Anniversaries: Aijuswanaseing by Musiq Soulchild

With Aijuswanaseing, Musiq delivers a sound of a young man, true to the album’s title, who just wanted to sing, and in doing so, gave R&B one of its most inviting love letters of the new millennium.

Courtesy of Def Soul.

In late 2000, a young Philadelphian named Taalib Johnson stepped onto the R&B scene under an audacious moniker: Musiq Soulchild. His debut album Aijuswanaseing (pronounced “I just wanna sing”) opens with an intimate slice of his world. After a brief beatboxed “Scratch” intro, the first full song, “Girl Next Door,” eases in like a conversation on a stoop. Over mellow, hip-hop-inflected drums and velvety keys, Musiq’s supple tenor introduces itself in tandem with the warm harmonies of Ayana (one half of the duo AAries). It’s a playful call-and-response between a guy and the neighborhood crush he’s been eyeing, and from the jump it showcases Soulchild’s genre-blurring approach—seamlessly weaving the classic sweetness of soul and R&B with a modern, streetwise flair drawn from rap. His vocals are smooth but unpretentious, gliding from talk-like cadences to melismatic runs, and the track’s romantic back-and-forth (aided by Ayana’s cooing replies) announces his arrival with effortless charm. Co-written with fellow Philly rising star Jill Scott, “Girl Next Door” sets the tone for an album that is at once confident, playful, and deeply soulful in its exploration of love. It’s the sound of a new voice standing on the corner of 20th-century soul and 21st-century style, tipping its hat to tradition while forging its own path.

Built around a buttery sample of the 1960s soul standard “Sunny” (a tune made famous by Bobby Hebb), “Just Friends” comes bursting through the speakers with kinetic energy and an old-school groove repurposed for a new generation. In the studio, producer Ivan Barias looped a jazzy guitar riff from a Pat Martino record of “Sunny,” and Musiq and his team sprinkled their magic on top—including Musiq’s own impromptu beatboxing, which producer Darren Henson cleverly decided to fade in as the song’s intro. As Musiq starts singing, he exudes a laid-back confidence. The song is essentially a young man’s attempt to woo a girl by not coming on too strong—he suggests they start as “just friends,” and his tone is so breezy and earnest that you believe him. It’s easy to imagine this track lighting up dance floors in 2000, from Philly house parties to NYC lounges, and indeed the song’s infectious bounce quickly made it a breakout single (premiered on the Nutty Professor II movie soundtrack even before Musiq’s album dropped). He approaches the object of his affection with almost shy courtesy: “Girl, I know this might seem strange, but let me know if I’m out of order for stepping to you this way…” he sings, before sweetly offering his number. And if she’s not interested? “I ain’t mad at ya, we can still be cool,” he assures. It’s an unusually respectful and endearing approach for an R&B pickup song.

Co-produced by neo-soul maestros James Poyser and Vikter Duplaix, “My Girl” skips along on a mid-tempo groove that’s as sunny as an August afternoon. A bubbling bass and crisp snares give it a kinetic R&B bounce, and Musiq’s vocals ride the rhythm with ease, singing the praises of a love that’s got him grinning ear to ear. There’s a touch of Stevie Wonder’s joyful 1970s spirit in the song’s DNA—one can detect it in the finger-snapping swing and the playful keyboard flutters—but also a hint of the hip-hop soul vibe that Musiq grew up with (he was known to freestyle and beatbox around Philly before he ever made a record). But Aijuswanaseing isn’t all flirtation and funky footwork. Just as the album hits a stride, Musiq deftly shifts the mood, dialing things down for a pair of songs that showcase his introspective, soul-searching side. Where the earlier tracks celebrated new love, “Mary Go Round” explores the pain of love on repeat: the cyclical hurt of a relationship that keeps spinning in circles. Over a subdued groove produced by the eclectic musician Osunlade (known for his spiritual house and soul productions), Musiq delivers one of his most emotive vocals on the record. He sounds reflective, even a bit world-weary, as he croons about a woman named Mary and the ups and downs of their emotional carousel.

The very next track, simply titled “Love,” stands in full sunlight—a heartfelt devotional that would go on to become Musiq Soulchild’s signature ballad. Over a tender, guitar-accented arrangement (courtesy of producers Carvin “Ransum” Haggins and Andre Harris), Musiq addresses Love itself as if it were a person, wrestling with its meaning and power. “Love, so many things I got to tell you,” he opens in a voice so sincere it’s almost prayer-like. The beauty of “Love” lies in this earnest simplicity: it’s an R&B ballad in the classic mold, but imbued with a youthful wonder that makes it feel universal. Musiq’s vocals start hushed and honeyed, then gradually climb—when he reaches for those falsetto notes in the bridge and final chorus, it’s the kind of moment that can give you chills. (His effortless slide into falsetto on the word “love” has drawn comparisons to Prince and Stevie, yet still feels distinctly his own.) The song reads as a letter to Love itself, thanking it, questioning it, pleading for its guidance. The backstory, as Musiq’s collaborators later shared, is charming: apparently, the young singer came into the studio suggesting they make a “sex song,” but his mentor Carvin Haggins laughed and steered him in a more profound direction—“Nah, you ain’t sexy enough. We should make a love record instead,” Haggins told him.

They decided to write a “conversation with Love,” and the result was magic. From the moment people first heard “Love,” the response was overwhelming. The song’s heartfelt sincerity struck a chord across age groups—older folks who missed that classic soul tenderness, young couples looking for “their song,” even solitary souls moved by its spiritual undertones. By the spring of 2001, “Love” was ubiquitous on R&B radio, ultimately becoming Musiq’s biggest hit from the album. Even now, many consider it one of the great modern love ballads—a staple for weddings, quiet storm playlists, and heartfelt mixtapes. What makes it endure? Perhaps that open-hearted purity: there’s no cynicism, no slick pick-up lines, just a young man pouring his truth out to the idea of Love, backed by harmonies (from AAries and Musiq himself) that swell like a gospel choir (which ironically was covered and reworked as “Lord” by Trin-i-tee 5:7). “Love” is the emotional climax of Aijuswanaseing, and it cements the album’s soul credentials—connecting Musiq to the lineage of great R&B crooners even as he brings his own twist.

Tucked among these tracks is another standout that cleverly bridges Musiq Soulchild’s influences with his originality. The song “143” takes its title from the old pager code for “I love you”—a bit of 90s nostalgia that itself signals Musiq’s blend of the romantic and the street-savvy. Fittingly, the track’s feel nods to both past and present. Musically, “143” carries a languid, finger-snapping pulse that wouldn’t sound out of place on Erykah Badu’s Baduizm, with its laid-back, neo-soul sultriness. The keyboard chords roll in mellow waves, and the beat has a lazy-funky swing, creating a heady atmosphere. At the same time, the song brims with the inventive spirit of Musiq’s idol Stevie Wonder—you can hear it in the way the melody playfully leaps and in the “experimental” vocal riffs Musiq interjects between lyrics. During the bridge, he stacks harmonies and scats a little, almost as if in homage to Wonder’s 1970s ventures into jazz-soul fusion. All these flourishes could have overshadowed a lesser singer, but here they only serve to highlight Musiq’s own voice.

One of the remarkable aspects of Aijuswanaseing is just how cohesive it feels, given the variety of cooks in the kitchen. For a debut by a newcomer, the album boasted an impressive supporting cast behind the scenes. Philadelphia’s neo-soul community truly had Musiq’s back: his primary collaborators included the production duo Carvin Haggins & Ivan “Orthodox” Barias and musicians from DJ Jazzy Jeff’s Touch of Jazz studios (people like James Poyser and Andre Harris, who had lent their talents to Jill Scott and The Roots). R&B writer/vocalists such as Eric Roberson and Jill Scott herself contributed songwriting or vocal arrangements (Scott’s signature poetic touch graces the background of “Girl Next Door”). Even legendary Roots crew members appear in the credits—the track “L’ is Gone” (short for “Love is Gone”) interpolates a Roots jam and features their bassist and keyboardist in the writing lineup, underscoring the tight-knit Philly vibe. With so many hands, one might expect a scattered product. Yet Aijuswanaseing is surprisingly singular in vision—and that vision is Musiq’s. The secret ingredient is his personality. Throughout the record, he emanates a kind of easy-going, around-the-way charm. He doesn’t possess the ethereal mystique of a D’Angelo or the fierce diva pipes of a Mary J. Blige; instead, Musiq Soulchild comes across as the “average joe” with an extraordinary gift—a guy who’ll sing you sweet words but also crack a joke, who infuses his smooth melodies with a conversational realness.

In the pantheon of turn-of-the-century R&B, Aijuswanaseing occupies a special, slightly underrated spot. It didn’t grab as many headlines as D’Angelo’s revolutionary Voodoo or sell as many copies as Usher’s records, but it slowly earned reverence as a contemporary classic. That longevity is evident not just in charts or awards (though 13 Grammy nominations speak to his peers’ respect), but in the hearts of listeners who still groove to his music. When you press play on this album, you’re immediately wrapped in its soulful embrace. Whether you’re setting the mood for a candlelit date night or just taking a reflective afternoon walk with earbuds in, it meets you right there, as it did in 2000, with a smile and a melody. Love, heartache, hope, groove—these are the ingredients that Musiq blended so well back then, and hearing them today reminds us why we fell in love with this music in the first place. Aijuswanaseing endures because it’s real. It’s the sound of a young man who, true to the album’s title, just wanted to sing—and in doing so, he gave R&B one of its most inviting love letters of the new millennium.