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Music

Back to the Future: On Prince and D'Angelo's Welcome Returns in 2014's Art Official Age

This year saw the two reclusive R&B legends emerge from isolation ever so briefly to engage with the world, and we should all feel lucky.

My first tattoo, on my bicep, was of an anchor. After that, a rose on my left foot with a scroll bearing my mother's name. Next, my ankles, with a reference to Lost that I will regret someday even as I grin ruefully at its passion. And finally, two tattoos for two musical icons: Prince's iconic purple symbol on the side of my right foot and a line from D'Angelo's “The Root” on my chest. (“I CAN'T REFUTE,” it reads, the kicker to the lyric “she left a dirty stain on my heart…”).

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Each of these tattoos represent something bigger than life situations or easy stories: They are grand, dumb, go-for-broke concepts. Both anchor and rose are about family. My ankles: representative of youth and passion. D'Angelo and Prince's presence? Their music has touched millions of people, but outside of audio landscapes they are mysterious. Prince retains sage-like status decades into his career, not only from a liquid on-record persona but a disinterest in the wider musical world and a stubborn disregard for the music industry's (and his audience's) shift towards a digital present. D'Angelo—once an heir apparent to R&B's throne—fell off the face of the planet after painstakingly crafting one of the greatest albums ever made, struggled as he navigated through personal struggles and staged a triumphant return to the spotlight, followed by a return to the semi-secluded space from whence he came.

Both artists' public personas make for guessing games; both their output is feverishly anticipated; both their artistic identities hark back to a time before instantaneous interconnectivity turned social media imprints into necessary promotional outlets. I acknowledged loyalty to them, carrying their hermetic genius with me everywhere where I went, remembering their status as larger than life presences. They became myths, and, like all myths, they had to be held back from languishing.

Then, all of a sudden, 2014 was the year that both artists engaged fully with the outside world, in the fascinating and sometimes ridiculous ways that 2014 asked us to.

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Last Monday, D’Angelo released his third album and first in 14 years. Credited to the artist and his touring band The Vanguard, it’s called Black Messiah, and it’s wonderful, a fussed-over epic that also feels organic and intimate. As the New York Times reported, it may not have made it to music libraries at all in 2014 were it not for a turbulent year of race relations in the United States. This was not, as some have hinted, a moment of harsh reality waking up D’Angelo from self-exile—he had been playing the emotionally charged Black Messiah cut “The Charade” since returning to the live stage in 2012, dedicating it at that year’s Made In America festival in memory of Trayvon Martin and Sean Bell. Yet it was a grand jury’s acquittal of Darren Wilson in the fatal shooting of Missouri teenager Michael Brown that forced the album out into the open.

After a phone call with co-manager Kevin Liles regarding the Wilson case—“that is when I knew he wanted to say something,” Liles told the Times—all systems were go. In the way it was released, with mixing, packaging and distribution finalized within three weeks, D’Angelo found a way to place his album at the center of a national conversation regarding race, disenfranchisement, and protest.

The artist used the traditional medium of the album as an instantaneous howl, his voice added to the history records of political dissent alongside legions of protests happening in the here and now. Black Messiah’s cover image of black and white hands ascending to the sky brings congregations to mind—of church, concert, and physical protest. Yet the speedy release and need to speak now makes sense in a year where hashtags like #BlackLivesMatter were as necessary a record of protest as marches. It took 14 years for a new D’Angelo album, but it arrived as a timely and immediate commentary on today, the gap bridged between 140 characters and 56 minutes of music. D’Angelo had emerged from seclusion right when he was needed most, in a way that perfectly meshed with the way conversation happens now.

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Black Messiah’s sudden appearance, similar to last December’s effective hijacking of the pop-cultural conversation by Beyoncé and her surprise fifth album, felt like a savvy in-joke following its decade-and-a-half gestation period. The awakening of Prince’s funny bone was almost a bigger shock, however. Unlike D’Angelo, he had remained prolific. The problem was that, with his legacy intact, he seemed to be finding ways to seem increasingly curmudgeonly. There were lawsuits against perfume manufacturers, Vine users, and fans; he went on Fallon and wrecked the axe borrowed off The Roots’ guitarist; he packed albums with progress-prone guitar shredding and released them via progress-adverse tabloids. Then, on August 13, 2013, he joined Twitter with a selfie (actually an image of smoke). We were suddenly in the era of Social Media Prince.

The immediacy helped. There he was, posting happily about his band 3rdEyeGirl (like D’Angelo, he returned under the guise of a unit) and making puns about dropping lawsuits. Instead of noting the 30th anniversary of Purple Rain, he wrote a song based on the #ThisCouldBeUsButYouPlayin meme. The effect was somewhat surreal—suddenly, the master of mystery was coaxed out of his shell, cracking jokes and revealing himself to not be far removed from the weird kids of Tumblr. It was endearing, and so was his solo album Art Official Age, which showcased an artist in the process of dropping a facade. He sang about not belonging and of too much time spent partying, the regrets of aging creeping into his performances. He showed an engagement with a world outside of Paisley Park, bringing UK singer-songwriter Lianne La Havas and pop star Rita Ora into his inner circle, as well as sampling Mila J and Jahlil Beats’ ‘Blinded’ on album highlight “U Know.” After too long in the wilderness, he was showing a vested interest in the surrounding world—and not coincidentally crafting his best solo material in some time.

Despite a fascinating and thrillingly modern 2014 for both D’Angelo and Prince, only they know what 2015 holds for them. D’Angelo has denied requests for interviews following the release of Black Messiah, allowing his audience to parse his new material on their own, and Prince has abruptly turned a corner yet again on the internet, doing away with all social media channels overnight. One could say that both artists have withdrawn back into mythical status. While that status grew with their actions in 2014, the year also found them engaged in the wider world in a contemporary, human, and necessary way. They chose to toy with the parameters of the new world they had previously been walled off from—D’Angelo adding a much-needed voice to the discussion via the industry’s new, faster-moving business model, the curmudgeonly Prince coaxing himself into his cheekiest, most human period in over a decade. These moves made them more of what they already were, adding more footnotes to their legacies, but also brought them into the fold once again, letting them be the myths among us that we needed. They were ours this year, ever-so-briefly.

Follow Daniel Montesinos-Donaghy on Twitter.