Digital downloads are great, but I for one miss CD liner notes. Combing the booklet of Terence Trent D’Arby’s Symphony or Damn (1993) opened me up to the readings of Greek spiritualist G. I. Gurdjieff, even as the singer endorsed Pink Floyd and Henryk Górecki symphonies in print interviews. More than a neo-soul forefather, D’Arby was a tastemaker for die-hard fans paying rapt enough attention. How ironic that MP3s (implicitly eliminating those beloved liner notes) are the preferred method of exchange for the artist currently known as Sananda Maitreya.

Introducing the Hardline According to Terence Trent D’Arby sold multimillions around the world back in 1987, supported by hits most might need to be reminded of nowadays: “If You Let Me Stay,” “Sign Your Name,” “Wishing Well.” At the time even Prince passed a symbolic baton by performing TTD’s music in concerts. The twenty-five-year-old, Harlem-born London expatriate famously committed the blasphemy of judging his own debut better than Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, ushering in a black Britpop invasion that soon included Neneh Cherry and Soul II Soul. More so than his superconfident mouth that roared, his eclectic next record, Neither Fish Nor Flesh (1989), put a quick cap on his commercial success. In retrospect the album sounds tame compared to modern soul excursions from Meshell Ndegéocello or even Kelis. Yet D’Arby’s career would never recover, despite producing more balanced follow-ups like 1995’s Vibrator.

Enter Sananda Maitreya. Legally changing his name six years ago, marrying Italian architect Francesca Francone, and settling in Milan, Maitreya is one example of what rock stardom can mean in the iPod era. Communicating with fans through MySpace, uploading music videos onto YouTube, and updating his own site (sanandamaitreya.com) regularly with spiritual aphorisms and new music, Maitreya spreads the gospel of his latest work, Angels & Vampires (2006).

I met with Sananda Maitreya at the Chococult café in western Milan. After an hour flew by, we took a brisk winter walk and continued our conversation in a nearby park.

—Miles Marshall Lewis

I. “THAT WAS A RECORD A BLACK MAN SHOULD NOT HAVE MADE.”

THE BELIEVER: I saw you perform in downtown Manhattan’s Alphabet City in 1989, at the World. Nona Hendryx was in the audience with Lenny Kravitz, and you gave him a shout-out. His first album had just come out.

SANANDA MAITREYA: I’ve wondered if I hadn’t done that if he would have taken off. I did reach out to Lenny, and I did try to make sure he was stable at the beginning of his journey. Because whether or not I liked what happened to me,...