Poise and power from Sade

February 08, 2010|James Reed, Globe Staff

Just like her songs, Sade tends to take her time. She’s not in a hurry because she doesn’t have to be. In a career going on 26 years (yes, “Smooth Operator’’ really came out in 1984), the impossibly sophisticated singer and her band have released only five studio albums. And that’s been enough to transfix fans who hang on every simmering slow jam as if it were written just for them. Like Al Green is fond of saying about his own music, there are likely a few generations who were conceived to Sade’s songs.

I say all that to point out that “Soldier of Love,’’ Sade’s new album (and first since 2000’s exquisite “Lovers Rock’’) that’s released tomorrow, does not color outside the lines of her shopworn blueprint. Like its predecessors, it mimics the rhythms of a new relationship - it’s up one minute and down the next, loving in places and wounded in others - and it’s a rich and rewarding album, but only after multiple listens.

The British-Nigerian singer, who turned 51 last month, has insisted she doesn’t like to repeat herself, but cohesion has been the linchpin of her artistry. Even if you’re not crazy about every song - and she’s never made much of a dent on pop charts in this country - you know you’re at least getting heartfelt music that rarely falls out of fashion.

“Soldier of Love’’ is exactly that album. It’s unassuming to the point of feeling disinterested at times but occasionally bares its teeth in moments of implied violence. More than once Sade alludes to love in militaristic terms, comparing it to a battle and declaring herself a soldier of love on the title track.

And what a strange decision to make that song the first single, which sounds like nothing else on the album. Menacing and industrial (well, for Sade at least), “Soldier of Love’’ suggests her marching orders are to search and destroy the lover who’s crossed her. “I’m in the front line of this battle of mine/ But I’m still alive,’’ she sings in an alto as resonant as when it first oozed onto the airwaves in the ’80s, piercing the dead weight of a booming snare drum.

It marks a surprising new direction, which makes the opening song feel especially wobbly. “The Moon and the Sky’’ comes on strong as an R&B kiss-off riddled with snippets of clipped strings and distorted guitar; aiming for organic, it lands on the wrong side of overly processed.

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