An Ode to D’Angelo: A Life Authentically Lived

For me, the world still hasn’t resumed motion since Michael Eugene Archer left it on Tuesday, October 14, 2025. The artist globally known as D’Angelo was more than just an entertainer. He was a gifted musician, and above all, one proud of who he was as a Black man. And as I grew into my own identity as a Black woman, educator, practitioner, and mother, D’Angelo and his music and influence were there at every turn. 

What I admired most about D’Angelo were perhaps the things that made him most at odds with the system of the music industry. He comes from a vanguard of Black artists (like Prince, for instance) who weren’t afraid to call out the industry’s racism and anti-Blackness, and their attempts to strip Black artists of every sense of themselves to pad the label’s bottom line. He challenged the idea that progress means bigger, better, and faster, releasing music at his own pace and at the speed of the natural rhythm of his God-given creativity.

He exemplified what it meant to live in community and harmony with other Black folks, and to carry on the torches that our ancestors and elders meant for us to pick up. From the creation of his Grammy-award winning album Voodoo at Jimi Hendrix’s Electric Lady studio in Manhattan, to his collaboration with other Black artists like Questlove, Raphael Saadiq, the Soulquarians, and more, his commitment to never going at it alone set him apart and created a musical legacy that leaves him intertwined with a team of greats. 

I think of how his signature albums Brown Sugar, Voodoo, and Black Messiah all came at unique, critical times politically and socially. 

Brown Sugar nearly a year after the signing of the infamous crime bill was signed into law, setting the stage for mass incarceration to escalate in America. 

Voodoo seeing its rise right around the time of the first Bush administration, September 11, and the ‘war on terror.’

Black Messiah just after the murder of Michael Brown (D’Angelo was even inspired to release the album early in light of the protests and Black Lives Matter movement that began). It feels uniquely cruel, then, that we should lose him in a moment where so much of the world feels devoid of spirit, intimacy, and joy. 

By refusing to detach himself from his Blackness, spirituality, and all the things that otherwise America would have a Black person hate themselves for, D’Angelo became beloved and created music that will forever be immortalized.

I start off nearly every session I do by introducing myself and proudly saying that D’Angelo is my man. And that’s for good reason: he taught me that it’s okay to live freely, unapologetically, and authentically, always. His life and legacies are reminders to me, and I hope to all Black women, to stay the course. To build community and lean on it when we need it. To trust that the gifts dropped inside of us deserve to be shared with the world. That our lived experience is righteous and powerful enough to create art and legacy. 

The day D’Angelo passed, I thought of all the Black women like myself who were in shock and mourning over the loss of a man whom many of their colleagues may not be able to name three of his songs. That lonely island that so many of us have to float on just to earn a living is exactly why his music existed: to make people, and Black women in particular, feel seen, heard, valued, and loved just as we are. 

It’s taboo in working culture to bring our full selves to work, or to let our personal values dictate how we conduct business and ourselves in a professional setting. We’re taught that to succeed, we have to take on the values of White Supremacy Culture, and abandon who we are at our core in the name of the almighty dollar. D’Angelo’s life is an example that we can’t take any of those superficial things with us. That what will remain is how we lived our lives as authentically as possible. 

If D’Angelo’s music shaped your becoming, I’d love to hear your story—share in the comments or reply to this email.