reps with the dumb bells. Or not. It’s whatever to me as I don’t give a single fuck about the way he’s looking right now. I’m just happy he’s singing again. So happy that I’m ready to fry his big ass some fish if he so desires.

Do you folks more fixated on his waistline than his vocal chords not realize how bad R&B has gotten, especially when it comes to male R&B artists? Most of whom don’t even deserve to be thrown in that category, for the record. I need D’Angelo — a legitimate soul singer with ability. I can’t take another year of fake R&B thugs naming more designer labels than a queen high on coke and hijacked credit cards.

Likewise, I am exhausted by this Europop dance trend. How much longer do I have to put up with American music artists theming everything around what was poppin’ in Belgium back in 1996? Give us free.

I need a break and D’Angelo might finally help usher in one. I’ve never been attracted to that man, so perhaps that only heightens my inability to side with the superficial. Whatever it is, that “D’Angelo needs to come back until he is cut again” talk needs to go the fuck on somewhere, yo. I remember reading some Spin magazine article a while back about his whereabouts. It seems part of what sent his psyche into a tizzy was him feeling ostracized. People didn’t want to hear the music anymore. They showed up to his concerts ready to fuck him — throwing their panties on stage and what not. We gotta be gentle with Michael Archer, otherwise he might go back to the trap house, the crazy house, or wherever he was hiding his genius from us. That cannot happen because I’ll be damned if we go through another year of a bunch of half-ass crooners giving us their best R. Kelly and/or Ace of Base impersonation.

So again, go hose your hot asses down until the coast is clear. Don’t blow it for me ’cause he doesn’t look like the man you used to wanna blow. Sometimes you gotta do baby steps on the hoe stroll.

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