Like so many contemporary R&B fans, I was gutted when it was reported that Michael Eugene Archer, better known as groundbreaking neo-soul artist D’Angelo, passed away on Tuesday at the too-damn-young age of 51, after a long, private battle with pancreatic cancer.

The man was an elusive enigma, only dropping three studio albums–Brown Sugar (1995), Voodoo (2000) and Black Messiah (2014)–that nevertheless became influential masterworks. But he did spend those years in-between albums recording songs for movie soundtracks. Back in the good ol’ days when every movie came with a soundtrack full of bangers, D’Angelo was a regular presence. You could literally make a playlist out of the secret heaters he recorded for the movies, which is what I’ve done.

“U Will Know” from “Jason’s Lyric” (1994)

D’Angelo was just 19 when he co-wrote and co-produced this all-star single, which also serves as the theme song for the 1994 hood drama starring Allen Payne as a man torn between being there for his self-destructive, ex-con brother (Bokeem Woodbine) and falling in love with an entrancing waitress (a pre-Will Smith Jada Pinkett). Most of the era’s biggest R&B male singers—including co-producer Brian McKnight, Gerald Levert, R. Kelly, Boyz II Men, Tevin Campbell, Keith Sweat, and Usher—joined forces as a Black-and-proud choir, practically one-upping each other in the vocal-run department, as they sing encouraging lyrics for all the struggling brothas out there. 

“Girl You Need a Change of Mind” from “Get on the Bus” (1996)

In the first of many classic songs he would remake for movie soundtracks, D’Angelo got with veteran producer/Miles Davis collaborator James Mtume and recorded a cover of former Temptation Eddie Kendricks’ proto-disco 1973 single, which saluted all the fine ladies who were fighting for equal rights back in the day. D’Angelo and Mtume simply amp up the already defiant, gospel-inspired, righteous soul Kendricks and producer Frank Wilson already laid down. It did fit in quite well in the soundtrack for the Spike Lee-directed dramedy, where a bus full of Black men (including Ossie Davis, Andre Braugher and comedian Bernie Mac) travel en route to the Million Man March. 

“Your Precious Love” from “High School High” (1996)

D’Angelo collaborated with Erykah Badu, another neo-soul trailblazer, and producer Bob Power for an old-fashioned rendition of Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell’s great Motown duet, originally penned by beloved singer-songwriter duo Nick Ashford and Valerie Simpson. While the cover made an appearance on the soundtrack for the forgotten high-school movie parody, starring “SNL” alum Jon Lovitz as a white teacher getting his Dangerous Minds on in an inner-city school, it was also included on Marvin Is 60, a Marvin Gaye tribute album, in 1999.  

“I Found My Smile Again” from “Space Jam” (1996)

The 6x platinum soundtrack from the live-action animated sports comedy starring Michael Jordan and Bugs Bunny had a slew of singles, from the bass-booming title track by Quad City DJs to R. Kelly’s Grammy-winning anthem “I Believe I Can Fly” to Seal’s rendition of Steve Miller’s “Fly Like an Eagle.” Buried within the collection is D’Angelo’s enticing, enthusiastic track. D opens up the tune by nimbly twinkling the ivories on his electric piano, then sliding into a spry soulful ode to that special someone who brings out the rosiness in a brotha’s cheekbones. (“I haven’t felt like this in a while/Girl. I wanna thank you for helping me find my smile.”) Although the original isn’t available to stream, a re-recorded, radio-edit version can be found on his 2008 The Best So Far… compilation. 

“The ‘Notic” from “Men in Black” (1997)

“Men in Black” infamously had a soundtrack album where, apart from star Will Smith’s smash theme song, most of the songs did not appear in the movie. Nevertheless, that didn’t stop D’Angelo and hip-hop band The Roots (featuring drummer/frequent D’Angelo collaborator Questlove) from doing a jazzy remake of “The Hypnotic,” from The Roots’ 1996 album Illadelph Halflife. Along with adding ad-libs and keyboard-tickling, D’Angelo deliciously repurposes the chorus from Earth, Wind and Fire’s “Shining Star.” Erykah Badu can also be heard throwing in some background vocals.

“She’s Always In My Hair” from “Scream 2” (1997)

D’Angelo got the chance to cover Prince, one of his most obvious influences, when he remade the Purple One’s 1984 B-side for the sequel to Wes Craven’s hit meta-slasher flick. The first song you hear in the movie (an apt choice, as it begins with a young, Black couple, played by Jada Pinkett and Omar Epps, unfortunately becoming this installment’s first casualties), D puts a hard-driving, Black-rock spin on Prince’s spacey, synth-funk rarity. An invigorating change-of-pace from the smooth neo-soul he was already known for, the cover hints at the musical experimenting he would later do on Voodoo.

“Devil’s Pie” from “Belly” (1998)

Music-video director Hype Williams’s directorial debut–basically an urban spin on “Mean Streets” starring rap icons Nas and DMX as partners in crime–is most known for its ultra-stylish opening credits, a slo-mo club sequence set to an acapella version of Soul II Soul’s “Back to Life.” But the movie also gave us this unofficial theme song from D’Angelo and legendary hip-hop producer DJ Premier (best known as one-half of East Coast rap duo Gang Starr). With Premier sampling a bassline from Teddy Pendergrass’s “And If I Had” and throwing in scratches and clipped lines from other rappers, D’Angelo sings about the dangers of succumbing to greed and materialism, serving as the perfect background music for a montage where Nas and DMX’s drug dealers start cracking on their operation. The song would also end up on Voodoo.

“Heaven Must Be Like This” from “Down in the Delta” (1998) and “Can’t Hide Love” from “Dancing in September” (2001)

Here are two more covers, which were both included on D’Angelo’s formerly rare, 1998 live album Live at the Jazz Cafe, London. His rosy rendition of the Ohio Players’ sweet-talking “Heaven Must Be Like This”–a bonus track that only appeared on the album’s Japanese release–doesn’t appear in “Delta,” which marked the directorial debut of the revered poet Maya Angelou. But it did end up on the soundtrack album. As for Reggie Rock Bythewood’s TV satire, which is obviously named after a line from Earth, Wind and Fire’s hit “September,” D’s bad-to-the-bone version of the group’s “Can’t Hide Love” (originally recorded by LA soul group Creative Source) slyly plays over the end credits. 

“Talk Shit 2 Ya” from “Baby Boy” (2001)

D’Angelo’s soundtrack contributions, much like D’Angelo himself, became a rarity after the success of Voodoo. A year after the album’s release, he dropped this track for John Singleton’s oft-repeated-on-BET hood drama, where Singleton goes back to South Central to tell the story of a thugish man-child (Tyrese Gibson). D mostly takes a backseat on this tune, providing the G-funk melody (which includes a groovy bass loop sampled from Curtis Mayfield’s “Mother’s Son”) and deep-voiced background vocals while rapper Marlon C is front and center with his rhymes. 

“I Want You Forever” from “The Book of Clarence” (2024)

D’Angelo’s final soundtrack appearance was on the soundtrack for director Jeymes Samuel’s satirical take on the story of Jesus, with LaKeith Stanfield as a struggling Jerusalem man who claims to be the new Messiah. D teams up with Samuel (who also composed the score) and Jay-Z for this blowsy, bombastic jam session of a song, mostly adding a sprawling chorus to this de facto love theme for Clarence and his love interest Varinia (Anna Diop).

Bonus: “Unshaken” from “Red Dead Redemption 2” (2019) 

OK, so this is from a video game. But when “Red Dead Redemption” fan D’Angelo found out that a sequel was in the works, he approached Rockstar Games about adding a song to the soundtrack. He got with Grammy-winning producer Daniel Lanois (best known for co-producing U2’s most essential albums) and recorded a moody, outlaw-country number for a nightriding sequence that have been known to give goosebumps to streaming gamers. Listening to it again only makes me sad that the man never got to score a Western.

More of your favorite artists die as you get older. These days we usually get the news via social media, which still makes for a nice, democratic forum for public mourning. Sometimes the news gets me emotional; often it doesn’t. Many of my fallen heroes led long lives, and they accomplished a lot during their time on the planet. They shuffled off this mortal coil with heads held high. My reaction is often fond reminiscence more than grief.

But every once in a while, a high-profile departure hits me in the gut. I was sitting in the back of a Lyft on Wednesday, my car undergoing expensive repairs, when my Facebook feed started filling up with appreciations of Brian Wilson. Before I knew it, I was fighting back tears. Instead of reaching into my quickie analytical/critical/historical bag of tricks, I thought of only nine words, which I posted with a photo of the twenty-something Wilson, looking dreamy and a little vexed.

I guess I just wasn’t made for these times.

The words are from a song, of course, off Pet Sounds, the 1966 Beach Boys album rightfully regarded as a watershed for pop music with artistic ambitions. They signal a sort of impassioned resignation to being alive at the wrong time, and they capture the emotions of outcasts and misfits everywhere. As sung by Wilson, not long before his psychosis reached debilitating depths, the words resonate with aching, defiant beauty–the sad beauty of loneliness, and of living out of time and place.

I came to Pet Sounds in my twenties–if memory serves, it was the first CD I ever bought, in the early nineties–at a time when I felt alone in every crowded room I inhabited. I was angry–at my family, at my finances, at life–but also vulnerable, and hesitantly open to what inner riches music and cinema and literature might bring me. “I know perfectly well I’m not where I should be,” Wilson sings angelically on the album’s second cut, “You Still Believe in Me.” Yes. I recognized that. (So did any woman I dated during this period. My condolences to them all).

I was still too green to fully appreciate what was going on there musically, the intricate harmonies and orchestration and mix of instruments that you don’t find on many rock albums–timpani, sleigh bells, Electro-Theremin, harpsichord, barking dog, train horn, etc. I hadn’t yet read about Wilson’s burning desire to match the sonic innovations of Phil Spector and The Beatles, and I didn’t realize that Wilson’s primary collaborators on the album weren’t his fellow Beach Boys but the ace session musicians of the Wrecking Crew, and a lyricist named Tony Asher, who began his career writing advertising jingles.

What I heard at the time was a transcendent collection of secular humanist hymns that seemed to be speaking directly to me. These were, in the words of William Blake, Songs of Experience and of Innocence. I was an English major at Berkeley, high on the Romantics, and somewhere in my mind, or my spirit, I connected Wilson to the likes of Keats and Wordsworth, poets yearning to express their deepest desires and passionate individualism. To me, Pet Sounds cut to the quick of this sensibility, often with bracing directness. Again, from “I Just Wasn’t Made for These Times,” repeated in the style of a mantra: “Sometimes, I feel very sad.”

In the following years I learned more of Wilson’s story, including his life-long struggle with mental illness, his abuse at the hands of a hyper-controlling doctor, Eugene Landy, and his loving marriage to Melinda Ledbetter, who died just last year. I got to speak with him briefly when the biopic “Love & Mercy” came out in 2015. I was moved by how the film’s director, Bill Pohlad, and one of the stars, John Cusack, seemed eager to protect him. He still had an unmistakable air of vulnerability.

Wilson was 82 when he died. That’s a nice, long life, a triumph. And yet his death pulled at something in me. I didn’t realize it at the time, but as I choked back tears in a stranger’s car I think I was mourning the person I was when I encountered Pet Sounds, the awkward, sad but somehow hopeful guy moved by music that felt spiritual in a way that I still have trouble fully articulating. Brian Wilson sang for all of us who just weren’t made for these times.