"Tyrone" (Erykah Badu)

My freshman year of college, I remember seeing Erykah Badu on MTV for the first time.  Only word to describe the experience: smitten.
She didn't look like anyone else in the music world at the time.  She rocked these funky headwraps like some kind of Egyptian princess and sang about stuff like reincarnation, apple trees, and sipping tea.  She was a breath of fresh air in the over-produced, bling-drenched world of late 90s R&B.
I had just purchased a copy of her debut album Baduizm (1997) when her second album, Live (aptly named, since it was recorded live in New York in 1997), came out of nowhere.  On it, there was a song that erased any minuscule doubts I had about her authenticity or staying power.
"Tyrone."
On this brief track, Badu croons her frank, off-the-cuff indictment of less-than-mature men over a simmering, jazzy stew of Fender rhodes, electric bass, and drums.  The feel is kind of like the second coming of Nina Simone, infused with a shot of hip-hop attitude.
By the second chorus, she has the entire audience in the palm of her hand, singing along like they've known the song for years (even though it was maybe the second time ever she'd performed it live).
And by the end of the song, when she suddenly stops the band and intones You better call Tyrone / But you can't use my phone, the audience reaction confirms that she'd crafted a bonafide soul classic.