A lot of fashion information- Sade Adu, the British-Nigerian songstress whose intoxicating, sultry ballads have played a zillion hours alongside a billion box springs-is back touring for the first sentence in a decade. She and her band (known collectively as Sade) play in East Rutherford, N.J. on Friday and Newark on Saturday and, in 9 months, you can ask a conspicuous baby boom in the tri-state area.
This is what happens when Sade unleashes her slinky magic.
Ms. Adu`s voice is seductive, but the most admirable thing about Sade may be her work schedule. She perfects, but does not rush. Her newest record, Soldier of Love, came out in 2010. Lovers Rock, her previous album, arrived in 2000. The one before that came out in 1992. Sade is 52 years old and has released six studio albums. She makes Fran Lebowitz look busy.
But it doesn`t matter. Sade arrives and disappears, vanishing into a secret life that is actually private. When she resurfaces, she is celebrated like a passing comet. "Soldier of Love" went to No. 1.
All six of her albums have gone platinum. Sade`s music isn`t handcuffed to fashion-the new stuff, the old stuff, it all sounds fantastic and non-mortifying. (You simply can`t play Sade in most workplaces-everyone starts to experience weird if you crank "No Ordinary Love" and operate the doorway to your office.)
Sade embarrasses all of us, because she walks the slow lane to happiness. The balance of us are scrambling, calling, updating, microwaving, texting, GPS-ing, "Like"-ing. Sade, on the other hand, does not Tweet what she thinking of "Bridesmaids."
Sade does not following your modern, high-speed, wi-fi life. When Sade calls room service and the operator says the mozzarella sticks will have an hour and a half, she says, "So soon?"
It`s admirable. I am so desperate to be as cool and languid as Sade. But I am as cool and languid as Jerry Lewis stepping on a beehive.
I blame sports. It`s gotten too frantic these days. There`s scarce a break to exhale. Everyone loves to say "there`s no such matter as an off-season," as if this is an awesome development. It`s not. Why are you doing a 2012 NFL Mock Draft? You should be thrown in prison and granted the nail works of Thomas Pynchon. Are you really televising spring football? Freaking out around a guy in single-A baseball? Wait, is that really a partitioning of the future World Cup? How many post-mortems of the 2010-11 Miami Heat have you say? Not even LeBron cares anymore.
It`s not very Sade. You can`t imagine Sade watching "Pardon the Interruption." ESPN is so not Sade. What I would pay for ESPN: Sade.
This is not to say sports hasn`t had some Sade-like characters, who exuded a certain unflappable composure and knew that greatness did not bear to cling to your clock.
Julius Irving was Sade. Bjorn Borg was Sade. Walt Frazier was Sade. So were Grete Waitz, Bode Miller, Pele and Steffi Graf.
Joe Montana was Sade. Brett Favre was not Sade.
Mariano Rivera is Sade. A-Rod is not Sade.
Rafa and Roger are Sade. Andy Murray is not Sade.
Manny Ramirez was Sade. Of course, he was also Sade down the first-base line.
Sade isn`t always what you need. For example, Eli is Sade. Peyton`s not the least bit Sade.
But Sades among us look to be better, calmer, richer lives on the study and off. They don`t recognize the mark of tonight`s game, but they don`t care. They aren`t coming home to turn on "SportsCenter."
They`re turning on the Sade. And you know what`s next.
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