Music: D'Angelo: Salvation Sex And Voodoo

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"I knew it, I knew you were from around here," she says. She leans in close. "Thank you for that video." In D'Angelo's video Untitled (How Does It Feel), he is shown seminude, and the camera holds tight on his tattooed, muscular body as he sings and sweats. He mumbles something to the woman that sounds humble and appreciative. The woman replies with a lusty laugh--kinda the way you imagine a character in a Terry McMillan novel might laugh after seducing a younger man.

D'Angelo and his crew--Brian, Pee-Wee and a third member, Malcolm--stop off at the Jackson Ward Cafe. It's a modest, cafeteria-style place. D'Angelo orders chicken, corn bread and greens, and you sit down. You have a lot to ask. Voodoo is a richly imagined CD with an all-star supporting cast: drummer Ahmir ("?uestlove") Thompson (his nickname is pronounced "Questlove") of the hip-hop band the Roots, jazzman Roy Hargrove, rappers Method Man and Redman. The music blends hip-hop with smooth soul and gritty funk. The songs don't rush to please, like puppy-dog pop tunes; instead, each track takes its own sweet time stretching out, like a cat waking up from a nap. Intelligent? Deadly? Unique? Voodoo's all three.

So what took him so long to finish? D'Angelo says he was following his own rhythm, doing it his way. He admits freely that for the past few years he has done only three things: 1) lift weights, 2) smoke weed and 3) make music. He was searching for something. "I got something I'm seeing; I got a vision," he says, explaining how he wants to bring back artistry to hip-hop and soul. "This album is the second step to that vision." The birth of his son Michael, 3, inspired him. (D'Angelo, who is unmarried, also has a three-month-old daughter Imani).

A woman, in her 30s maybe, comes over. She says, "You know you're Marvin Gaye reincarnated, don't you?"

D'Angelo just does that sexy humble thing, and mumbles at his plate.

He leaves the cafe and heads to a nearby church, Refugee Temple Assembly of Yahweh Yahoshua the Messiah. His father used to preach in this Pentecostal church. This is where D'Angelo got his start--at age 5--playing piano or organ while his father preached. He hasn't been back in ages.

D'Angelo tries the door. It's locked.

This is my ending, you think. Secular star with racy video returns to his roots only to find the church door locked. There's rich metaphorical earth here... Yes, this is the perfect finish.

The pastor of the church arrives, hugs D'Angelo and opens the door.

You make a mental note: Try to recycle closed-church ending next time you interview Whitney Houston.

D'Angelo and his crew wander inside. "It's smaller than I remember," says D'Angelo. He goes right for the piano. "It's the same one," he says happily. He sits down and starts to play. He only strokes out a few chords, just a short spell of rich, gospelly magic, but it's enough. It took a whole childhood for him to go from here to stardom, it took five years for him to finish Voodoo, it took half the day for him to get to the interview. But in a few seconds, with a few notes, he gives a glimpse of the power of his talent, its roots in the church, and all is forgiven. Some artists make music that makes them look cool; D'Angelo makes music that makes you feel cool just listening to it.