Terence Trent D’Arby, “Wildcard”
Gone, forgotten, but still breathing



Conceit never seems to be a smart career move in the music business, and Terence Trent D’Arby has spent the last 15 years learning that the hard way.

In 1987, the New York City-born R&B singer/songwriter/multi-instrumentalist blasted onto the music scene with an impressive debut album, Introducing the Hardline According to Terence Trent D’Arby. A mixture of pop, funk, and smart urban melody, the album yielded a #1 pop hit, “Wishing Well,” along with two more successful singles, “If You Let Me Stay” and “Sign Your Name.” D’Arby was all over the place.

Unfortunately, so was his ego. Once the original huzzahs began to die down, the press (and subsequently, the music-buying public) latched on to D’Arby’s overconfident pronouncements regarding everything from his musical talent (he referred to his debut album as “better than Sgt. Pepper") to his sexual prowess (“I make love more often than I wash my hair,” he once boasted, which seems to say more about his lack of follicle hygiene than anything else). And so the backlash and apathy began.

When artists don’t deserve our attention in the first place, backlashes are excusable (think Milli Vanilli). But D’Arby’s debut album was an impressive collection of fiery funk, and his voice – evoking a modern-day Sam Cooke – a breathtaking instrument of emotion. No matter. Apparently, when you diss Sgt. Pepper, you’re off the guest list.

D’Arby twisted the knife even further in 1989 with his sophomore effort, Neither Fish Nor Flesh, a sprawling, dissonant, gospel-tinged emotional masterpiece. Regardless of its occasional critical acclaim (it’s a fantastic, if uneven, album), Fish tanked.

Subsequent attempts to revive his career (with excellent and rather accessible works like Symphony or Damn and Vibrator) proved fruitless and D’Arby eventually fell back on his “Wishing Well” royalties and a life of sporadic artistic output and minor cult status. Somewhere along the way, he moved to Italy and changed his name to Sananda Maitreya (really). Fame may do strange things to people, but not nearly as much as a fall from fame.

I have no idea if D’Arby has any more interest in reclaiming his original heights of popularity and success (I doubt it), but his latest, Wildcard, could be a significant contribution to such an effort.

It’s certainly not as experimental as albums like Neither Fish Nor Flesh. It’s funky, street-smart, and very much a piece of danceable, 21st century R&B. Nods to retro – old-school soul horns, wah-wah guitar, charming psychedelia – all are over the place, as are contemporary synth sounds, peppering the album with modern relevance (without ever sounding pandering or like an old fart trying to keep up). Drum machines are a dominant presence as well, but they merely provide a pulse and never seem to overtake the music.

D’Arby’s voice is still a mighty force to be reckoned with and has not lost an ounce of its original potency. “Fundamentally sound / my karma’s coming ‘round / and I’m not worried,” his gentle voice croons over a banjo(!) accompaniment at the very beginning of the opening track, “O Divina.” Before long, drums and horns kick in and the familiar soulful shout is there.

It’s easy to make comparisons between D’Arby and another funky oddball with a strange career path – Prince. They both have an awkward public image, are notorious control freaks, play most if not all of their instruments, and constantly straddle the line between funk and hard rock, not to mention the sacred and the profane (and of course, the name change thing). Like the Purple one, sex and relationships dominate much of the lyrical content. But instead of boasting like a modern-day Don Juan, D’Arby often reflects on getting screwed over – in more ways than one. “I once loved her / now I’m paying the bill,” he sings on the excellent “Designated Fool,” D’Arby’s ode to a love-‘em-and-leave-‘em ex. “My baby’s gone suga free / she ain’t sweet like she used to be,” goes the chorus of “Suga Free.” He still has a way with a killer line, too. The sexy, swaggering “SRR-636” contains the unforgettable “like a Rolling Stone / I jam with a Woody.”

Elsewhere, D’Arby sings of self-confidence and positive energy, in an almost treacly Dr. Phil way. “If you’re not good to yourself,” he warns on “The Inner Scream,” “your self-doubt becomes retribution.” He still hasn’t lost his penchant for the occasional flowery spoken word moment, either. But these drifts into navel-gazing are few and far between, and besides, would you rather have the overconfident boasting of the 80s?

Listening to Wildcard, I can’t help thinking that there’s really nothing on this extremely strong album that would make the average listener either recoil in horror or shrug in apathy. What’s continuing to keep D’Arby off the radar (besides his expatriate status) are various statements and attitudes he made back in the Reagan administration, which were obviously a) the result of a kid in his mid-twenties, unfamiliar with effectively playing the media, and b) not worth the scorn he continues to be subjected to in 2004.

But D’Arby himself seems to have made peace with his erratic past, and is in a warm, but no less creative and funky place. “Goodbye Diane” is obviously a touching break-up song, but one can’t help thinking that the opening line is a nod to the early phase of his career: “Once upon a time I said some pretty fucked-up things.”