Smooth is as smooth does

Sometimes my subconcious had a tuner all of its own. A subterranean rumble that picks certain frequencies and attaches.

That was the situation a few weeks ago in my local Starbucks. Mid-conversation, I paused -- subterranean rumble. Sade.

Melody with spice. Love making with strings. I love Sade.

After that coffee, I didn't think of her again until my latest issue of Rolling Stone appeared.

Soldier is the first Sade album since Lovers Rock 10 years ago, which was her first since Love Deluxe eight years before that. Like those albums, Soldier is sumptuously melancholy, exquisitely beautiful R&B, perfect for crying on a very expensive sofa. She's been making hit records longer than anyone in the xx has been alive, yet she works in the same style: the hushed, voluptuous tones of heartbreak, reduced to a sexy-librarian whisper, with a very British sense of reserve.

I always feel sorry for people who don't appreciate Sade. Obviously they are missing something from their soul, the tuning fork for that sweet spot, the subterranean vibration that reminds you that loving music is as primal as making love.