Sade

Sade’s music is not timeless. The group (fronted by singer and lyricist Sade Adu) composes minimalist studies of thrall and the various forms taken by its aftermath — narrow turf that, despite the instrumentalists’ smooth precision, isn’t the stuff of standards. But neither is Sade’s music of its time. Her first three albums, built on satiny hooks and suggestive of the soulless upward mobility of the ’80s, weren’t jazz or pop so much as smartly constructed bedroom music for those who indulged Robin Leach rather than watched him. But the songs — “Sweetest Taboo” and “Smooth Operator” — contained few of that decade’s de rigueur sonic parlor tricks; listened to now alongside Sade’s chart contemporaries, they make Wham! sound like Depeche Mode.

This distinction helps explain Sade’s easy resurgence. It’s been eight years since Sade’s last album, not counting a premature 1994 hits set. But with no ubiquitous single or video, or even the requisite concert tour or talk show circuit, the group is thriving amid teen pop groups and soul-patch-wearing screamers. Is it because there is a secret market for gentle piano-bar romance? Is it because the class of 1987 is now looking for discs to help unwind? Don’t bet on it. Brand loyalty has rescued Sade from obscurity. Give or take cartoonish or self-aggrandizing competition then and now (Spandau Ballet and Seal, respectively), Sade — singer and band — was and is unique among pop acts. Sade was VH-1 before VH-1 was cool, sleepy and loving it. (The critic J.D. Considine once wrote that Sade’s Stronger Than Pride was also “faster than Sominex.”) And when something is the only alternative to the worst trends of the status quo, it will be thanked and remembered. There are people out there who were waiting — and waiting a long time — for Lovers Rock. Mock today’s artists if you like, but eight years from now, only those who have been incarcerated or in a long coma will be anticipating a Britney Spears or Jennifer Lopez album.

Lovers Rock doesn’t disappoint. Adu’s voice remains a supple conveyor of wronged womanhood, dipping lower here than before and concentrated on the far side of the beat. Her writing has sharpened, making “Immigrant” an effective silk-pajama remake of Stevie Wonder’s “Living for the City” and the title song a moving testament to enduring love. Andrew Hale emphasizes organ over more obviously programmed keyboard sounds, dovetailing with the organic, often lovely playing of guitarist Stuart Matthewman. There are few instant grabbers on the order of “No Ordinary Love.” But Lovers Rock satisfies Sade’s primary charge: texture. That it does so while subtly moving forward with equally evocative lyrics and singing that has matured compellingly is more than enough to make listeners hope that it won’t be another eight years before the group takes the next step in its evolution.