Sade and Shade

“Oh, like the singer? Smoooth operatorrr.”

Every time I introduce myself to someone, they inevitably say something like that. You could swap the song for “The Sweetest Taboo”, or any one of Sade’s hits, but the reaction is almost always the same. I have the same name as one of the most famous singers from the late 80s and early 90s.

Helen Folasade Adu has been the lead singer of Sade since before I was born. The band consists of Adu, Stuart Matthewman, Andrew Hale, and Paul S. Denman. Every member of the quartet was integral to the band’s success, but Adu is the face, pen, and soul of the band. While many recognize her unmistakable voice, most might not know that the Nigerian-born, London-bred singer, co-wrote most of the band’s songs.

At a young age, I saw Sade Adu as an ethereal figure. It was once said that she had “the most unpronounceable name in pop music.” I didn’t know anything about her personally, that Sade was not her first name, or that she co-wrote most of the songs. All I knew was that this beautiful, soulful voiced woman had the same name as me, and was Nigerian like me as well. It was so cool to have such big similarities with a famous singer. I grew up in an area with a large Nigerian population, but at a diverse school my name still stood out. I don’t remember when the first teacher referenced Sade when hearing my nickname, but every time they did, I was glad there was even a reference for them to understand how to pronounce it.

People recount how much it meant to see someone who looks like them on tv, in movies, in magazines; how representation and inclusion matter. Sadly, we are still getting to “the first” for many minorities. While Adu looks nothing like me, it meant a lot to have her as someone I could look up to in mainstream media. I wasn’t old enough to grasp that at the time, but I knew I was proud to have a Nigerian name when someone easily recognized it because of her. They couldn’t pronounce my full first name, but at least they could handle my shortened one.

As I got older, I appreciated more than just sharing a name. I watched old interviews of her talking about how to pronounce our name, about where she was from in Nigeria, I recognized the way she said certain words, picked up on more on her accent in her vocals; I came to truly appreciate her connection to being Nigerian. Something I grappled with, being a Nigerian-American. She, a light-skinned, gorgeous, self-assured, talented singer. I, a dark-skinned, insecure, chorus member at best. Our lives, vastly different, but linked by heritage.

At a time when Madonna, Janet Jackson, Cyndi Lauper, and other 80s pop queens were heating up the charts, Sade created their own lane; and Adu became the face of the quiet storm. Not just a beautiful face, her vocals and lyrics captivated a generation. The band’s style—a mixture of jazz, soul, and pop—presented Adu’s soothing and sometimes haunting voice. The band came out swinging with their debut album Diamond Life, which included hits “Smooth Operator” and “Your Love Is King.” It catapulted the band into stardom, winning them the 1985 Grammy Award for Best New Artist. Not too shabby for a young woman who got her break by designing outfits for Spandau Ballet, while going to school for fashion design. The band would go on to release five more albums, and win three more Grammy Awards, among other numerous nominations and wins.

“I decided that if I was going to sing, I would sing the way I speak, because it’s important to be yourself.” ~ Sade Adu

Adu’s success opened doors for other genre-melding acts. She did this by being true to herself. When she was offered a solo record deal while singing with the band Pride, she eventually accepted only because they agreed to sign some of her bandmates as well. Sade wouldn’t be the band we know of if she didn’t advocate for herself and her friends. It must have been rare for a young, struggling musician to do back then, let alone a black woman. Like many emerging artists, Adu was not living the life of luxury when the band took off. “Of course I’ve struggled, in every way,” she told Spin Magazine in 1985. At the onset of her fame and success, she lived in a converted fire station where the bathroom was on the fire escape, “we were freezing, basically.”

She didn’t have to deal with freezing for too long, but with fame and fortune comes other troubles. The more famous you get, the more people want to know about you. There were interviews and concert reviews, but there were also articles speculating on her personal life and the state of her mental health. In an interview with the Sydney Morning Herald in 2010, Adu reiterated why she shies away from the attention, “some people love all of the trimmings and everything that comes with that. But I happen to not be one of those people...I do want to get on the stage and sing the songs...but then I just want to disappear again.''

Adu doesn’t focus on success, she focuses on the music, “I only make records when I feel I have something to say. I’m not interested in releasing music just for the sake of selling something. Sade is not a brand.” Some of today’s biggest artists worked years to be able to get to that place; to be able to put out music because they have something to say, not because they have a contract to fulfill. That also means fans may wait years and years for a new project. So when rumors swirled in 2010, that Sade was releasing new music, I was anxiously awaiting confirmation. The rumors turned out to be true, Soldier of Love was released in February 2010; a decade after Lovers Rock. The album debuted at number one, no doubt due to loyal, patient fans. This was my chance.

Growing up I heard Sade on the radio in the car, in the house while cleaning, while watching channels like VH1 and BET. When I was a child I liked the music, but still thought of it as music my older siblings listened to. The older I got, the more I appreciated the sound, and genre as a whole. Now, when I clean the house, dancing around to “Hang On to Your Love”, I go back to those days being forced to clean baseboards all day. On rainy days, I gravitate towards the mellow grooves and Adu’s siren-like voice on songs like “Jezebel” and “Pearls.” An avid fan of melancholic music, those songs tend to stick with me more. The ones that allow you to ride a wave of sadness, to process your feelings and make it through.

I’ve always turned to music through my share of downs, but it’s also been the reason for some of my most memorable highs. Including a potentially once-in-a-lifetime concert during the summer of 2011. Six months after Sade released their sixth studio album, they announced they were going on an international tour. Besides the fact that it was likely to sell out, I couldn’t afford a ticket. I tried winning tickets through radio contests and other giveaways. A few years prior, I won tickets to John Legend—who opened for the band during the North American leg of the tour—so I thought it was worth a shot. No luck.

Turns out I didn’t need luck, my brother surprised me with a ticket! I was over the moon, I couldn’t believe I was actually going to see Sade. I was the third wheel on what would otherwise have been a romantic date, but I didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was the experience I was sure to have.

I loved, and still love John Legend, but I couldn’t help but want him to hurry up. He put on a good performance as always, and had fun with the crowd. Honestly, I barely remember him being there. What I remember is the lights going down, the crowd going nuts then silent, and Sade Adu appearing on stage. She commanded the stage immediately, the crowd greeting her by standing at attention. Shortly after, the remaining band members joined, and the show kicked off with the title track, “Soldier of Love.”

There were some technical difficulties, but the show was everything a fan could ask for. All four members proved they still had it, showcasing incredible musicianship. Some audience members stood the entire length of the show, too energized to sit down. We all gave a standing ovation for my favorites “Pearls'' and “Jezebel”, the latter featuring a saxophone solo from Stuart Matthewman. In an arena of 20,000 seats, you could only hear Adu’s voice and Matthewman’s sax. It was beautiful.

The band ran through their big hits and new music from the Soldier of Love album. Then came the obligatory goodbye before the encore. I have only been to one or two concerts that actually ended when they said it would. I got a little nervous they weren’t going to come back on, but they did, and they ended the night with “Cherish the Day.” It was one of the best concerts I’ve ever been to, and one of the most meaningful.

I wrote a review of the show while I was still high from the experience. The show inspired me to write more, and I went on to do more concert reviews, interview amazing artists, and cover music festivals. If I hadn’t had that experience, I wouldn’t have had the number of extraordinary experiences that followed. Adu has inspired me to pursue my passions, shown me there is always room for growth, and that being yourself can be the key to your success. She’s also inspired other artists from various backgrounds and genres. You can hear her influence in the voices of artists like Amber Mark; who does a lovely cover of “Love Is Stronger Than Pride.” You can even see not one, but two portraits of Adu tattooed on Drake.

“You can only grow as an artist as long as you allow yourself the time to grow as a person” ~ Adu

Managing to keep most of her private life private, I was interested to see her name in the headlines in 2019. I was surprised to see it was about her son, Izaak Theo Adu. In the past few years, many fans have been disappointed to find out that someone they admired was not the person they thought they were. I was afraid of what the article was going to say. Theo posted a thank you to his mom for her support during his transition; he came out as trans in 2016. As a member of the LGBTQIA community, I was delighted to read that Sade was in support of her son. It was another reason to love her.

Sade Adu’s voice has been weaved into the fabric of my life; there for me when I needed it and playing a role in how I see myself. While I try not to put her on a pedestal, I continue to appreciate what she has contributed to music. Her name, our name, will always be a source of pride.