How My Teenage Bronx Adventure Taught Me to Lead with My Voice.

I'm going to be honest, hearing about D'Angelo's passing recently left me feeling a little off-center. It made me reflect on his incredible approach to creativity and how it's shaped my own journey. He was a true genius whose music became the soundtrack to my most formative years. His vulnerability and honesty, so rare and powerful in artists, always felt incredibly real. D'Angelo's music told stories that moved us, and at times, it let me feel seen and cared for.

He showed me that by truly leading with my voice, I could open up entire worlds for myself and for others, often in ways I might never even see. I guess, at its heart, I'm talking about impact, right?

My first encounter with D'Angelo's music is woven into the fabric of my very first trip to the United States. I'd always dreamed of visiting, fueled by shows like 'A Different World.' I imagined a career in front of a mic, talking about the music I loved, living a life straight out of 'A Different World' or 'Living Single.' I needed to see it for myself. I needed to find a way there.

And I did. I landed a summer job at a camp in upstate New York, in the Adirondacks. It was stunning – crystal-clear waters, endless trees. And there I was, a London kid, entrusted with looking after teenagers not much younger than myself, probably giving my parents silent heart attacks in my quest for independence.

In the camp kitchen, I met a girl, who I’ll call Donna, an introverted young woman from the Bronx with a warm smile and a beautiful, soft, yet deep laugh. She couldn't quite believe a London accent came from a face like mine, but she was too polite to investigate. She’d just shake her head when I opened my mouth, but somehow, she was always nearby when the pre-teen campers, who had zero filter, asked the most random questions. I’ll share a sample here. Now, remember this is before Idris Elba let people know what was up, so the questions were pretty fabulous:

The Campers: GASP ‘So, are there LOTS of Black people there? And do they all sound like you?’

Me: ‘Youwhatnow?! We all sound different.’

The Campers: 'So, do y'all have Burger King over there?'

Me: 'Yes. We have McDonald's, too. And cars.'

The Campers: 'Does everybody ride horses there?'

Me (deadpan): 'I've never ridden a horse in my life, I only have a bus pass.’

As I navigated the questions, with varying degrees of patience, Donna chuckled quietly.

Then we (I mean, I) moved past that.

Over time, she found a way to ask me questions that extended beyond my accent, and our acquaintance blossomed into friendship. By the end of camp, she arranged for me to stay with her family in the Bronx for a night before I flew home.

And then, I discovered D’Angelo.

It was on that visit to the Bronx – probably the 'spiciest' place I'd ever been to at that point in my young life – that I heard D'Angelo's, Brown Sugar.’ I immediately fell in love with this jazzy, hip-hop, and incredibly sexy tune. I was practically out of money, but I found a way to scrape together my last few cents to buy his album on sight, on cassette. I know I’d love every track, and I wasn’t disappointed; it had no weak links and created something that felt new, even as he pulled inspiration from the past.

I played that tape until the tape broke, then once I got home, I went to my local specialist store and bought the CD.

I know why D'Angelo stood out from the very beginning. It was his deep commitment to creating for connection – to his community, his history, and his soul. As he put it in an interview with The Fader: