Terence Trent D’Arby/Sananda
Maitreya
Wildcard! [The Jokers' Edition]
Sananda Records
At: www.mundanesounds.com
I wonder if the average Mundane Sounds
reader would even recognize the name Terence Trent
D’Arby/Sananda Maitreya upon seeing this review.
History declares him to be a two-hit wonder who spent
1987 riding a wave of fame spurred by “Wishing
Well” and “Sign Your Name,” the singles
from his debut album Introducing the Hardline. The
album sold at least fifteen million copies worldwide
--- twenty-two million if you believe his accusations
of accounting fraud on Sony’s part. Pretentious
enough to fake a British accent in interviews even
though he was born in New York, and arrogant enough
to claim that his debut was even better than the Beatles’
Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, D’Arby/Maitreya
seemed like the perfect candidate for an ego-crushing
downfall. So it came to pass that two years later,
his sophomore album sank like a dead weight, selling
maybe a third of the amount that Hardline did, and
his music ceased to be a pressing concern ever since.
It sounds harsh, but may I remind you that I wrote,
“history declares him,” and my job as a
rock critic is to take history and shape it as I see
fit. Here’s where I begin the rewriting of history.
Yes, it’s true that T’s ego
was super-sized by his brush with fame, and it’s
also true that he hasn’t had a real hit single
since 1987. What most pop music buffs won’t tell
you is that D'Arby/Maitreya did and still does deserve
all of the acclaim that he heaped upon himself. Introducing
the Hardline was a gem that announced the arrival
of a major talent nearly on par with Prince and Todd
Rundgren. Like the aforementioned artists, D’Arby/Maitreya
is a one-man band who plays, like, a billion instruments
well and can make entire albums on his own if he wanted
to. He has both Prince’s knack for internalizing
almost every genre of music into his own stew of rock-flavored
R&B and his tendency toward nonsensical quasi-mysticism,
as well as Todd Rundgren’s easygoing sense of
humor and mastery of Beatlesque melody. However, D’Arby/Maitreya
is much more grounded than Prince, is more stylistically
versatile than Rundgren, and can sing better than
either of them. The only reason why I say that D’Arby/Maitreya
is “nearly on par” is because Prince and
Todd have been around longer and have more of a legacy.
Give D’Arby/Maitreya another decade, though,
and the “nearly” will be removed. How do
you know this, you might ask, on the basis of just
one album? I’ll answer that unlike most people,
I’ve heard his other four albums.
Although all of the man’s albums
are worthy of your money, it has to be said that his
career has taken an up-and-down trajectory artistically.
His first and third albums (Hardline and the amazing
Symphony or Damn) are much better than his second
and fourth albums (the flighty Neither Fish Nor Flesh
and the erratic Vibrator). His latest, Wildcard, continues
his pattern of odd-numbered killers, but a number
of things have changed between his previous album
and this one. D’Arby/Maitreya has since eaten
a huge slice of humble pie, freed himself from Sony,
moved to Italy, and changed his name to Sananda Maitreya.
Yeah, it’s a weird name, but at least he’s
wise enough to keep the D’Arby identity for name
recognition, and it’s still comparatively easier
to pronounce than the symbol that Prince used to go
by. His musical skills haven’t changed a bit,
though, and with Wildcard Maitreya has probably crafted
the best R&B album that no one will hear this
year. If you haven’t figured it out by now, THIS
AIN’T NO STINKING INDIE-ROCK (although it did
come out on Maitreya’s own label). Quit complaining
and keep reading.
“O Divina” begins with Sananda
strumming a banjo and singing sweet nothings in a
falsetto that suggests what an Alfalfa serenade would
sound like if Alfalfa actually had talent. Once the
horn section kicks in, his singing becomes much more
assertive, and you officially know that Mr. Hardline
is back. This is one of many songs in which Sananda
uses women as extended metaphors for other concepts.
He praises “Divina” for boosting his self-esteem
and extending forgiveness unto him. In “SRR-636,”
he compares the music industry to a woman trying to
seduce him (or get him to sell out): “Get your
wiggle on/Be sexy like Lenny [as in Kravitz].”
“Let your mind move on,” Sananda replies:
“It sells for a penny/Like a record groove gets
scratched by a needle/Telling kids the truth about
the Byrds and the Beatles.” “Shalom”
uses feminine personification to describe the concept
of peace, and that’s about all the sense I can
make out of it. The “Diane” in “Goodbye
Diane” presumably represents the music industry,
as Sananda obliquely admits to both hubris and drug
addiction. “My lamb was getting trampled,”
he sings, “but now his bleats are getting sampled.”
Then there are the songs that address women directly,
be they man-eaters (“Designated Fool”) or
ideal yet secret loves (“What Should I Do,”
“And They Will Never Know”).
A number of the songs can be interpreted
as self-help tomes. In “The Inner Scream,”
Sananda cautions listeners not to hold negative feelings
inside of them, lest their “anger becomes a disease.”
“Ev’rythang” makes plain his desire
to become one with the universe (whatever that means).
“Be Willing” seems to be a motivation screed
for frustrated artists. “A masterpiece of promise
is what you are,” he sings, “so never let
nothing stand between heaven and your heart.”
Yes, these lyrics are often corny, but Sananda sings
them with sincerity and a conviction that rebukes
ridicule. I repeat: he SINGS them. Let me make this
point quite clear: SANANDA CAN SING HIS BUTT OFF.
I’m not talking about the over-compensatory gospel
runs that R&B singers love to throw away to compensate
for the song’s lack of real melody. This is a
man who writes songs that cannot be sung convincingly
without a technically skilled voice, and he merely
sings them how they’re supposed to go, with a
few unobtrusive embellishments. When Sananda pleads
with his lover to help him cast out his demons on
“My Dark Places,” his singing feels like
he’s standing in front of you with one hand on
your shoulder and the other on his microphone, his
dreadlocks whipping you all over your face. There’s
no Pro-Tools auto-tuned cyborg crap on this record
--- just pure, soulful SINGING.
The arrangements on this record are
frequently stellar. Check out the humorously melodramatic
“Suga Free,” in which Sananda backs his
lament “My baby’s gone sugar free/I think
my sweet tooth is missing a cavity” with samples
from a choir singing Mozart. The sadness is laced
with an irony that keeps the song from becoming trite.
Many of the songs have exquisite close vocal harmonies,
“Be Willing” a shining example thereof.
Unexpected instruments such as accordion, sitar, and
the aforementioned banjo make appearances in many
of the songs, but they’re subtle enough not to
draw “look-how-diverse-I-am” attention to
themselves. The ascending jazz chord progression of
“Shalom” makes the whole song seems like
it’s slowly levitating in mid-air. There are
a few too many songs that rely on stock drum loops,
like “Driving Me Crazy” and “The Inner
Scream,” but that might be due more to budgetary
limitations than anything else. Sananda’s voice
deserves to be backed by the most florid and organic
instrumentation he can manage. Of course, not every
song is a classic; very few 75-minute albums lack
what Beatles producer George Martin used to call “potboilers.”
However, one of the Beatles’ strengths was that
due to the strength of their melodies and musicianship,
even their potboilers had moments that made them worthy
of repeated listens. The same case can be made for
D’Arby/Maitreya, as his voice makes even standard
love songs like “Driving Me Crazy,” “Girl,”
and “Sweetness” (whose lyrical content can
be gleaned just from paying attention to the titles)
more than palatable.
Not only has Sananda made the best R&B
album of the year, but he’s also been generous
enough to post it in its entirety on his website so
that you can “try before you buy.” You’ve
received adequate warning for me to lay the following
choice before you. You can keep on suffering through
tuneless and repetitive R&B songs with weak vocals,
weaker lyrics, stolen beats, and wack guest appearances
by mediocre rappers. On the other hand, you can let
Wildcard take you back to an era in which R&B
artists sung, wrote, and played songs with actual
and original verses, choruses, bridges, and melodies
without a computer around to mask their deficiencies.
You can take your “Thoia Thoing” and “Rock
Wit U” (and even your “Crazy in Love”)
and shove it. Terence Trent D’Arby/Sananda Maitreya
rocks, rules, and owns in all kinds of ways. This
time around, though, he’s allowing critics like
me to say it FOR him.
---Sean Padilla
