With Black History Month being the holder of Valentine's Day, the exploration into the color black begs the question of Dr. J, "What color is my heart?" A black heart would mean certain destruction for all things. The acknowledgement of a heart would mean certain destruction for the beholder. And anyone beholding with him. The coldest thing Dr. Robotnik could do is ignore the pressing politics of February and behold the hue of his heart. Expecting the worse, praying for the best, preying on most who expect the best for themselves.
Angel At My Table is a series of love music (a la The L Word) from the perspective of a good heart gone black. The love of sound brings about the acquired taste of the sound of it, while the desire to prey upon the wicked (consciously or otherwise) is the sound of love.
I offer no further explanations. You either will love or let go.
Love is your fee.
["Can Sonic resurrect?! Have we seen the last of a pure C. Hamilton?! WHERE'S JA?!!!"]
Have a seat.