I awoke this morning to a world of silence, as news spread that Michael Eugene Archer, otherwise known as D’Angelo, passed away today from pancreatic cancer. D’Angelo changed the temperature of the room the first time you heard him. His music didn’t beg for your attention; it commanded your stillness. When the world was running full speed into the flash and excess of the 1990s, he slowed everything down and made us sit with the groove.

He was the son of a preacher from Richmond, Virginia, who carried the church with him everywhere he went. You could hear it in the way he touched the keys, the way his voice bent notes like prayers. But D’Angelo wasn’t singing gospel. He was preaching something new. He was talking about love, lust, pain, and spirit in the same breath.

When Brown Sugar came out in 1995, the sound felt alive. It wasn’t nostalgia. It was Black music remembering its roots and stretching toward something freer. That album sat in the pocket between Marvin Gaye and Pete Rock. It had the warmth of the ’70s, the drums of hip-hop, and a confidence that said we could claim every part of our lineage without apology. He didn’t need to shout it. He just let the bassline speak.

Songs like Lady and Cruisin’ made R&B feel grown again. “Alright” and “When We Get By” felt like smoke and conversation. His voice was raspy and pure all at once, young but wise enough to know what hurt sounded like. That record wasn’t about image. It was about feel.

Then came Voodoo.

Recorded at Electric Lady Studios, that album turned soul into a séance. D’Angelo locked in with Questlove, James Poyser, and Pino Palladino, what the world would come to know as the Soulquarians, and created something that still doesn’t age. Voodoo didn’t follow any R&B formula. The rhythms were loose and human. The guitars and Rhodes keys drifted like smoke. Nothing was perfect, and that was the point.

“Untitled (How Does It Feel)” got all the attention, but the real story was in “The Root,” “Spanish Joint,” and “Devil’s Pie.” Those songs showed a man torn between God and flesh, stage and solitude, pleasure and purpose. D’Angelo was wrestling with himself in real time, and you could hear it in every note.

After Voodoo, he vanished. The fame, the pressure, the myth, it all caught up to him. People whispered. Industry stories floated around. But underneath the gossip, there was something deeper. The man had given so much of himself in that music that he needed to step away to survive.

When he returned in 2014 with Black Messiah, it hit like thunder. The country was burning with anger and grief, Ferguson, Eric Garner, Trayvon, and here came D’Angelo with a record that felt like protest and prayer. “The Charade” and “Till It’s Done (Tutu)” weren’t just songs. They were testimonies. He wasn’t trying to be a savior. He was a mirror, showing us who we were and what we’d become.

What made D’Angelo timeless was honesty. Every album felt lived in. He never chased a sound or trend. He built worlds. He could make a three-minute song feel like a lifetime. He carried the vulnerability of Donny Hathaway, the rhythm of James Brown, the mysticism of Prince, and the earthiness of Curtis Mayfield, but he never sounded like anyone but himself.

The Soulquarians — him, Questlove, Erykah Badu, Common, Mos Def and J Dilla — didn’t just make music. They changed the culture. They made it cool to feel again. They reminded us that Black artistry could be complex, spiritual, messy, sensual and intellectual all at once.

D’Angelo only released three albums, but together they shaped three decades of sound. Brown Sugar gave R&B its soul back. Voodoo bent the genre into something mystical. Black Messiah turned that spirit into revolution. That’s not a catalog. That’s a trinity.

He fought his demons quietly. He stumbled, healed and still found his way back to the groove. You could tell his life wasn’t easy, but his music made the struggle sound sacred.

Now he’s gone and the silence feels heavy. But if you put on “Send It On” or “One Mo’Gin,” he’s right there. His voice still has that weight. The bass still feels like heartbeat. The groove still lingers after the last note fades.

D’Angelo didn’t chase fame. He chased truth. He trusted the rhythm more than the market. And in doing so, he left behind a legacy that will outlive every playlist and trend.

He reminded us that soul isn’t nostalgia. It’s survival.

Rest easy, brother. The world moves a little slower tonight, and that’s because you taught us how to feel again.

If you played in a school band in the late 1970s or early 1980s, odds are you played Chuck Mangione. Maybe it was “Feels So Good,” maybe “Land of Make Believe,” maybe “Children of Sanchez.” But at some point, you put a horn to your lips, your fingers to the keys, or your sticks to the snare, and there he was — Chuck Mangione, waiting for you in the sheet music like an old friend with a mischievous grin.

There was something bouncy, ebullient, even effervescent in his music. Something unmistakably alive. And when he performed live, that same feeling surged through his flugelhorn and across the stage like lightning in a bottle. He did more than play the horn, he presented it, lifting it high in the air, like a priest raising the chalice. The notes that came out were more than jazz, they were joy, movement with sunshine and syncopation.

We remember the cool. The wide-brimmed hat. The sweeping mustache. The cover of Feels So Good itself became part of the cultural lexicon, a visual promise that what you were about to hear would make you smile. And it did.

But too many people forget the chops.

Before he ever became the smooth jazz superstar of suburban band rooms and easy listening charts, Mangione was a serious jazz man with a resume that would make purists pause. He took over the trumpet chair in Art Blakey’s Jazz Messengers during the 1960s, a role once held by Clifford Brown, Lee Morgan and Freddie Hubbard. That’s not company you keep by being commercial. That’s company you earn through sweat and swing.

He came up in Rochester, New York, a product of a musical family. His brother, Gap Mangione, remains a legendary pianist and arranger. Chuck, in fact, started on piano himself before pivoting to trumpet and flugelhorn, often returning to the keys throughout his career. But it was that fat, warm tone on the flugelhorn that became his signature, a sound that felt like being wrapped in a blanket made of light.

When “Feels So Good” dropped in the spring of 1978, it hit No. 4 on the Billboard Hot 100 and topped the “Easy Listening” chart. For a horn-led instrumental to climb that high was nothing short of remarkable. And Mangione didn’t need vocals. That melody sang enough. It embedded itself in pop culture, used in movies, parodied on King of the Hill, and still spinning in elevators and grocery stores like it never left.

But for me, it was always “Give It All You Got.” That was my song.

Used as the official theme for the 1980 Winter Olympics in Lake Placid, it embodied everything right about Mangione’s aesthetic — bright, hopeful, strutting with energy but never losing its soul. It did more than uplift spirits. It lifted expectations. It made you want to be better. Practice harder. Push further.

“Give It All You Got” was the sound of sunrise optimism. The track’s tempo alone made you want to lace up your sneakers and chase greatness. The way Mangione and saxophonist Chris Vadala volleyed the melody, in harmony one moment, in call-and-response the next, was jazz conversation at its most inviting. Underneath, Charles Meeks’ bassline skated effortlessly between funk and fusion while Grant Geissman’s guitar laid down a rhythm so clean, Nile Rodgers would’ve nodded in approval.

It was fusion at its most pristine. A slick, TV-ready, sonically bright version of jazz that could live in Olympic ceremonies and detective shows and still feel authentic. And while purists may have scoffed, the people listened. The people responded. The people remembered.

Even now, I can’t hear those opening bars without being transported, a trumpet case in one hand, sheet music in the other, walking into another early morning rehearsal, head bobbing before the first note hit.

Chuck Mangione made smooth jazz cool before it got syrupy. He made jazz accessible without making it less. And he left behind not just a catalog of hits, but a generation of players who believed their instrument could mean something, could say something.

He passed early Tuesday this week, and the world got a little quieter. But his music? It still floats. Still rises. Still plays like the soundtrack to a brighter day.

Because Chuck didn’t just make us feel good.

He reminded us to give it all we got.

And somewhere between the joy and the groove, he gave us something that still sings.

This weekend on The Progressive Underground, we dropped anchor in the world of Yacht Rock — that smooth, soulful, and yes, sometimes delightfully corny blend of soft rock, blue-eyed soul, and jazz-pop that soundtracked many a sunset in the late ’70s and early ’80s.

From Michael McDonald, Steely Dan, and Christopher Cross to deeper cuts from the California studio scene, we explore the polished grooves, lush arrangements, and the studio legends behind the music. Think creamy synths, tight harmonies and lyrics that make you chuckle while you vibe.

In this special episode, we navigate the genre’s cultural roots, its surprising resurgence and the smooth sounds that still go down easy, whether you’re sailing the coast or just cruising down memory lane.

This program coincides with a special performance by the Detroit Symphony Orchestra as they present “Sailing: Soft Rock Hits of the 70s and 80s” on Tuesday, July 22 at 7:30 p.m. at Orchestra Hall. For more information, visit dso.org.

Check the playlist below and listen to the episode for two weeks after it airs using the player above.

The Progressive Underground: Yacht Rock Edition playlist (aired July 19, 2025)

• “Taking it to the Streets” by The Doobie Brothers
• “Tin Man” by America
• “Does Anybody Know What Time It Is” by Chicago
• “Baby Come Back” by Player
• “Moonlight Feels Right” by Starbuck
• “Crazy Love” by Poco
• “Ride Like The Wind” by Christopher Cross
• “Free Man in Paris” by Joni Mitchell
• “Escape (The Pina Colada Song)” by Rupert Holmes
• “Baker Street” by Gerry Raferty
• “Time Passages” by Al Stewart
• “What A Fool Believes” by The Doobie Brothers
• “You Can’t Change That” by Raydio
• “Hello It’s Me” by Todd Rungren
• “Philadelphia Freedom” by Elton John
• “Magic” by Olivia Newton John
• “Midnight at the Oasis” by Maria Malduar
• “Reminiscing” by The Little River Band
• “Peg” by Steely Dan
• “Africa” by Toto
• “Saturday in the Park” by Chicago
• “How Much I Feel” by Ambrosia
• “This Is It” by Kenny Loggins
• “Sailing” by Christopher Cross
• “Dreams” by Fleetwood Mac
• “Sarah Smile” by Hall & Oates
• “I Keep Forgetting” by Michael McDonald
• “Love Will Keep Us Together” by Captain & Tennille
• “Cool Night” by Paul Davis
• “Goodnight, Tonight” by Paul McCartney
• “Love Will Find A Way” by Pablo Cruise
• “Hey 19” by Steely Dan
• “Lowdown” by Boz Scaggs
• “My Best Friend” by Queen
• “Show You The Way (feat. Michael McDonald & Kenny Loggins)” by Thundercat
• “Only The Beginning” by Chicago

Chris Campbell here with The Progressive Underground, bringing you this week’s Pick of the Week — and let me tell you, this one is spiritual electricity. 

We’re tapping into the genre-defying brilliance of SAULT, the elusive UK collective led by producer Inflo and powerhouse vocalist Cleo Sol — who also happen to be husband and wife. Since bursting onto the scene in 2019, SAULT has released a staggering 11 albums in just a few short years, each one digging deeper into the soul of Black music and culture with a defiant edge and minimal media presence. No press tours. No interviews. Just message and music. 

This year, they hit us with their 12th studio release, simply titled “10.” And true to form, it’s a kaleidoscopic ride — an audacious fusion of R&B, punk, gospel, funk, soul, rock, and pop, delivered in SAULT’s signature raw-yet-refined aesthetic. 

The track we’re about to get into is called “KTYWS,” an acronym for “Know That You Will Survive.” And it’s exactly what it sounds like — a sonic affirmation. This one rides a thick groove with gritty basslines, layered vocals, and a rebellious spirit that hits somewhere between a sermon and a rallying cry. It’s healing music. It’s resistance music. It’s survival music. 

Let’s get into it, SAULT with “KTYWS,” my Pick of the Week. 

That was SAULT with “KTYWS,” a defiant, groove-laced proclamation from a group that refuses to play by the industry’s rules. No names in lights, no faces on magazine covers, just deep, soul-drenched music that hits where it matters. 

If that moved you like it moved me, then lock in with The Progressive Underground every Saturday night at 6 p.m. on 101.9 WDET. We dig for the bold, the brilliant, and the next wave of future classics, from nu-jazz to deep house, b-sides to broken beat. 

For The Progressive Underground, I’m Chris Campbell. Stay elevated, and we’ll catch you next time. 

This is Chris Campbell from The Progressive Underground with your Pick of the Week. And trust me, this one hits deep.

This week, we spotlight Detroit’s own Ideeyah, whose latest EP on Theo Parrish’s Sound Signature label is nothing short of a spiritual sonic experience.

Produced by rising star Meftah, the project marks a bold evolution in Ideeyah’s artistry — blending ethereal vocals, spoken word reflections, and lush, transcendent production that feels like praise and meditation all in one.

One of the standout tracks is called “20/20,” a soulful, introspective groove that moves the body and stirs the spirit, and it’s my Pick of the Week.

That was Ideeyah with “20/20” off her new EP, Sweet Chariot.

If this resonated with you, pull up every Saturday at 6 p.m. for The Progressive Underground, where we explore the future of soul, nu-jazz, b-sides, and deep grooves from across the spectrum.

For The Progressive Underground, I’m Chris Campbell. Catch you next time.

This is Chris Campbell from The Progressive Underground, and it’s time for my Pick of the Week.

Now this one right here? It’s for the ballroom crowd, the steppers, the late-night soul seekers. We’re diving into “1AM (Extended Groove Mix)” from Detroit’s own SiloamPool, a singer-songwriter with a voice as smooth as silk and a pen dipped in jazz and R&B.

Raised on a musical diet of Nina Simone, Earth, Wind & Fire, Al Jarreau, Dee Dee Bridgewater, and Gino Vannelli, Siloam once had plans to wear a white coat in the medical field. But after taking a few music theory and vocal courses at the University of Michigan, she caught the bug, and the stage called her name.

After a stint on the road with gospel and R&B legend Fred Hammond, she stepped out solo and hasn’t looked back. Her latest single, co-written with Markovich Drummond and produced by Sidney Howard of Mama, There Goes That Band! fame, is a lush, late-night groove layered with a slow-burn intro and vocals that slide in like velvet.

It’s sensual. It’s soulful. It’s midnight magic turned all the way up.
Let’s get into it. This is Siloam Pool with “1AM (Extended Groove Mix),”  my Pick of the Week.

That was SiloamPool with “1AM (Extended Groove Mix)” — a smooth-as-satin cut built for those moonlit dance floors and backroom lounges. 

If you love groove-heavy joints like this, catch me every Saturday evening at 6 p.m. on The Progressive Underground, where we bump future soul, nu-jazz, b-sides and rare grooves.

For The Progressive Underground, I’m Chris Campbell.  Stay soulful and uplifted and we’ll see you next time.