Specifically his song:  After Dark. 

The song, itself, ends here: 

But this section right after the song ends,

right here?

It’s a story way bigger than Drake. 

I’ll play it. 

"93.7, WBLK…"

A radio host's voice fades in, it's low and soothing. 

"Moving you through the storm at what is now nineteen minutes after ten o'clock."

He lists a handful of upcoming artists. 

"Fantasia"

"Chaka Khan"

"My Funny Valentine..."

And then, he introduces himself.

"It's Al Wood and you are safe, soft, and warm..."

...in the loving embrace of the quiet storm exclusively on 93.7 WBLK. 

 This is Al Wood,

and it’s his voice you just heard. 

For seven years in the early 2000s, Al’s voice broadcast late at night through Buffalo, New York,

and crossed Lake Ontario into Canada. 

We were the urban station for the Toronto market. Which is how I had a connection with

a certain star by the name of Drake.

“Truth”

At the time of the recording, Drake was known for his role on this show. 

But fast forward to 2018, when After Dark was released?

  He’s this guy.

And I get a phone call

from Drake's manager saying that,

hey, you know, he’s always loved you, we’ve always loved you,

we’d love to have BLK represented on this next album.

They found an aircheck that I had just put on SoundCloud years ago….

...and they said, wow, you know, that's the guy. That's the voice.

That's what we want on our album. 

I had a full minute

uninterrupted

on a Drake track.

The reason Al and I are chatting about this, is that this wasn’t just any radio show...

it was one of many Quiet Storm shows

that had become a staple on Black radio.

"Soft and warm, the Quiet Storm"

"The Original Quiet Storm"

"The Quiet Storm"

"The magic Quiet Storm"

"108"

The year is 1976.

The place is Washington, DC.

And we’re at Howard University.

Specifically their radio station, WHUR. 

“11:43 in Washington, wow 17 minutes before midnight here at WHUR radio.” 

A lot was happening outside the walls of this radio station in 1976. 

For one, the United States was celebrating its 200th anniversary. 

On top of that, it was an election year. 

Jimmy Carter vs Gerald Ford. 

Everything from optimistic political ads...

"I'm feelin' good about America"

...to magazine covers

 and comic books 

was red white and blue. 

But, if you want to really understand Washington, DC, in 1976, you have to listen to this: 

"Uh, what's happenin, CC?"

"They still call it the White House, but that's a temporary condition too."

"Can you dig it, CC?"

This is Chocolate City, by the legendary funk band Parliament. 

The album cover shows national landmarks stamped in chocolate

along with a Washington, DC, label. 

In 1976 Parliament was wildly popular in DC

and this album explains the reason why: 

Washington, DC, was a chocolate city. 

"Right on Chocolate City!"

George Clinton is really describing the vibe of post-industrial Black urban experiences. 

That’s Fredara Hadley, she’s an ethnomusicologist who teaches at the Juilliard School.  

Black people have been flocking to major metropolitan areas in the United States

since the early 20th century through the great migrations. 

But what feels different as we move deeper into the 20th century is a more pervasive

influence of Black culture in those cities and the identity of those cities begins

to be defined by its Blackness. 

This was a big story in the 1970s. 

For 150 years the white population in DC held a strong majority.

The first time they dipped below 50% was the 1960s. 

By the 1970s, the district’s demographics had completely shifted.  

In 1976, Black people totaled 77% of the District’s population. 

The seat of this American government sits in the middle of this very Black district.

And there was no question about this fact:

The hub of entertainment, culture, and news in cities like Washington, DC, was Black radio.

Black radio, until we get into the late ‘90s, 21st century, is sort of a town square.

"Whether you realize it or not, Black radio is the most powerful form of communication

in the Black community."

In local news segments like this one, black radio’s growing influence in DC

was dissected and analyzed. 

"It plays an informative role for me, and not only does it offer music

but it offers news, it offers things that are happening in the city."

It’s where you can interact and hear all of these things

specifically from a Black perspective. 

A lot of these Black radio stations were owned by white people,

including several in DC.   

With the exception of one station:

WHUR.

It was owned by Howard University,

the most revered Historically Black University in the United States.  

WHUR, Howard University Radio,

even though it is owned by Howard University, it is a commercial radio station

and it's a very important radio station in Washington, DC. 

That’s Angela Stribling, a longtime TV and radio personality based in DC.

Although I'm from Buffalo, New York, I consider myself an honorary Washingtonian. 

At the time, WHUR was known for playing straight ahead jazz

mixed with broadcasts of speeches, poetry, and news shows.

But something changed one summer night in 1976. 

An intern named Melvin Lindsey who was a communications major at Howard,

was tapped to fill in for an absent host. 

He was covering the 7 pm to midnight time slot.

Right after The Daily Drum, their popular news show. 

“11:43 in Washington, wow 17 minutes before midnight…”

Here's Melvin Lindsey, this intern at Howard University, you know,

had never been on the radio. He gets this big opportunity. 

I don't think anyone foresaw this becoming such a phenomenon.

That night, he ushered in a totally new style of Black radio

one that was intimate and personal. 

"The next couple of songs I’m gonna play have a lot of meaning for me…,

and I want you to listen to the words,

they’re dedicated from me to you..."

It provides not just music, but also feelings and memories.

It was upscale. It was adult. 

And it changed the sound of R&B for decades to come.  

So, what exactly happened on this radio show?

And why did it strike a chord with the people that tuned in that night? 

To know this, you have to understand two things about the 1970s.

One: the sonically diverse world of R&B

It's almost like anything goes. People were just trying things. 

And two:

One of the most complicated things about that immediate post-civil rights era

is that of class and socioeconomic status. 

These two facts are deeply intertwined, but let's start with the second one.

A lot of what the civil rights movement was concerned with, first and foremost,

making the country safer for Black people to exist in.

But it also aimed for something else. 

This push for greater access to education, to employment,

more access to higher education and expansion.

In the 1970s you start to see this finally happen. 

More African-Americans are able to go to college.

Corporate hiring rates start to increase. 

That Black professional class in particular starts to grow.

And they moved to the suburbs at rates that had never been seen before.

 That’s what happened in Washington, DC:

From 1970 to 1980 the Black population in the suburbs increased from 25% to 47%.  

And so you see a lot of Black publications, Black media in general, start to pivot

to better reflect, and not only reflect, but to shape the identity of

what that post civil rights era, Black professional class will look like and sound like.

What do people in that class drink? What do they smoke?

Where do they hang out? How do they dress? 

They're now saying, well, how do we soundtrack that group of people?  

The good news? They had a lot of music to choose from. 

On one level, the 1970s feels like an era of profound freedom, musically. 

The Fender rhodes became massively popular 

Artists overdosed on the synthesizer

Songs were longer and more experimental. 

and Jazz and funk became one.

R&B and Soul music in many ways continued the trajectory of the politically charged

music of the 1960s. 

Black people, in particular, can't afford

to fully take their eyes off what's happening in their own communities.  

And so albums like Marvin Gaye's “What's Going On” and “Inner City Blues,”

all of that makes sense. 

"Trigger happy policing"

"Panic is spreading"

"God knows where..."

But a different type of R&B emerged as well,

one that appealed to this growing Black middle class. 

We talk about the victory of the civil rights era,

the progress that was made and all that.

But all of that came at an astronomical cost to people's psyche and well-being.

I think there is this thread of introspection

that goes throughout the music of the ’70s, or perhaps self-determination. 

Who are we going to be? What are we going to do for ourselves?

I'm thinking about Donny Hathaway and Roberta Flack “Be Real Black for Me.”

"Be real Black for me.”

So many songs about love, but also about community,  about family, 

I'm thinking about the O'Jays “Family Reunion.” 

“It's so nice to see"

"all the folks you love together"

You know, there's a place for Black fantasy and the indulgence of that

in the music as well. 

The songs that emerged were slow and smooth

the voices that soundtracked them were warm and intimate. 

"I've been really tryin', baby"

"I feel like making love, to you"

"No I'm not dreaming, love has a meaning..."

Right? That kind of introspective, end of day, kind of existence

 That makes sense when we think about

the sort of individualistic or the solitary existence that can accompany life in the suburbs.

Dozens of artists released albums with their take on this sophisticated and mellow sounding R&B

Including the soul singer Smokey Robinson.

In 1975, two weeks after “Chocolate City” was released by Parliament

Smokey Robinson released “A Quiet Storm.” 

In this article headlined “New Lower Voice Cultivated by Smokey Robinson”

he states, "I knew that I had to change my style to get where I want to go.

So now my sound appears softer and my voice clearer." 

The title track started like this: 

"Soft and warm, a quiet storm..."

"Quiet as when flowers talk at break of dawn. Break of dawn."

Melvin Lindsey’s show that night tapped into this growing popularity of smooth R&B ballads,

and he mixed it in with previous decades of like minded Jazz.

Think Sarah Vaughn, [Misty by Sarah Vaughn] 

And Nat King Cole. [Unforgettable]  

but it was all about the music. Melvin would tell a story with the songs.

His boss at the time, Cathy Hughes, realized the show’s potential.  

Quick sidenote: Cathy Hughes is a huge deal.  

She started Radio One, which is now called Urban One,

the largest African-American-owned broadcasting company in the United States. 

When she started at WHUR in 1973, her goal was simple:

get the station to the top of the ratings in the DC market.  

A huge part of that strategy was appealing to the growing ranks of Black middle class professionals

in the city and the suburbs. 

Melvin Lindsey’s show did just that    

You know, Melvin Lindsey, very elegant, classy guy. 

So I'm sure he was speaking to people like himself.

Within a year, he graduated, signed a three-year contract,

and had a weekly night time show called the Quiet Storm,

named after the Smokey Robinson song he started the show with every night. 

Here’s what happened next, in Smokey Robinson’s own words. 

"So a guy in Washington, DC, he had a night radio show."

"So he made Quiet Storm the theme of his radio show."

"It took off. In Washington, DC, other guys started to do it."

"And it took off in Baltimore, then New York, then Philadelphia."

"And it became a radio format."

"The Quiet Storm, blowing..."

By 1990, there was at least one Quiet Storm show in every major market.