Happy 25th Anniversary to Sananda Maitreya’s fourth studio album Terence Trent D'Arby's Vibrator, originally released June 1, 1995.
If there is one thing that can be said about Sananda Maitreya (formerly Terence Trent D’Arby), it’s that he has never delivered a by-the numbers album. From the rival challenging debut of Introducing The Hardline According to… (1987) through to the misjudged masterpiece of Neither Fish Nor Flesh (1989) and his sonic experiment of Symphony or Damn (1993), each release kept you interested in what was to come next.
For his fourth musical outing, Maitreya turned everything up to 11. With Vibrator, he produced an album that plays out like a greatest hits collection of songs you’ve never heard. It’s multi-dimensional, building on the soul of his debut and adding in dashes of his more Avant Garde works. It’s eclectic, sure, but not to the point of being disorienting.
The titular “Vibrator” is a true funk rocker with chunky guitar riffs and the “Cold Sweat” inspired back beat, as Maitreya’s vocals transform from smooth and seductive in the verses to raucous and raspy in the building choruses. In these four minutes alone, you’re reminded why he is such a captivating artist.
His ability to meld genres, draw influence, pay tribute, innovate and make things his own is applied throughout the album with a deft touch. On tracks like the trippy funk of “C.Y.F.M.L.A.Y?” he mixes up hip-hop soul beats with subtle jungle vibes, colors with splashes of horn stabs, and an enchanting layering of vocals for a near hypnotic experience.
On “Read My Lips (I Dig Your Scene)”—which was originally released as B-side instrumental—Maitreya enshrines the listener in a psychedelic swirl of sound with mystic chants, reversed drum loops, skittish samples, and moments of pure bliss. Fleshed out with new vocals, Maitreya’s soft and languid delivery beckons the listener in.
This sense of sonic exploration continues on the expansive production of “Surrender,” which deals with a sense of reckoning of the soul/ego aided by gospel style vocals and a rolling groove. It then segues into “TTD’s Recurring Dream” with its haunting melody and vocal delivery, offering enough metaphors to keep Freud busy for a few days.
The album at its core is a spiritual journey. An experience to move the heart, the soul and the feet. Mostly it succeeds in this mission, as noted in the aforementioned tracks, and sometimes it misses, as with the overly bombastic and dramatic “Resurrection” that possibly could have benefited from another look.
“Supermodel Sandwich,” with its playful sexually charged romp about one’s lust for a fashion model being rebuked, has enough tongue-in-cheek twists to keep you grooving and is enhanced by a not-too-subtle nod to Bowie’s “Fame” in its descending vocal melody. It’s a nice moment of funk rock early on in the set. Whether or not it needed a remixed reprise in the smoothed out “Supermodel Sandwich w/ cheese” in the final moments of the album will remain up for debate. “w/ Cheese” is a cool reinvention, but acts a little like a bump in the final wind down of the album.
For all the marvelous moments of funk bluster present on the album, the tracks are balanced by a beautiful collection of soulful ballads that really showcase Maitreya’s rich vocals and skills as both a lyricist and songwriter.
“Holding On To You” has Maitreya laying out the risk and renewal of new love, and the sweet sacrifices commitment brings. With a slow burn soul feel, the kind Percy Sledge would be smiling down upon, Maitreya conveys the passion effortlessly and it remains one of his most powerful moments on record.
The beautiful coupling of “Undeniably” and “We Don’t Have That Much Time Together” near the album’s midpoint further showcases Maitreya’s ability to spin an enchanting spell over the listener. “Undeniably,” with its tale of a fleeting passing love that causes one to “Blow a kiss to what might have been,” offers a warm flickering glow that erupts with jazz inspired whirling in the final minutes.
This transitions into the smooth Bossa Nova inspired “We Don’t Have That Much Time Together,” a seductive romantic telling of love against the clock. The breezy feel of it is heightened by Maitreya’s sweet delivery and singsong turn of phrase, and lines like “Heaven is only half the distance between your soul and mine” seals the deal.
The remaining ballads of the album, the piano led longing of “If You Go Before Me” and the simplicity and yearning of “It’s Been Said” function to remind us that Maitreya may be one of the most underrated and underappreciated artists.
With Vibrator, Sananda Maitreya delivered an album that may not have been packed with quantifiable hits, but it is undeniably welcoming and enjoyable. Its moments of brilliance are memorable and it’s a shame the album didn’t get its due at the time of its arrival. Now many years after its release, it deserves a considered re-evaluation. Much like its maker.
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