This is not one of those albums.
This album instead manages to be noteworthy without overtly screaming for attention. "Lovers Rock," the highly anticipated new release from the musical enigma known simply as Sade, is an understated record, its appeal resting on her consistent mastery of highly stylized aural foreplay. This album is soft. This album is calm. This album is 11 tracks of fingertip whispers and loving fumbles in the half-light of melting candles. This album is sexy.
Sade, who is no stranger to the art of affectionate ambience, first broke through the wall of '80s New Wave by gently sliding into the collective subconscious of Adult Contemporary's "quiet storm" (FM radio's jazziest personification of sexuality to date). She then gained nods for her steady stream of ethereal lovelorn anthems, such as "No Ordinary Love," an excruciatingly beautiful exploration of the delicate balance between obsession and involvement, and has been decorating the proverbial walls of the world's dimly lit bedrooms ever since.
After nearly a decade-long hiatus from the musical community, Sade returns with an album that is musically unremarkable yet highly irresistible. Despite the lack of a complicated sound, despite the fact that the acoustic guitars perpetually err on the side of ultra-tasteful and never reach out or become edgy, despite the fact that the general progression of tranquil beats echo pioneering masterpieces by Massive Attack and Everything but the Girl a bit too closely, Sade manages to unfailingly capture the listener's attention with lush and serene vocals (but not so much that it would distract them from matters at hand). The end result is undeniably one of her most majestic seductions to date.
"Lovers Rock" opens on a strangely upbeat note with "By Your Side," a touching song about emotional support in a relationship. This piece is particularly delicious; you can almost feel the song through a combination of Sade's hypnotic vocals and an artfully inserted bassline. The first four tracks ("By Your Side," "Flow," "King of Sorrow," and "Somebody Already Broke My Heart") melt together in an impeccable fashion. Sade's voice here is perfectly graceful; she's a soulful siren, calling out to any lovesick sailors who might be traversing her velvet sea.
"Somebody Already Broke My Heart" is nothing short of lyrically remarkable in its accessibility: in love, when it rains, it pours, and Sade wants someone to keep her from drowning. "I've been hurt so many times / I've been torn apart so many times before / So I'm counting on you now," she croons, warning her lover (and possibly her audience) that now is not the time for mistakes, not the time for heartache, but, rather, now is the time for salvation through love.
Anyone who has ever shut themselves off in a veritable tower of emotional inaccessibility can understand this sentiment, this lonesome self-defense mechanism. Despite the telltale desperation of the subject matter, there's something exquisitely comforting about this track. Somehow, we're left with the feeling that Sade and jilted hearts everywhere will be gradually nursed back to health.
"Lovers Rock" thoroughly and seamlessly explores both extremes of the emotional spectrum, effortlessly navigating the complicated matters of the heart. Ultimately, though, it's love that wins out over heartbreak in this metaphorical warfare. On the final track, "It's Only Love That Gets You Through," she serves up an answer to her unsung questions: "Somehow you made it to the other side / you didn't suffer in vain / you know it's only love / that gets you through."
Well, maybe love and a little bit of music.