Erykah Badu's most recent volume of teachings came in the form of a mixtape released in 2015: But You Caint Use My Phone, which was centered around the bliss and failure of communication. On the tape, Badu adapted the New Edition classic "Mr. Telephone Man," a hopeless ode about disconnection, and what was most arresting about her version of the song was the atmosphere around it. Under a crackling echo chamber, Badu's soft background vocals fade out like lost time ("I called a thousand times…" "Trouble on the line…"), as if she's broadcasting into an abyss. This is the gift she's consistently offered throughout her career: singing in and between the lines, sending existential missives out into space.
The introduction of Badu as a healing philosopher and black bohemian matriarch took place twenty years ago, beginning with a series of proverbs in "On & On." Her debut Baduizm was released in 1997, and "neo-soul" was coined as a throwback-situated genre to set it apart from the new-jack and radio R&B of the time. (In time, the genre was exhausted and disowned by those who resisted labels, including Badu.) There were singers who delivered on mirroring angst, but no one was quite as good as Badu—just 24-years-old at this point—at performing a soulful read that succinctly informed you about yourself.
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