Before Songs In the Key of Life (And the Songs Fall from the Sky)
Between 1971 and 1974, Stevie Wonder released albums in rapid succession, not all of them recognized at their true worth, but nevertheless essential works.
It was with Where I’m Coming From (1971) that Stevie Wonder truly spread his wings outside the repertoire Motown had been offering him since the early 1960s, when he was still called Little Stevie Wonder. Beyond the formal ambition of compositions that blend, sometimes with a very Beatlesque charm, pop and classical arrangements, or veer into a striking funk that would not have been disowned by Sly Stone, it was also an opportunity to let his lyrical pen speak, especially on themes of love and social issues, racial tensions (“I Wanna Talk to You”), and politics, which would continue to inspire some of his best songs, but also his gift for voices and characters. Songs with drawers, addictive hooks, melodies of cult status, Stevie overflowed with ideas on this “concept” album, all the way to its cover, from which the letters could be detached to make a mobile. (The liner notes were inside the sleeve.)
Music of My Mind (1972), brighter, less experimental but no less excellent, was recorded after he had obtained much greater artistic independence. Bob Margouleff and Malcolm Cecil of the duo Tonto’s Expanding Headband, who had assembled the world’s largest modular synthesizer, named TONTO (The Original New Timbral Orchestra), opened up new horizons for him. Thus began nine new golden songs, written with a pen steeped in marvelous sounds that they would continue exploring through 1974.
A new salvo of eternal classics (the best-known being “You and I,” “You Are the Sunshine of My Life,” the irresistible “Superstition,” or the sublime “Looking for Another Pure Love” with Jeff Beck’s participation) came with Talking Book (released in October 1972), then Innervisions (1973), haunted by his breakup with Syreeta Wright and in which his political concerns took on unprecedented scale with “Living for the City,” a film within the record, an incandescent protest song against systemic racism. The orchestral profusion gave way to more stripped-down writing and instrumentation centered on Stevie Wonder’s keyboards.
The last album before his two-year absence, Fulfillingness’ First Finale (1974), was also the first after the accident that nearly cost him his life, and spiritual and religious references abound, in a vein that is sometimes contemplative, even if he did not give up the art of irresistible groove (“Boogie on Reggae Woman”), nor that of denouncing the politics of his time (“You Haven’t Done Nothin’”) and songs so catchy that they become indispensable from the very first listen (“Creepin’”).
If one cannot deny the colossal stature of Songs in the Key of Life, these five records constitute, power to the fifth degree at this level of (divine) inspiration, a series that can no longer be ranked, with each installment representing a facet of Stevie Wonder’s genius, who delivered more gems in only four years than many of his contemporaries did in an entire career.
A fingerprint of Stevie and his handwritten name, and a list of inspirations more or less close to him, including Jeff Beck, Alice Coltrane, Chick Corea, David Sanborn, Stephen Stills, David Bowie, the Watts Prophets, Lennie White, Bill Withers, and Frank Zappa.
Childhood nostalgia (“I Wish”) or the experience of parenthood (“Isn’t She Lovely”), spirituality (“Have a Talk With God”), social justice (“Black Man,” “Village Ghetto Land” have an almost documentary dimension that has unfortunately retained all its relevance), and love in all its forms, the more intimate ones (“Summer Soft,” “Knocks Me Off My Feet,” “Ordinary Pain”) as well as the more collective (“Love’s in Need of Love Today”) or even esoteric (“If It’s Magic”), without forgetting the tribute to jazz, with “Sir Duke,” which celebrates Duke Ellington but also Louis Armstrong, Ella Fitzgerald, Glenn Miller, and Count Basie. Stevie Wonder’s pen moves between fiery declarations, mystical inspiration, and almost childlike simplicity, but when in “Village Ghetto Land,” he speaks of people reduced to eating dog food so they do not starve to death; no poetic license or metaphor softens his words.
This brutal confrontation with reality is followed without transition by “Contusion,” a jazz-fusion instrumental as catchy as it is technical, recalling the superlative qualities of his group: while he addresses social or philosophical themes on many titles, there is no clear progression on this record toward a grand central concept or an absolute truth. As in life, one moves from one scene to another and laughs through tears, according to a different logic. Songs in the Key of Life is also striking for its palette of sounds, acoustic, electric, and synthetic, notably from his “Dream Machine” (an example being the Yamaha GX-1 synthesizer, very sophisticated for the time but extremely expensive) and the mythical ARP synthesizer. It is largely thanks to its diversity and astonishing density that this album enjoyed the success and esteem that it did.
Everyone seems to recognize themselves in it: many jazz fans continue to marvel at its formal, harmonic, and technical subtleties, while others, who care only for analysis, always keep a place for “I Wish,” “Sir Duke,” or “Isn’t She Lovely” in their playlists. Gems of romantic ballads (“Joy Inside My Tears”), protest songs, accessible pop, or funk (“All Day Sucker”) come together at a breakneck pace without him abandoning his taste for strange sonic experiments that become unforgettable in a matter of moments: classical, very “Beatlesque” strings played on the keyboard in “Village Ghetto Land,” or “Pastime Paradise,” analyzed finely by Wonder and John Fischbach in David Heffernan’s documentary, where classical orchestra, gospel choir, and chants and percussion from members of the Hare Krishna Hindu sect blend over a Latin rhythm. He finds a very rare balance between auteur-composer record, studio object overflowing with details and technical audacity, without sacrificing anything of its immediate effectiveness.
The critical success was great. There were certainly a few period reviews that were not very positive from nostalgists of Talking Book or Innervisions, which had relegated certain pieces, today unavoidable, to the rank of partial successes or even failures, sometimes unsettled by texts whose almost naive simplicity in certain passages, stripped of all literary or poetic pretension, instead allowed generations of fans to learn them by heart and identify with them. The Detroit prodigy still had plenty of surprises and treasures in reserve. But he would never again renew the commercial or critical success, proof that he had succeeded in his wager of creating a body of work that does justice to life in all its diversity and complexity.