Last Tuesday was heavy. Already in the quicksand of loss, I had a very physical response to the news that D’Angelo had left us. I stood in the kitchen for almost half an hour, winded, pacing around… Freshly chopped onions and garlic left to dry out as a chilling air suddenly enveloped the night and swiped my appetite.

This wasn’t some melodramatic reaction to the end of a parasocial relationship. This is a man I have admired, studied, grown with (and through) over more than a quarter of a century. I was once told that things made with heart will reach the heart, which is to say that communion of that magnitude forms a significant bond that is worth grieving.

I’ve bought the albums, made the T-shirt, cut out the magazine pages and put them on the wall, sung his words everywhere from Brixton Academy to my bathroom. It was fandom in full effect. Devotion.

I still remember my first track. It was ‘Me & Those Dreamin’ Eyes of Mine’ on a Kiss Smooth Grooves double cassette compilation in 1996. Back then, I was in thrall to the bump and swing of RnB. The voice was immaculate, even to my novice ears, but it was all a bit too smooth and refined for me up against a Tony! Toni! Toné! ‘Let’s Get Down’ or Brownstone’s ‘If You Love Me’.

If I had bothered to check the album, I would have discovered a subtle edge to the man’s music, melded with the raw essence of soul that stood out amid all the polish and posturing of the day. Ok, ‘Sh*t, Damn, Motherf*cker’ ain’t so subtle. D talkin’ about gettin’ his nine… “I weren’t no choir boy,” he would later tell us.

A few years later, my uni mate Helen (aka Babs) handed me Brown Sugar. Digging in the crates by then and following the many tributaries of hip-hop that reached back to the ancestors – producers reimagining them for a new age – I was ready to receive it.

The one-time MC was a child of hip-hop, among other things, lest we forget. And he carried that musicologist’s curiosity throughout his career, always striving to connect the dots. He could trace the funk back to Otis Redding, see Sly Stone as “Ray Charles on acid”, sense rock god Jimi Hendrix was a blues man at heart and hear The Meters in Marley Marl.

At his audition for Jocelyn Cooper’s Midnight Songs publishing company, D’Angelo performed a Jodeci track, a gospel song and something by Miles Davis. He was 17 at the time. Trawl back far enough in his life and it all begins to make sense. D may have come from the church and gospel on the south side of Richmond, Virginia, but his musical ambitions lay on the frontier. At one point, he wanted to become a concert pianist.

By the end of the 90s, I wasn’t just listening to albums … I was analysing them, ‘training’ to become a music journalist and trying to encapsulate how these sounds made me feel. The soul boy within had progressed from popular releases to lesser-appreciated ones. Let’s say a Here, My Dear after Marvin Gaye’s What’s Going On, or a Fulfillingness’ First Finale after Stevie Wonder’s Songs in the Key of Life. Ahead-of-their-time masterpieces were also in the mix, including There’s A Riot Goin’ On and Band of Gypsys.

The Godfather stoked my urge for funk and a syncopated groove, an instinct fully surrendered to years after first shakin’ my moneymaker to this Sony ad. When I wore a T-shirt with the iconic label “A James Brown Production”, I meant it. Some days, I would holla or just scream in his inimitable way, just to connect to that energy where I felt so alive, uninhibited and in the moment.

He led me to Prince, who burst out of the shadows of Michael Jackson – in my mind, anyway – as I began to appreciate musicianship, arrangement and synthesis more. A friend and I would scour the net for live performances, like this one from the Parade tour or this bizarre encounter that wasn’t so easy to find before social media. Or vintage Stevie taking studio recordings someplace else.

I wasn’t the only one studying. Stories of the making of D’s magnum opus Voodoo are beyond fable at this point. How he, co-pilot Questlove and others would spend weeks on end in the late 90s watching tapes of their “yodas” in action, soaking up black genius before jamming through the night at Hendrix’s Electric Lady Studios. A bandcamp-cum-academy environment that produced more than 70 hours of music most of us have never heard.

That one I was not ready for back in 2000. Its murkiness, shifting states and the opacity of the vocals threw me off. But I was beckoned by Voodoo’s ritualistic opening and how ‘Playa Playa’ combined Roy Hargrove’s sweet horn arrangements with the gritty groove laid down by Pino Palladino and Questlove.

I could feel James in ‘Chicken Grease’, with its nod to Black Caesar in the ad libs, and went nuts for Voodoo’s audacious outlier ‘Spanish Joint’ from first play. The uncompromising commitment to his craft and aesthetic was compelling.

D set out to seek what his heroes sought. To allow himself to be a conduit for the spirits of the past. The recording of that album was like a three-year seance. Speaking to Vibe around the release, he cast off any concerns about sophomore jinx, instead plotting a path way into the future with the tools handed down to him.

“The way he [Sam Cooke] would do his vocals, with his musicians all playing major chords … And he would just come out of nowhere in this minor key — it’s hard to put in words the effect that has on you – the chills. It’s just evolutionary… I want to be free like that.”

Here’s the thing about D’Angelo and why his loss feels so devastating. He didn’t settle for emulating the sound of the masters. His inspirations were launchpads. How many of us could hear Hendrix in ‘The Root’?

From day one, his integrity was sky-high. The intention was to make art. For the son and grandson of Pentecostal preachers, catching the spirit and moving people were birthright and vocation – from the pulpit side to the stage. Just listen to ‘One Mo Gin’ live in LA from 2000. Image was secondary.

In that Vibe article, the writer Dream Hampton recalls D holding her hand throughout a two-hour conversation and says, “He hears what you’re saying, but what he really wants to do is feel you.” He loved giving guys a pound every 20 or 30 seconds, as DJ Premier told her. The Alchemist recently shared a hilarious weed <a href="https://www.facebook.com/wa