Daniel Caesar knows gospel. Twice on Freudian, the Toronto R&B singer folds in interpolations of well-known gospel songs: On “Hold Me Down,” he refashions the familiar melody and wispy soprano of Kirk Franklin’s “Hold Me Now” into a testament to romantic loyalty, and a few songs later, on “We Find Love,” he does it again with Kyle David Matthews’ “We Fall Down.” These instances are more than merely Easter eggs for gospel music fans; they’re also emblematic of the synergistic relationship between gospel and R&B, which Caesar embraces throughout his debut LP.
The line between the two genres can be thin: Their similar tempos and lyrical themes lend themselves to interchangeability (see, for instance, the shift from Musiq’s “Love” to Trin-i-Tee 5:7’s “Lord”). It’s no surprise many singers have dabbled in both. In Caesar's world, love is a holy experience sullied by human imperfection. As often as he basks in the beauty of romance, he repents at the altar of a broken heart, performing with an unflashy sincerity more in line with spiritual offerings than R&B melodrama.
Freudian opens with his breakout single “Get You,” a saccharine honeymoon-phase jam featuring Kali Uchis. “Best Part,” which features H.E.R. is equally dulcet. The warmth of those two songs stands in stark contrast to a song like “Loose,” a poetic vent about letting go that’s backed by celestial organs and is reminiscent of one of Frank Ocean’s interludes. Similarly, the piano-driven ballad “Blessed” finds Caesar trying to make amends for his shortcomings (“Yes I’m a mess but I’m blessed to be stuck with you”). His cottony voice, complete with falsetto flourishes, adds emotional depth to his lyrics.
On past projects, Caesar has generally worked alone, but with Freudian, a number of key collaborators help bring the album into focus. The features are a who’s who of female artists remaking soul music in their own images: Kali Uchis’ retro groove, Syd’s chilly futurism, H.E.R.’s updated traditionalism, and Charlotte Day Wilson’s folksy elegance. Providing balance to Caesar’s narrative, they serve as the subjects of his fawning and the elusive lovers to whom he atones. The quiet heroes, though, are CaDaRo Tribe, the go-to choir throughout Freudian. The trio offers its angelic vocals on five of the six songs without features, each time to different effect. On “Neu Roses (Transgressor’s Song),” they lay down throwback street-corner harmonies (complete with the infamous nayhoo). On “Hold Me Down” and “We Find Love,” they’re the melodic foils that make the samples work. Together, the generous spread of women’s voices makes the album feel like a continuous conversation across the seasons of a relationship rather than a one-sided musing.
Caesar’s balance between sacred elements and secular sentiment—an opposition brought to life by Toronto natives and frequent collaborators Matthew Burnett and Jordan Evans, who produced all of the songs—is what sets him apart. There’s something visceral about the sound of an organ or a polyphonic choir, or admitting to a lover that they “saved [your] soul like Jesus.” Put those things next to bluesy guitars and expressions of carnal desire, and the result feels as contradictory as love itself—divine and discordant at the same time. This is right where Freudian lands.
In doing so, Caesar desparts considerably from the atmospheric R&B that Toronto is known for, to say nothing of the wildly popular “trap&B” style. Synths and 808s are replaced with pianos, guitars, and choral arrangements; some vulgarity remains, but he never gives in to shallow simplicity. There’s much here that blends well into this 1990s-obsessed era, but Caesar’s gospel background is his not-so-secret weapon. While he’s surely not the only contemporary R&B singer who grew up in the church, he doesn’t shy away from bringing the full range of his influences to his music. Caesar’s willingness to use all of the tools at his disposal—to explore his own id and superego right alongside love’s heaven and hell—elevates his craft. “Isn’t it nice?/Human sacrifice/I hate consequences/that shit’s too expensive/you keep chasing delight,” he sings, achingly, on the hidden track that closes the album. “I take the easy way out every time/I don’t deserve my own life.” Caesar’s honesty only drives home Freudian’s power: These are gospel truths that sinners and saints alike can get behind.
