0001: Maxwell. Let's start this off right.

Maxwell changed my life. 

Right out of high school, I listened to what my friends listened to: Green Day, Nirvana, Stone Temple Pilots, The Offspring, blah blah blah. That's what was popular at that time, and I don't think I was mature enough to have developed my own musical tastes. I was a sheep. 

I also read GQ and Details quite a bit - yeah, I was training to be a man and that's how I did it. In one particular issue of Details, there was a one-page article about a new artist named Maxwell, accompanied by a photo of him - a quiet, charismatic, suited cat with a lush afro. The article went on about this kid from Brooklyn who bought a keyboard and made music in his bedroom. It further went on about his freshman offering, Maxwell's Urban Hang Suite (henceforth referred to as UHS). It was a concept album which told the story, chronologically from song to song, about how this young gentleman met a woman, flirted with, became infatuated with, loved, parted from, reunited with, and proposed to. 

Now aside from the alternative stuff I was listening to at the time, I was also starting to pick up some old soul sounds like Al Green and Marvin Gaye. Though I didn't reveal this to anyone at the time, I was kind of a fan of these cats. Something clicked when I heard their wails and falsettos and yearning cries for women and... other stuff. I was definitely susceptible to this old stuff, and I'm almost certain that they got me ready for Maxwell before I knew I was ready.

Intrigued, I drove to the CD shop right then and picked up a copy of UHS. I tore it open, played the disc in my room, and when it was over, I played it again. I think I may have listened to it five times or so before I decided it was time for bed, and when I woke the next day, I listened to it twice more before I brushed my teeth. 

Although I feel like I had a pretty good starting foundation with soul music, Maxwell was different, still. He was definitely soul - the wails, the yearning, the booty-on-a-bearskin-rug-next-to-the-fireplace sound - but the way he sang about women was... amazing. He's the cat who thinks you're the highest of the high, who just wants to kick a lil' sumthin' sumthin'... who gets driven crazy from the smell of she. Yeah, the smell of SHE. Strictly badass.

Maxwell loves women for all the reasons all men love women, but he loves them even more because they ARE women. I'm a big fan of intimacy and romanticism, but before any of that happens, there's flirting, there's profound attraction, there's dinner, there's wine, and then there's the next time you do it all again. I can have dinner with one of my boys, but I'd honestly much rather have dinner with a worthwhile lady. 

He doesn't unapologetically jump into a lady's pants, he digs on her first. The pants thing comes later. 

So after about 24 hours with this album, I changed. The alternative stuff my friends were listening to was fun, but I wanted to live these songs I had just listened to. UHS gave me a profound appreciation and love for women. I opened doors. I pulled chairs. I walked on the streetside. I made eye contact. So in a sense, Maxwell made me strive to be a gentleman. 

Shortly after, I found out that GQ was short for Gentleman's Quarterly. How appropriate. 

That album opened the doors into a whole genre of music for me to discover. D'Angelo, Erykah Badu, Tony! Toni! Tone!, Bilal, Musiq - the list goes on and on. I went back and picked up more from the Reverend and Marvin, along with Aretha and James and Stevie and others. 

With no disrespect to the modern originators of soulful music, I doubt I'd ever have gone through the old school libraries if I hadn't first been truly mesmerized by UHS. My musical chronology is a bit backwards, but it all got me to the same place.

Now I'm less of a sheep, more of a gentleman.