Adu herself once described her image as ‘stark’. Whilst recently watching a documentary on the ‘80s, it is very telling to hear Sade’s female contemporaries speak of how, compared to most other women at the time, she wore small amounts of make-up and had a simple elegance about her. Then there’s Ms Adu alluring beauty and statuesque physique which, combined with her effortless cool and sophistication makes her the stuff of myth. Born in Ibadan, in 1959 she is very probably one of Naija’s most celebrated exports. I dare say that it would be nigh impossible for anyone of Nigerian origin around before the ‘90s to be unaware of Sade. Both Sade and I have fathers of Nigerian stock, the Yoruba ethnic group from the West coast of the country to be precise. In my early 20s, a chance friendship with a fellow Sade fan re-kindled my passion for their songs and I really began to analyse why Sade continues to fascinate me.įirst there’s the matter of patrimony. I watched her performance at that year’s MOBO’s during my second year at University, feeling ticked off at the audience for speaking over it and the general lukewarm reception here in the UK to her return to the scene.Ĭlearly, Sade and band have been an organic part of my growing up. I recall how excited I was when she made one of her legendary comebacks after yet another ludicrously long (eight-year) sabbatical with Lovers Rock in 2000. I remember somehow accumulating a decent knowledge of Sade’s back catalogue and how, what was then Jazz FM, used to keep the love alive by playing their tunes. I also recall reading a rare interview with Sade in a Sunday supplement on the release of the Love Deluxe record circa 1992 and admiring how mocha-gorgeous she looked on the sleeve of the album, which my mum had on cassette.
I recall studying the midnight-blue artwork of the family copy of Promise on vinyl, the famous shots of their front-woman performing at Live Aid ’85 with her gelled hair and signature long plait hanging to the middle of her back. I do have distinct memories of my mum singing “Love Is Stronger than Pride” when Sade released the (almost) eponymous album. It is as if Sade and band have always been there somewhere in the annals of my mind. I don’t know as with some of the other influential artists of that time it is difficult to pinpoint a moment when I was first drawn to their music. I have wondered if this is when my enduring devotion to Sade’s artistry commenced. I have strained my brain cells trying to call this scene to memory, to no avail. She graciously signed some autographs before getting on the plane and – as mum tells it – that was basically it. According to mum, Ms Adu was so unassuming even the airport staff didn’t hassle her (anyone who’s visited Lagos airport would understand how strange this is in itself), instead giving her a speedy VIP boarding pass. Diamond Life, their debut, eventually scooped a Best Newcomer Grammy and Sade herself was one of the few recording artists ever to appear on the cover of America’s’ Time magazine.ĭespite being barely out of toddlerhood I would have been very aware of whom she was as my mother pointed her out to me.
I was three years old and Sade and her band had just started taking the world by storm with their unique kind of soulful pop on a smoothed-out jazz vibe. It is thus a bitter irony that, despite the numerous mental titbits I have retained from infanthood my one brief encounter with Helen Folasade Adu – or Sade as she is better known – has disappeared from the recesses of my brain.Īs my mother tells it, we were waiting in Lagos airport for our plane back to the UK and Sade was also returning to Blighty from one of her frequent trips to Nigeria. I have been told more than once that I have a freakishly good long term memory.