#BBCRadio6Music #Pitchfork #ErykahBadu #1990s
Pitchfork's Sunday Album Club:
Erykah Badu - Baduizm
(1997)
Each Sunday, Pitchfork takes an in-depth look at a significant album from the past, and any record not in our archives is eligible. Today we revisit Erykah Badu’s 1997 debut, an existential anchor of the neo-soul movement.
Badu’s musical style had roots in the smooth harmonies of ’80s groups like Mint Condition and Tony! Toni! Toné!, along with the early songs of Meshell Ndegeocello, but it wasn’t until the late ’90s that neo-soul crystallized into a subgenre with a foundational crew of rebels: D’Angelo, Maxwell, Badu, Jill Scott. Heralded as prodigies, they made lush serenades and instrumental jam sessions with a political center. Their musical and artistic identities affirmed the mutual bond between Black love and liberation. But in carving space for this retro sound, the music world presented neo-soul artists as saviors who were bringing R&B “back to basics,” which dismissed the innovation that was already driving the genre.
Between jobs, Badu performed in Dallas as a duo with her cousin Robert Bradford, aka Free, under the group name Erykah Free. Their earliest breaks were opening gigs for visitors like A Tribe Called Quest, Naughty by Nature, and D’Angelo. After completing a 19-song demo titled Country Cousins, the two began shopping their music to labels. From Bad Boy Entertainment to Priority Records, everyone, including Sean “Puffy” Combs, passed on signing them. Meanwhile, Badu did another performance at the Austin music festival South by Southwest, which she had been doing since she was 19. She’d changed her name from Erica to Erykah and later adopted the name Badu, after one of her stage riffs: “ba-du, ba-du,” which unbeknownst to her at the time, also meant “to manifest” in Arabic. A demo tape got back to Massenburg and he soon signed her to his Universal label, Kedar Entertainment, as a solo act in 1996.
You could just sit and listen to Badu and get lifted if you wanted, but the path to True enlightenment required deeper engagement. “On and On” debuted when I was in eighth grade, where the girls in my chorus class ingested its cosmic mantras, having experienced only puppy love. “You rush into destruction ’cause you don’t have nothing left,” we sang anyway. We, too, picked our friends like we picked our fruits. Paired with the ease of bebop, Badu’s lyricism formed scriptures that were too self-aware to be sanctimonious. As a teacher, she had banter for days.
Full review:
https://pitchfork.com/reviews/albums/erykah-badu-baduizm/
