The video I’m posting here is a screen recording from my copy of the March 2000 edition of Launch, a late-90s/early-00s enhanced CD-ROM magazine that experimented with what media and storytelling could look like in the new millennium.

This edition dropped while D’Angelo was on his Voodoo promo run. What you’ll find here is a walkthrough of D’Angelo’s sections: album review, song snippets, photo gallery, including an interview conducted by Billy Johnson Jr. Everything, except a performance.

So much of what lived in boxes and discs never made the jump to streaming. I’m treating this like a small piece of preservation. A nod that this particular moment in history deserves to be remembered.

I might just be writing to put something on the page and help me work out what’s going on inside of me.

At times of confusion, heaviness, and uncertainty, the mixed emotions within me feel like a spool of tape tangled in a boombox.

Writing helps me untangle the tape. It helps me attach language to the swirl of emotions within me.

It’s how I process.

“Yooo. What’s good?” The first words to come out of my mouth the morning of October 14, 2025.

“You hear?”, the voice on the other end asked.

“Hear what?” I wondered.

“D’Angelo.”

— sh!t —

My heart sank.

All they said was D’Angelo. It could’ve been about a surprise D’Angelo song, album, or tour. But somehow, I understood what was meant.

My gaze suddenly froze on the edge where my ceiling meets the wall. My breathing slowed, maybe even paused.

No.
Nah.
Ain’t no way.

It’s gotta be one of these corny gossip ‘influencers’ fishing for engagement.

But the person waking me up would know. They’d know.

Still, I refuse to believe. It’s gotta be a misunderstanding.

Then I’m told Imani posted to her IG Story.

— damn —

I do the thing I know I shouldn’t. I open Instagram.

Post after post after post.

Some mourning. Some competing over grief like a commodity.

— motherf*cker —

Gatekeeping grief? Nah, this ain’t for me.

I close the app.

This hurts more than any celebrity passing has ever impacted me before. It hurts in the way it hurts when a loved one transitions. But I’ve experienced more than my fair share of loss. I understand impermanence.

So why is this impacting me the way it is?

This is breaking me in ways I can’t seem to explain.

I’ve bought every album on release day. I’ve travelled the world for D’Angelo performances and other D’related events. I even kept a separate budget just for D’Angelo-related occasions.

Concert? I’m there.
Documentary premiere? I’m there.
Soulquarian’ish-related event? I’m there.

Even this year. It broke my entire heart when I had to cancel my ticket + flight to Philly to see you again at this year’s Roots Picnic due to a serious health issue I was experiencing — only to discover that you had to cancel your appearance nearly two weeks later for the same reason.

But that’s not the reason this hurts so much.

There’s something more.

There’s a reason why your transition has impacted so many people around the world so significantly. Why your transition feels different. Why it digs deeper.

But I still don’t understand why.

What’s the reason your passing hurts so much?

Despite the tremendous impact all the Greats have had on us, there’s still something else that sets you apart. A reason why your passing hurts deeper than any of us could have expected.

It’s because you channel GOD in a way we’ve never experienced before.

At least, that’s what it was for me.

No matter the lyrics being sung, or the instrument being played, when you performed, we felt it. Whatever our individual understanding of God or the Universe is, that door opened when we heard D’Angelo.

That connection to God/the Universe is what makes us feel human.

I don’t experience your work as a collection of songs. I experience them as different opportunities to feel human. To feel Life.

But there was a time that I lost that feeling… that connection.

There’s this transformation that happens when you get into the music business. The part of your soul that lights up when you experience your favourite artists seems to dim. It’s not because you stopped loving the music. You just need to turn it off so you can do your job. This is your world now. You can’t think like a fan. You have to focus. You have to work. You have to succeed. You can’t do that as a fan. So you begin to ignore that part of you. When you ignore it for too long, it stops trying. It dims. And you don’t even notice it.

I began to feel dull. Professionally, I was doing well. But my spirit? I felt nothing. No joy waking. No joy in the studio with artists I loved, because why does it even matter? The moment the label hears potential, the artistry will be stripped for marketability anyways. A new flavour, sure. But a diluted flavour of the same corn flakes everybody’s already so used to.

Witnessing the dilution of art is deflating, but really, I usually lost the spark well before then—playing all kinds of gymnastics to ensure none of the younger or female artists are left alone in the studio with folks we all know to be predators. We might not have “proof”, but we know. And that’s enough. Job security is a small price to pay to protect the security of others.

So how are you supposed to maintain a deep, passionate love for the art, when you spend all your time witnessing the horrors of how most of this art is produced and the constant bait-and-switch of art for corn syrup?

That part of me that lit up before… it’s out. Gone.

I needed to find a way to feel again.

At the time, the demo of Really Love was spreading across the web. That first listen did something to me. I can’t explain it but it was a molecular-level feeling. A feeling that was absent for years.

I was practicing repetitive mantra chanting at the time. It was suggested to help me snap out of a rut identified later as depression. So similarly, I committed to listening to your existing material on an infinite loop. 24/7. I figured, if your music was feeding my soul, maybe continuous listening could also heal it.

And it did. In a big way. It woke me up, reminded me what the magic of being a fan felt like. No industry nonsense, no production insights, none of that. I just wanted to enjoy being a fan. Because of you, I did.

For the first time in years, that part of my soul lit up again.

That door opened.
I felt human.
I found my smile again.

That’s why this hurts so much.

We didn’t just lose an artist.

We lost proof that uncompromising art could still exist.
We lost that connection that made us feel Life.
We lost that representation of the raw. The real.
We lost our representation of soul.

We lost so much in losing you, but we also gained so much because of you. And what we gained can never truly be lost or taken away from us.

Thank you, Michael E. Archer. Thank you for giving us D’Angelo.

♥
Mohit E. Arora

For the rest of the night, the world outside of that glowing computer screen didn't exist to me1. All that mattered was the new digital community I had become a part of through my first website, a fan site dedicated to the life and legacy of Tupac Amaru Shakur.

What I didn’t realize was that this experience was the beginning of my marathon into the world of media. Blogging, interviewing, curating, designing, community building… I was learning all the skills I needed to fulfil this new passion of mine. Each pixel was like a portal to my future. In nearly every way, content rules everything around me. Streams, long reads, and all.

Today, the marathon continues. Blog interviews prepared me for media interviewing, public speaking and event hosting. Curating web content opened doors to… well… curating even more web content, but also to curate art exhibits. Developing content series paved the way to become a content strategist for major brands. I kept launching random new websites for the main purpose of honing all of these skills and exploring new ones.

I guess you could say I come from the School of Hard Knocks Odd Blogs.

Each website + each project I launched was like a mixtape—a playground for my passions. A way to dive deep into what moved me.

In many ways, the web itself mirrored this experience: vibrant but fragmented, especially as social media turned our personal corners of the internet into siloed streams.

We really shouldn't need to segregate our interests though. We are diverse, multi-hyphenate, multi-passionate, multi-everything beings. Our interests are vast, and so why should our digital presence be any different?

This latest iteration of my digital outlet is intended to return to this essence and explore a variety of topics important to me. In this space, expect to engage with topics like music, art, and culture; exploring the essential aspects of healthcare and health equity; discussing deep thoughts in the realms of race, identity, belonging, and social justice; and occasionally exploring anything else that seems to capture my thoughts.

With the amount of content available to us at every given moment—some incredibly well thought out and carefully produced, and others feeling like sugar-coated empty calories clickbait—my aim isn’t to compete with any of that; it’s simply to provide a rich, diverse, and hopefully engaging content experience. For me, a personal blog isn’t meant to be static—it’s dynamic. It’s like a D’Angelo or Raphael Saadiq journey: constantly exploring new ideas and allowing yourself to move in new directions. There’s no need to show up every single day, but when you do, you offer something from your soul.

I guess, this post is more of a reminder to myself, and hopefully to you. Don’t fret about the polish of the album. Just drop the mixtape.