Shortly after the surprise release of Black Messiah, D’Angelo’s first album since 2000, the R&B singer clarified to the press that he and his label rushed to finish the album in the wake of the Michael Brown decision, to which the album’s themes of black suffering and empowerment are deeply relevant. In all fairness, they could have spent a bit more time getting it ready. Though many of the songs here certainly sound like the product of a decade and a half of painstaking labor, they’re arranged into an unwieldy slab of music that’s a bit of a hassle to get through.

But amid the uneven pacing, messy production, jarring genre shifts and hookless jams are tunes that approach, and some that surpass, those albums’ heights. These songs demand time, in part due to the ridiculously busy production and in part because D’Angelo’s singing style is so mush-mouthed that just understanding what he’s saying comes in stages. But if you’re willing to put in the effort, Black Messiah is immensely rewarding.

Opener “Ain’t That Easy” struck a sour chord on first listen. The chugging guitars were too Ben Harper-like for comfort, and the way the vocals on the chorus tumbled into each other, rather than cooing in unison, was off-putting. But after a few listens, the song opens up. The guitars aren’t the host of the party — they’re the guest. The focus became not on the disorganization of the vocals, but the impeccable timing of the chorus’ entry.

This is typical of a Black Messiah song, and it’s not just the music, either. The lyrics on this album’s political songs are so stunning that just looking at a lyric sheet should be enough to make a doubter take the album for another spin. “The Charade” seems like little more than Prince pastiche until D’Angelo’s stinging lyrics about black suffering come to the fore. “‘Till It’s Done (Tutu)” is a poignant, mournful plea for global sanity, but it’s easy to stay hung up on the incongruously chipper groove.

Though Black Messiah is a marvel on every listen, it’s not particularly enjoyable to listen to it as a whole. Rather, the optimal way to consume it is through individual songs (“Sugah Daddy” is a hit at parties) or even just setting it on shuffle. This has to do with its awkward length and its pacing. Lengthy mires like “1000 Deaths” and “Really Love” slow the album just as much as shorter roadblocks like “The Door” and the wholly unnecessary “Back To The Future (Part II)”

But Black Messiah continues to reveal itself as a grower, and these songs and their places on the album become more appreciable as time goes by. I’m hesitant to recommend the album for this reason, as I am with Trout Mask Replica, Exile On Main Street or other great growers. But if you find yourself compelled to get to the bottom of Black Messiah‘s mysteries, I encourage it with every atom of my being.