The air in my friend’s beat-up sedan was thick with the smell of stale coffee and cheap air freshener. It was 1995. The radio was a predictable rotation of slick, overproduced R&B that sounded like it was made by a committee. Then, something else cut through the noise. A hazy, intoxicating organ riff. A drum beat that snapped with the force of a popped champagne cork. A voice, smooth yet raw, sang about "Brown Sugar." It wasn't just a song. It was a signal. It felt like I was being let in on a secret, a sound that was dug up from the past and shot directly into the future. That was the first time I heard D'Angelo. The world of music was never the same.
For three decades, Michael Eugene Archer has been a ghost in the machine of popular music. He appears, drops a masterpiece, and vanishes. His catalog is insultingly small. His silence between projects is maddening. This is not a weakness. It is his power. In an age of constant content, D'Angelo treats music not as a product to be churned out, but as a sacred text to be perfected. He makes you wait. He makes you listen harder. This ranking of D'Angelo's greatest songs isn't just a list; it is an argument for patience, for depth, and for the kind of genius that refuses to be rushed.
The Brown Sugar Revolution Redefined 90s Soul.
The mid-90s were a strange time for soul music. The genre was dominated by polished vocals and pristine digital production. It was safe. Then came Brown Sugar, an album so steeped in the warmth of the 70s yet so undeniably modern that marketers had to invent a term for it: "neo-soul." Neo-soul was a label for a new wave of artists who blended vintage sounds with contemporary hip-hop textures. D'Angelo was its unwilling king.
Why "Brown Sugar" Was a Genre-Bending Debut.
The title track, and his debut single, remains one of D'Angelo's greatest songs. It's an ode to marijuana disguised as a love song. You can almost feel the smoke in the air just from the sound. The track is built on a foundation of cool organ, snapping beats, and a vocal delivery that has the rhythmic cadence of a rapper. It was a sound that paid tribute to legends like Roy Ayers while sounding completely new. It was a rejection of the sterile R&B that cluttered the airwaves. It was an announcement of a new path forward.
Remaking Classics: The Genius of "Cruisin'".
Covering a Smokey Robinson song is a fool's errand. The original "Cruisin'" is a quiet storm classic, a perfect piece of music. D'Angelo’s version is better. It takes the lush, romantic core of the original and injects it with a dose of raw funk. The tempo is a touch faster. The orchestration is set against an echoey groove. And his falsetto vocal is a masterclass in control and emotion. It is one of the best vocal performances he has ever recorded, a moment of pure, unruffled confidence.
The Smooth Complexity of "Lady" and "Alright".
Brown Sugar was not just a collection of singles. It was a cohesive statement. "Alright" shows this perfectly. The harmonies are rich and layered, but they are set against a crackling, sampled rhythm track that feels straight out of a hip-hop producer's toolkit. The track is subjected to dub-like echo, creating a sense of space and texture that was absent from mainstream R&B.
"Lady" became his biggest hit, a slow jam built on a killer bassline from the legendary Raphael Saadiq. The song carries a slight undercurrent of darkness, a complexity that elevates it beyond a simple declaration of love. Whether you prefer the original or the DJ Premier remix featuring a verse from rapper AZ, the song's brilliance is undeniable. It was proof that deep musicality and commercial success could coexist.
Voodoo's Four-Year Wait Created an Unforgiving Masterpiece.
After the success of Brown Sugar, D'Angelo disappeared. Four years passed. The music industry, hungry for a sequel, grew impatient. When he returned in 2000, it was with Voodoo, an album so dense, murky, and sonically challenging that it felt like an act of commercial defiance. It was a masterpiece. Questlove, his close collaborator, described the sessions as a "left of centre Black music renaissance," a period of intense, almost obsessive, creation. The album was a swampy, humid, and brilliant mess of funk, soul, and psychedelic rock.
The Discomfort and Power of "Untitled (How Does It Feel?)".
You cannot talk about Voodoo without talking about "Untitled." The song itself is a stunning, slow-burn tribute to Prince. It builds from a simple, intimate plea into a massive psychedelic climax of layered vocals and searing guitar. It is a perfect bedroom ballad. But the music was overshadowed by its video.
The video was simple: a naked D'Angelo, shot from the waist up, singing directly to the camera. It was raw, vulnerable, and explosive. It turned him from a respected musician into an international sex symbol overnight. The attention from fans was intense and, for the singer, deeply unnerving. He felt his artistry was being ignored in favor of his physique. The experience helped derail his career, but the song remains one of D'Angelo's greatest songs, a perfect piece of music that broke all the rules of pop songwriting.
Inside the "Left of Centre" Sessions: "Spanish Joint" and "The Line".
The heart of Voodoo's sound came from live-in-the-studio jams with a collective of virtuosic musicians called the Soulquarians. "Spanish Joint" is the ultimate showcase of their power. The groove writhes and shifts constantly, an intricate web of bass, drums, and horns that is always funky. It is the perfect, elastic backdrop for D'Angelo's vocals to glide across.
The four-year wait for the album clearly weighed on him. "The Line" feels like a note-to-self, a mantra to push through creative blocks and outside pressure. Over a tense, skeletal groove, he sings, "I'm gonna stick to my guns, I'm gonna put my finger on the trigger, I'm gonna pull it." It is the sound of an artist fighting to complete his vision on his own terms.
Raw Intimacy: The Sound of "Send It On" and "One Mo'Gin".
D'Angelo once called modern R&B "a joke." Voodoo was his answer. "Send It On" is what he called "the natural progression of soul." The song feels both ancient and modern, a lovely, timeless melody that could have been sung by Sam Cooke, but delivered over sample loops and a rubbery, elastic bassline.
The loverman persona he resented was perfected on "One Mo'Gin." It is a slow jam with zero clichés. The vocals are mixed right up front, with no reverb, as if he is whispering directly in your ear. The music moves with a drowsy, humid pace. The entire track sounds like it is dripping with sweat, a moment of irresistible and mature sensuality.
Silence and the Triumphant Return of Black Messiah.
After Voodoo, he vanished again. This time, the silence lasted 14 years. Rumors swirled about his health, his writer's block, his personal struggles. Most fans gave up hope of ever hearing from him again. Then, in the dead of night in December 2014, with no warning, he dropped Black Messiah. It was not a comeback album. It was a political firestorm and a sonic revelation, an album that captured the pain and anger of a nation grappling with racial injustice.
From Hiatus to Hurricane: The Album's Chaotic Arrival.
Black Messiah felt less like an album and more like an event. One critic called its sound "controlled chaos," and that description is perfect. The funk is so slippery that instruments feel like they are constantly on the verge of falling out of sync, only to lock back into a tighter groove than before. The entire album sounds alive, breathing, and angry. It was the album the world needed, exactly when it needed it.
Political Fire: "The Charade" and "Till It's Done (Tutu)".
This album was D'Angelo's most overtly political work. On "The Charade," he sings about the "systematic maze" of racism over a track that channels the spirit of Prince and the distorted rock of Funkadelic. The sound is smeared and strange, a powerful backdrop for its glowering lyrics.
"Till It’s Done (Tutu)" finds him lamenting the state of the world in a desperate falsetto. "Tragedy flows unbound and there’s no place to run," he sings, as the band creates a funk so loose it feels like it could collapse at any moment. It is a song about despair that you can still dance to.
A Softer Side: The Beauty of "Really Love" and "Another Life".
Black Messiah was not all fire and brimstone. "Really Love" is a slow-burning dream of a song. It opens with stunningly orchestrated strings and flamenco guitar. The arrangement is so imaginative it exposes how lazy most pop arrangements are. His mush-mouthed vocal adds a strange intimacy, as if you are eavesdropping on him singing to himself.
The album closes with "Another Life," a moment of relative brightness. Questlove compared the album's ambition to the Beach Boys' Smile. This track feels like the reward at the end of a difficult journey, a lovely hybrid of vintage Chicago and Philadelphia soul, even featuring a sitar. It is a moment of hope.
Why D'Angelo's Greatest Songs Demand Your Full Attention.
Ranking D'Angelo's greatest songs is almost a pointless exercise. His three albums are equally good, each a perfect snapshot of a moment in time. His genius is not found in a single track, but in the totality of his work and, more importantly, in his approach to creation itself.
Beyond Neo-Soul: D'Angelo as a Musical Architect.
The "neo-soul" tag never fit. It was too small for him. D'Angelo is not a revivalist. He is a mad scientist, an architect who deconstructs soul, funk, gospel, jazz, and hip-hop and rebuilds them into something new and challenging. His music is often not easy on the first listen. It has layers. It has secrets. It demands that you sit down, shut up, and pay attention. He is not making background music for your dinner party. He is making art that will last.
Scarcity as a Strength in a World of Constant Content.
His 14-year silence was not a failure. It was a statement. He refused to feed the machine. He refused to release anything that was not perfect. In a world where artists are expected to flood social media and drop new content every week, D'Angelo’s scarcity is his most radical act. Each album is a monument. Each song is a chapter. His small catalog means that every note matters. He has given us just enough, and what he has given us is flawless.
Final Thoughts
The wait for new music from D'Angelo is a special kind of torture for his fans. His most recent track, the fabulous "Unshaken," came from a video game soundtrack in 2018. It was a stark reminder of his talent and a frustrating hint of what a fourth album might sound like. But we have learned to be patient. We have learned that when he is ready, he will deliver. His work is not meant to be consumed and forgotten. It is meant to be lived with, studied, and cherished. D'Angelo's greatest songs are a map of modern soul music, drawn by its last true genius.
What are your thoughts? We'd love to hear from you!
FAQs
1. What are D'Angelo's greatest songs from the Voodoo album? Several tracks from Voodoo are considered among his best, including the Prince-inspired ballad "Untitled (How Does It Feel?)", the intricate and funky "Spanish Joint", and the soulful, intimate "Send It On."
2. Why did D'Angelo take 14 years to release Black Messiah? D'Angelo's long hiatus was due to a combination of factors, including intense pressure following the success of Voodoo, his discomfort with his status as a sex symbol, personal struggles, and a deep-seated perfectionism that prevented him from releasing music he felt was unfinished.
3. Is the song "Brown Sugar" really about marijuana? Yes, while written as a love song, "Brown Sugar" is widely understood to be an ode to marijuana. The lyrics and the hazy, intoxicating sound of the track both point to this double meaning.
4. What makes D'Angelo's greatest songs different from other R&B? D'Angelo's music stands apart due to its musical complexity, drawing from a deep well of influences including vintage soul, funk, gospel, jazz, and hip-hop. His arrangements are layered, his rhythms are often complex and "off-kilter," and his production favors a raw, live-in-the-studio feel over digital polish.
5. How many studio albums has D'Angelo released? D'Angelo has released three official studio albums: Brown Sugar (1995), Voodoo (2000), and Black Messiah (2014).
6. Will D'Angelo ever release a new album? While there is no official release date, collaborators and D'Angelo himself have hinted for years that a fourth album is in the works. Given his history, fans remain hopeful but understand that he will only release it when he feels it is absolutely ready.
