Published on May 30, 2000
Just to throw a wrench into the status quo of reviewing old
albums, I thought I would try to go where no “Daily Vault” reviewer
has gone before, avoiding the pitfalls of comparing an album to an
artists’ entire recording career, and instead reviewing it as if it
had just been released. So, ladies and gentlemen, be prepared to go
without e-mail for a while — rev that old DeLorean up to 88 miles
per hour, let down that hair, break out the 8-track player, throw
on your olive green leisure suits (or in some of our cases,
including mine, diapers), and pretend it’s 1974!
The “Supreme Minister of Fine Art,” as George Clinton recently
put it, is still prolific. He’s back from his recent near-fatal
accident and hospitalization, and as usual, has a lot on his mind,
most of it pertaining to love, God and politics. The form of art to
which Stevie Wonder has aspired to paint in has been chock of full
of these themes in the past decade, of course, but ever since he
negotiated his own “musical freedom” contract with Motown four
years ago, he has been able to offer just enough of a new
perspective to sound fresh. “Heaven Help Us All” effortlessly
melding popular slang with religion, for example, or “You’ve Got It
Bad Girl” transferring the pain of infatuation to its target.
Thus, it pains me to say that for the first time since that
glorious contract, which opened up a musical Pandora’s Box of ideas
for a new genre of contemporary R&B, Wonder is running in place
almost as often as he is moving forward. Now, before you all cover
your mouths as you gasp in horror at this affront, consider the
pair of songs “It Ain’t No Use” and “Please Don’t Go,” both on the
second side of the new record. Beautiful songs, both of them;
exactly the sort of progressive, orchestral soul that Wonder helped
pioneer during his break from the sleek Motown sound that had
become all too familiar by 1968 or 1969. But right now it’s 1974,
and although five years is a mere blip in the life of the universe,
it’s an eternity in pop music; the only things that separate these
songs from the other side of that eternity are the quiet Fender
Rhodes electric piano and the slightly higher sound quality of the
recording.
The mild staleness isn’t limited to side two either. “Smile
Please” leads the record off unpretentiously, but doesn’t provide
the kick of a “Too High.” It’s a good song, with a complex melody
out of the jazz school of melody-writing that never really quite
resolves. But instrumentally, it’s little more than a pale rehash
of “You Are The Sunshine Of My Life.” Not bad company, to be sure,
but why do this when you’ve already done “You Are The Sunshine Of
My Life?” Wonder is one of those artists who has enough good ideas
that he shouldn’t have to repeat himself. The awkward meowing at
the end of the song (well, maybe that wasn’t what he intended,
but…) is something new, at least, but he also shouldn’t have
to resort to said feline impersonations.
The bigger issue with this record is the schlock, which (with
one glorious exception known as “Creepin'”) is even schlockier than
usual. Rather than adorning the sentimentality with sonic
innovation, as he did on “Visions,” “Girl Blue” and “Superwoman /
Where Were You When I Needed You,” he has stripped down to basics.
“Too Shy To Say” is his sparest song yet, only a piano and a pedal
steel guitar, and while that could be interesting, he doesn’t pull
it off with enough energy. “They Won’t Go When I Go” is a gospelly
ballad of spiritual desperation that is a little better simply
because he sounds like he means it. But at six minutes, and coming
right after the fairly somber “It Ain’t No Use,” it drags you down
with it.
One need look no further than “Creepin'” to point out that
Wonder is perfectly capable of a non-tedious slow jam. In spite of
a flute-filled hook that wouldn’t be out of place on a PBS nature
special, or even one of those grade school filmstrips where the
teacher has to turn the reel every time there’s a beep, the song
works thanks to the spookiest R&B vocal performance of the
seventies. It could be a giraffe that’s doing the Creepin’ into his
dreams, but it wouldn’t matter.
And there is more good news. “Heaven Is 10 Zillion Light Years
Away” is the vintage positive statement of global equality we’ve
been waiting for him to make. The intelligent response to the
now-age-old question of “if there’s a God, why hasn’t he prevented
[fill in the blank]?” is a topic that only Stevie Wonder can
admirably turn into a song. “You Haven’t Done Nothin’,” the album’s
first single, is an earnest letter to Richard Nixon that features a
wild, psychedelic, synthesized intro, some well-placed “Doo doo
wop”s sung by the Jackson Five, an immaculately-constructed rhythm
section (played entirely by Wonder himself, naturally), and an
electric-funk bass line that recalls “Superstition” but doesn’t
just rehash it.
Also on the upbeat front, we have “Boogie On Reggae Woman,” a
steamy piece of funk that foregoes a bass line altogether in favor
of some fuzzy-sounding patch on an ARP2000, most likely. It also
contains what is probably his best harmonica showcase since “For
Once In My Life”; we can only hope the lack of that instrument on
most of this record is only a temporary hiatus. And let’s not
forget the combination anti-drug and airline commercial “Bird Of
Beauty,” a polar opposite to “Boogie” in its densely populated mix,
but equally worthy of the Wonder name. The striking thing about the
upbeat songs is how different they all are from each other. With
each one, a bold new texture and atmosphere. It would not be
surprising if whole new types of dance music were to unfold as a
result of these three tunes alone.
So what we have on a grand scale with
Fulfillingness’ First Finale is a record that is about 50%
stagnation and 50% innovation. That would be a breakthrough for
just about anyone else, but for the Supreme Minister of Fine Art,
it leaves us remaining on the edge of our seats, still holding our
breath for the all-out mindblower we know he has in him.
But given that we very nearly didn’t have this Stevie Wonder, we
should be thankful and cut him some slack. My prediction about this
record is that afficionados of early ’70s Wonder (and there will
always be many) will eventually see it either as one of those
grow-on-you acquired tastes / overlooked masterpieces, or a minor
step back before a major forward leap. The jury is still out.
Now, back to 2000 for one last question that’s always troubled
me: two measures after the beat kicks in on “You Haven’t Done
Nothin’,” there’s a quiet “Oww!” in the background. Is that Stevie
Wonder, or is it a 13-year-old, still-black, voice-recently-changed
Michael Jackson (remember, the Jackson Five do sing backup in the
chorus) providing a glimpse of things to come?