DETROIT METRO TIMES
Thom Jurek
October 2003
* * * * ½
To get immediately to the point, if Meshell Ndegeocello’s Comfort Woman isn’t regarded as one of the finest contemporary soul albums of 2003, then those who review music for a living had better get eardrum transplants and a transfusion of blood to get rid of the sawdust, or quit to sell used cars, work in a fast-food establishment, or pump gas. The marketplace is tricky, but if this disc doesn’t sell, then Madonna needs to fire her marketing department at Maverick.
    Comfort Woman is a deeply sensual album, sexy as hell and drenched with lush, richly textured bass grooves that bubble under warmly and luxuriantly in a series of songs that may not be all that divergent in tempo, but don’t have to be either. This is late-night music, where the sound of a bass doesn’t so much pop as it rumbles in the lower spine, looking for release. Make no mistake on Comfort Woman, space is the place and that place is reached via two vehicles, a perfect commingling of the spirits of dub reggae and mid-’70s soul and groove jazz. Think, perhaps, of David Sancious and Teena Marie as bandmates with Sly & Robbie in the rhythm section, Jimi Hendrix’s “Rainy Day, Dream Away” as a music model, and Sade as vocalist — you get the idea.
    The opening track, “Love Song #1,” begins with a spacy bass line, rumbling in the lower register soft enough to ease its way into a song yet tough enough that it won’t let the listener go. With a B-3 shimmering in the background, Ndegeocello begins to sing, so s-l-o-o-o-o-o-w-l-y: “If you want me, baby, just call/ Let me kiss your body/ Fill you with love/ Let me feed your body/ Feed it with love/ I can’t sleep... this is love/ This is how I love you...” She croons with a breathy Smokey Robinson coo.
    On “Come Smoke My Herb,” you can hear traces of both Shuggie Otis’ and the Brothers Johnson’s ballads infused with the brazen promise of Joni Mitchell and Gregory Isaacs meeting in bliss to swing and sway under a dubwise moon.
    Speaking of moons, “Liliquoi Moon” features guest guitarist Oren Bloedow, who adds his tonal dexterity to a soulfully psychedelic mix of woven acoustic guitars, a lullaby melody, and life-affirming lyrics until the end when Doyle Bramhall goes into overdrive in his solo, transforming the tune into a shape-shifting poltergeist of a track.
    Bramhall also lends his axe to “Love Song #3,” which was truly inspired by Hendrixian grace and elegance à la Electric Ladyland.
    “Love Song # 2” and “Andromeda & the Milky Way” are sex beat tracks, music with a slow walking tiger in the hips as bass and keyboards stride out, loping, then halting and curling around the listener like smoke.
    Fact of the matter is, Comfort Woman is one of the most forward-thinking records to come out of contemporary soul in well over a decade. It’s possible to remember when Prince made music as fine, sensual, and spiritual as this, but it’s a struggle. This is Ndegeocello’s finest moment on record thus far, and is as good as it gets in the field.

NEWARK STAR-LEDGER
Jay Lustig
December 14, 2003
* * * *
“I come from a world made of love/ I wanna take you there,” sings Meshell Ndegeocello on this album’s “Love Song #2,” making a romantic plea sound like something out of a science fiction novel. This line doesn’t break the album’s mood, though. Rarely has an artist managed to be so earthy and spacey at the same time.
    The veteran singer-songwriter and multi-instrumentalist, whose past work has frequently had a political bent, sticks pretty much to love and sex on this album. The only exception is the Bob Marley-inspired “Fellowship,” where Ndegeocello condemns hate, greed and violence. But even this song builds to a prayerlike request that fits the album’s overall theme: “May I find forgiveness and love.”
    This album doesn’t even seem like a collection of songs. It’s more like a sustained meditation. Ndegeocello uses relaxed reggae grooves and rapturous singing to evoke romantic paradise, and celestial sound effects to suggest love’s unlimited potential.
    On some numbers, like “Love Song #1” and “Come Smoke My Herb,” Ndegeocello is content to create a languorous setting, and stay there. But other tracks are more dynamic. In “Good Intentions,” she finds an appealing middle ground between Afro-pop and techno. And in “Liliquoi Moon,” the final line, “I yearn to fly,” leads to an epic, Jimi Hendrix-inspired guitar solo by blues-rocker Doyle Bramhall. Remarkably, Ndegeocello has made an entire album about pop music’s most familiar subject without ever striking a corny or predictable pose.

ROLLING STONE
Ernest Hardy
November 13, 2003
* * *
(After reading the following review, read his retraction.)
      Meshell Ndegeocello’s 2002 release Cookie: The Anthropological Mixtape was probably the closest she’ll ever come as a solo artist to courting airplay and the charts. And even that record featured scathing assaults on the materialism that plagues American culture.
    Comfort Woman, at least superficially, is a throwback to her brilliant 1999 cult favorite, Bitter. Religion (she’s a skeptic) vs. spirituality (she’s a seeker), the relentless pull of the libido, the pursuit of true love: These themes have fueled much of her music, and they all crop up here. This time, her introspective lyrics are backed by seductive reggae-infused grooves.
    Unfortunately, most of the songs—even the best ones, such as “Fellowship,” which questions blind religious faith (“Would you walk a righteous path without the promise of heaven?”), and “Thankful,” a denouncement of consumerism and its effects on the soul—are simply retreads of past works, with only the occasional fresh perception.
    But Ndegeocello definitely ups the ante in the erotic department: A lot of the self-proclaimed pimps of hip-hop wish they could mack as hard as she does here.