Nobody, with the possible exception of Spandau Ballet, reeks of 80s yuppie, conspicuous consumption and smooth operators doing deals over Asti Spumante like Sade. Sade's vocals are utterly devoid of the grit and guts of regular soul meanwhile, the music's lustrous surfaces and the players' cool efficiency have made it the ideal background sound for wine bars and dinner parties – places loathed by the rock criterati. Soul divas from Aretha to Alicia are routinely eulogised because they are openly emotional in their work and so can be lauded for their depth and passion. Her poor reputation here might also stem from the fact that music writers, their ears dulled by years of exposure to noise, need things "spelled out" sonically. She might have emerged out of a post-new romantic/peacock-rejecting club culture synonymous with what her former boyfriend Robert Elms once dubbed "hard times" chic, but Sade herself never seemed to suffer much on the way to success.
Then there's Sade's background as a model and cover star of 80s style bibles such as the Face to contend with – stylishness and conventional good looks can make a musician seem insubstantial. British rock writers, middle-class boys to a man (and woman), on the other hand, demand the roughness that was missing as they grew up and mistrust classiness, seeing it as the bourgeois enemy of insurgent creativity. American rappers, largely working-class, seek it in their favourite music – they've got all the edge they need in their lives. But more likely it's because, historically, rap's most wanted have liked nothing better than to wind down after a hard day's dissing with some gentle MOR-R&B – I distinctly remember interviewing Snoop Dogg at home in LA as he reached for a Sade album, considered the epitome of class and sophistication in such circles. Now, this could simply be A Flock of Seagulls syndrome, whereby a group deemed a joke in Britain is revered in the States. Meanwhile, Lil Wayne was heard talking it up, and new boy Drake, having confirmed Jay-Z, Kanye and Wayne as collaborators on his album, said he was most excited about a mooted team-up with the Nigerian-born singer originally known as Helen Folasade Adu. Kayne West blogged about it, declaring, "This is why I still have a blog. In the States, anticipation for Soldier of Love, Sade's first album since 2000's Lovers Rock, was considerable, especially among rappers.
Since when did a lack of original quotes and face-time with an artist stop people writing about them? A few journalists have likened Sade to Kate Bush, that other reclusive musician who emerges once in a blue moon, but the space given to Sade's return is nothing compared to the coverage afforded Bush's comeback with the Aerial album in 2005, whether they got the exclusive interview or not. True, Sade hardly gives interviews, but neither do/did Michael Jackson, Madonna and Prince, and they've been scrutinised to death (literally, in Jacko's case).
In the UK, however, it "only" reached No 4, and give or take a few "lead" reviews lightly praising the music's "beautiful balance" between "toughness and hauteur", there doesn't seem to have been much of a fuss made about the achievement.
It sold 1.5m copies worldwide in its first week of release – including 500,000 in the US, where it enjoyed the best sales-week since AC/DC's Black Ice in November 2008 – and went to No 1 in 14 countries. They call her music a "quiet storm" but there hasn't been much of a storm, quiet or otherwise, about the huge success of Sade's first album in a decade, Soldier of Love – not in this country anyway.
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