Thomas Johnson sips only the finest coffee.
Miguel’s third album begins with a modest request: “Accept the new, don’t mingle on the past.” An interesting exhortation considering the album largely disregards the advice. Though it may be largely defined by the idiosyncrasies of its sex-obsessed central voice, Wildheart more than simply mingles in the past. At the core of its eroticism and colorful abstraction lies what’s intrigued and inspired countless before and will continue to rouse until we lose the ability. Wildheart is a collection of love songs, simple as that.
Since the turn of the decade, there have been three prominent leaders of new school R&B. Frank Ocean, the camera-shy symbol of progress in a genre that needs more of it. The Weeknd, in his seemingly bottomless penchant for hedonism and debauchery. And Miguel, who’s the closest we’ve got to a bona fide rockstar.
What Frank and The Weeknd lack is the confidence (or ego) to shed all their baggage in addition to their clothes. Neither of them has written a balls-to-the-wall proclamation of their undying devotion to someone that make up three quarters of latter’s catalogue. Frank is too reserved to concoct something as slinky as “the valley,” though in fairness, not many are game to recite the most wanton of women’s features as a hook. Abel’s heart is too bleak and his lungs to black to remember what affection without narcotics is like. This intimacy has been what’s allowed Miguel to quickly become the Purple One for a generation losing touch with what made the original so arresting.
The labeling of PBR&B—as constricting and redundant as it is—has led to some interesting progressions in the field of modern rhythm and blues. It’s used to categorize those making a sound that veers just left (in this case, west) of a traditional category, and has actually helped usher a return to what made many of the originals so compelling.
2012’s Kaleidoscope Dream was the most forward thinking R&B album rooted in the genre’s most timeless topics; love and sex. The influences were laid bare in the bed sheets Miguel crooned from; Marvin’s fingerprints were all over “Adorn,” traces of Raphael Saadiq’s tenor could be heard throughout, Ginuwine’s thirst crept in here and there. More importantly, it showcased Miguel’s sincerity, his cheesy ice-breakers and neurotic self-esteem. He put a spotlight on his desires ranging from carnal to the cute. Reassurance that the pussy was his, he wanted to be used with the lights on. He wanted to do you like drugs and play a few games rock-paper-scissors.
On Wildheart, the stylistic roots are just as obvious, and similarly warped to fit Miguel’s sweetly corny libido. Lenny Kravitz sounds at home on album closer “Face The Sun’s” fuzzy guitar licks. “Waves” could just as easily have been a B-side to Blondes Have More Fun as it could have fit into a 21st century reinvention of Songs In The Key Of Life. The most striking resemblance to his forefathers though, is Miguel’s obvious debt to Prince’s dominance in the 80’s. Overt sexuality is the most palpable tool in both songster’s repertoires, but doubled with the honesty and brash impulse in which Miguel delivers, his brand of come-ons are strictly his own. “Riding That Wave” is the new “Lady Cab Driver.” The album art is only an Iris away from Lovesexy.
While there may be no pristine tenderness à-la “Adorn,” Wildheart instead opts to maintain its warmth under a thin layer of dirt. The production never relents from the slight distortion and low-fidelity renderings that drenched the first three singles released last December on the nwa.hollywooddreams.coffee EP. Fuzzy guitars and vocal distortion in the vein of Purple Rain give Miguel’s chops the edginess they lacked throughout Kaleidoscope Dream, and exactly the grit necessary to whisper,
“I’m your pimp, I’m your pope, I’m your pastor babe
confess your sins to me, while you masturbate.”
Reworked, and thankfully Wale-less lead single, “Coffee,” skirts the line between precious and porno as well as anything to come out since D’Angelo’s “Untitled,” which, non-coincidently was a tribute to Prince. Even Kurupt, as the album’s sole guest vocalist, goes to show that enough chronic is just as potent as a pack of Viagra.
In trying to make a forward thinking psych-sex album, Miguel made a nostalgic new- wave pop-rock album that could fit snuggly in between Kaleidoscope Dream and 1999. Wildheart is proof that a weighted R&B album doesn’t necessarily have to involve some deep-rooted societal cancer used as fodder on Fox News. Societal boons can occur in the bedroom too.
