"Inimitable" isn't the first word that comes to mind when discussing Sade, but it's next to impossible to name another millions-selling pop act that sounds anything like them. (And, yes, Sade are a band.) In the mid-1980s, before hip-hop and R&B became inexplicably twinned, the band helped to define the quiet storm era, when smooth grooves aimed at grown-ups were still a legitimate mainstream phenomenon. In 2010, Sade seems wholly unique.
Music this tasteful and even-keeled can be wearying in large doses, and when the radio was chock full of impossibly slick Vandross-alikes, it was easy to take Sade for granted. But the new Soldier of Love feels soothing after a few hours spent in the company of Ke$ha and Lady Gaga. Soldier of Love offers listeners a rather narrow range of interest-- songs that (at their best) suggest strong feeling restrained by a fierce dignity-- but Sade remain the best at what they do.
And so Soldier of Love is unsurprisingly of a piece with the five previous Sade albums. Songwriting-wise, it could have been released at any point in the band's career. The production only occasionally draws attention to itself-- the dub-esque snare crashes on "Babyfather" are a bit of a surprise-- and you can forget any gauche stabs at currently hip sonic tricks. The idea of singer Sade Adu robo-warbling through Auto-Tune would be laughable if it weren't impossible even to conceive. Even the album's curveball first single, title track "Soldier of Love", with its strident marching band snare rolls, doesn't so much deviate from Sade's core sound as cast it in a new light: What better to emphasize Adu's sense of control than a rhythm with the stiffly regimented forward momentum of a parade ground drill? And if "Soldier of Love" seems "hard," it's only because the surrounding tunes are once again delicate to the point where nuance is all.
The music often gets the short shrift when discussing Sade, because the band is so purposefully unobtrusive. Theirs isn't the kind of minimalism designed to draw attention to itself, merely to capture a mood (usually longing or the gentlest of joy) in as few moves as possible. It's a tricky thing to praise, the kind of competency that's always just a few steps from blandness. Musically, Soldier of Love has plenty of deft touches, like the way "Morning Bird" suggests desolation with a piano motif paired back to as few notes as possible. The band knows its job is to provide as unfussy a backdrop for its singer as possible.
And Adu is one of the odder candidates for modern soul-singer canonization. While she's got one of the warmest tones in modern pop, she'll never, ever lose herself in the moment, let her voice run wild. She always seems to be pulling her emotional punches. So if your interest in modern R&B is limited to dance music-- that lineage that runs from new jack swing through Timbaland and beyond-- you may be surprised to learn that the heartbeat-steady "Skin" is what Sade calls ecstasy. But Adu's voice has to be one of the most calming sounds on planet Earth. Not for everyone, or every mood, but perfect for working out the kinks caused by pop's mile-a-minute barrage of capital-p Pleasure.
That unwavering sense of understatement has also left Sade strangely underrated, especially by listeners who get antsy when an act makes a virtue of restraint. For decades, pop fans have been mistaking reserve for repression, and composure for lack of soul. In 2010, though, things seem to be changing, at least a little. Describing something as "smooth" no longer sets off the same alarms for younger listeners, or younger critics. And Sade's Soldier of Love is kind of a litmus test in that regard. Sade hasn't changed, and Soldier of Love will likely be the year's most relaxing album. But will listeners reared to expect the immediate gratification of rock or rap go for music that hovers tremulously on the edge of both pleasure and pain?
