In the new GQ you'll the first real interview in years given by Michael Eugene Archer, the last true master of soul to appear in our lifetimes (I think Brown Sugar and Voodoo do all the talking). Never tawdry or mundane, like some so-called R&B singer rapping weakly about club life, no, D is the real thing, a soul man, haunted by addiction and the devil.

His connection to Marvin (thank god for this story—I've long been looking for an old interview where D first revealed his last dream about Gaye) is something that resonates mightily with me; Marvin's death (and my mother's subsequent visions of him) will always stand out in my memory, even if I didn't yet realize who that man was. I pray that D'Angelo beats the odds that so often seem to come with black genius, that he be long in life and prolific. Chuch.

Her her voice be the one shining spot of beauty on this otherwise very damp and dumb day. Here are a few favorites to get the party started:

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This one is obvs. Share your songs about/for mothers in the comments. Hi mom!

The Smiths announced themselves with a blast of material that was almost uniformly brilliant, but so imperfectly produced and packaged it all remains a jumbled mess. The band's proper debut offered a flat mix and duller versions of songs that had been explosive live and in demo form. The release of Hatful of Hollow revealed some bracing alternate mixes alongside discarded b-sides that would've taken Rough Trade/Sire's The Smiths to a whole other level ("These Things Take Time," "Handsome Devil," "Jeane"). Truly, assembling the perfect-world version of the Smiths' debut is the closest I will ever get to playing fantasy football, and recently I found a fascinating new piece for this puzzle: The Troy Tate version of "The Hand the Rocks the Cradle."

First of all, this version slays the gray haze version that landed on record. Also, I love this song, because, along with a few others in the Smiths early repetoire, it casts Morrissey in a much different role than the Oscar Wilde-ing ham of "Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now" and beyond. It's a darker, creepier character—one that seems to have both survived child sexual abuse and now finds himself drawn to repeat it. "I once had a child and it saved my life, and I never even gave a name," intones Morrissey in the version above. "I just looked into his wondrous eyes and said never never never again." This is some serious early-Velvet Underground-y eroticizing-the-outsider shit, and it's all the more valuable because Morrissey soon left it behind for (highly rewarding) campiness.

The end, please go back to enjoying your lives.

dream hampton's debut as a maker of music videos, "QueenS" captures Stasia and Cat in fly lounge mode, parlaying as they often do, with a bevy of beautiful women of hue, having a grand ole time by theydamnselves.

It's own bountiful visual merits aside, the video is much-needed balance. The reign of coke rap has meant that listeners have been treated to a million songs (and literal-minded videos) espousing the superiority of that white girl. Nothing wrong with white girls either (some of my best friends, etc), except that rap's currently intense level of antipathy towards black women is even more noxious than usual. ASAP Rocky, argubly the hottest young rapper out now, will even tell you that he's "fucking with these bitches cuz (he's) sick of all these sistas." Well, young thuggin', they haven't given up on you yet; but whatever the fuck it is you do, don't funk with their groove.

I'm in NYC, sitting in my hotel room (BK, right by Fulton Mall), before SP's play SOB's. The last few days I've been too busy doing stuff to blog about doing stuff. The Shabazz line I most often think of in my day-to-day decision making (and I very often do invoke the Palaceer's wisdom) is the oft-quoted hook "when you talk about it, it's a show/but if you move about it, it's a go." Kind of a challenge when one of your jobs is to routinely talk about it, for sure, but as long as my talk is kind of a move in itself, then it's still thankfully a go. Know what I mean?

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