Stevie Wonder? Where To

It truly began with Tonto's Expanding Headband. For those who've forgotten, Robert Margouleff and Malcolm Cecil were white children of the psychedelic era whose field of expertise was synthesizer technology. Headband was their conceptual primer on the uses and potential of Arp and Moog synthesizers, and was pivotal in reshaping the musical direction of artists for whom the folk era and straight up rock and R&B were beginning to pale.

Stevie Wonder had been experimenting with electric keyboards like the clavichord and the clavinet since '68. But it wasn't until Richie Havens brought him to Margouleff and Cecil that the Wondersound we know today was crystalized. Where I'm Coming From and Music Of My Mind had already established Wonder as a . young man with more on his mind than baby love and "Fingertips." But as a blind composer, Stevie sought the tools that would expand his already considerable instrumental capabilities, without necessitating a lot of movement or the unsure cooperation of sighted arrangers and transcribers. Computeramplified keyboards were the answer. Programmable, adjustable, and with a memory to rival Stevie's own, the Moog systems wired for Wonder by the founders of Centaur Music made him a one-man orchestra, able to develop and record the non-traditional sounds in his head without the awkward intermediacy of other musicians or studio engineers.

In the four-album cycle Wonder completed with Margouleff and Cecil (Music Of My Mind, Talking Book, Innervisions, and Fulfillingness' First Finale), you can hear the development, the flowering of Wonder's unchained talent, the fruit of years of listening to the master singers and players of Motor-town soul. It was this, plus a small sabbatical studying advanced music theory that ultimately produced Songs In The Key Of Life and Secret Life Of Plants, the latter of which has yet to be fully appreciated for its complex textures and levels of meaning.

I first met Stevie Wonder in 1977, when we were both observers at the Second World Festival of Black and African Art and Culture. The spectacle and sounds of 60 black and African nations performing for one another over a month overwhelmed me,it could have done no less for Wonder, who, while not a participant, found his suite at the Federal Palace Hotel constantly visited by stars and dignitaries of world-wide stature though unknown in the states. Visiting some of the shows at the larger arenas, he often found himself coaxed onstage to a multilingual audience frisson—all experiences which I know confirmed some of his mystic beliefs about the unity of Man and Africa's central positon in man's evolution. "A Seed's A Star's A Seed" from Secret Life Of Plants encapsulates the African experience for me. It also jolts the memory to the consistant political subtext of all Wonder's work; a subtext he chose to emphasize by releasing the compilation LP Original Musiquarium last year.

Wonder cherrypicked his early albums to get a series of songs that deal with everything from feminist contradictions ("Superwoman"), to Nixon ("You FJaven't Done Nothing"). The new songs he chose to include conform to this range of concerns, from "That Girl" 's telepathic vamp to "Frontline" 's disenchanted Vietnam vet. Even the previous album, Hotter Than July, was a departure from the resolute boogie consciousness of his R&B contemporaries with three hardhitting cuts: a Marley homage "Master Blaster," a civil rights protest anthem, "Cash In Your Face," and "Happy Birthday," based on Wonder's pet project, the Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. commemoration movement. Although the popular vision of Stevie Wonder—ever since a tour with the Rolling Stones secured him a white rock audience—has been of a reclusive, sexy, black flower child, hit singles like "Black Man" from Songs In The Key Of Life would always surface to confirm the maturity and practical base of Wonder's inspiration.

The number of other musicians influenced by Wonder's approach is legion. There is the legendary tale of 1 972's session with Jeff Beck, which produced classics like "Superstition" and "Maybe Your Baby," written especially with Beck in mind. People often note similarities between Sly Stone and Stevie. Stevie will 'fess up that "Maybe Your Baby" might have incorporated a bit of Sly's sound, but points out that he hears a lot of early Stevie Wonder in Sly songs like "Sing A Simple Song." An outside observer might also point to Sly's brilliant Small Talk LP, and notice how some of the special effects on the title track, as well as some deliciously mournful jazz modulations were echoed in several selections from Songs In The Key Of Life.

If one ignores the well-intentioned but hopelessly maudlin "Ebony And Ivory" from the McCartney Montserrat sessions, you'll discover a gem buried on the Tug Of War LP called "What's That You're Doing?" which is the finest synthesis so far of black and white pop sensibilities. Wonder's other strange partnership of that period, his duet with Motown's white pop singer Charlene, produced "Used To Be," a far from ineffective top 40 lament, reminiscent of Peggy Lee and Janis Ian's more trenchant singles. These experiments, together with Wonder's continual guest appearances on albums by Quincy Jones, Jermaine Jackson, and Third World, underscore how active a modern renaissance man Stevie Wonder continues to be. A prolific writer and producer, Wonder is liberal with his gifts, never hesitating to produce artists he cares about, or give away tunes he could as easily make hits for himself. This is perhaps the legacy of his Motown grooming, that '60s style black paternalism propelled by pride and restrained by sheer good manners.

Almost as important as Wonder's technological awakening via Margouleff and Cecil, was the contributions he allowed various friends, relatives, and girlfriends to have on his writing. The several biographies that have appeared on Wonder over the years point out the number of credits on his early singles as belonging to this or that relative, even his mother! But by far the most fruitful collaboration of his adult years was between Wonder and Yvonne Wright.

Wright's pragmatic romanticism was the perfect counterpart to Wonder's emotional impressionism. For eight years (the eight that marked his most prolific writing period just after his artistic emancipation from the Gordy empire at 21) they lived, loved, and wrote together—though not exclusively —making some of Wonder's most perceptive lyrics. "Girl Blue" was derived from a poem Wright had written about Wonder's problematic relationship with his hangers on. Much of the work credited to Wonder's exwife Syreeta was actually done by Wright; and there is no more eloquent an articulation of Wonder's diplomatic militancy than Wright's eloquent plainsong, "They Won't Go When I Go." More recently, Wright was responsible for the complex, prescient statement on black womanhood "Black Orchid" from Secret Life Of Plants.

Although ex-Motown secretary Yolanda is the mother of Stevie's two children, and he has steered away from the legal bonds of matrimony since the short-lived experience with the singer Syreeta (about whom, some say, the song "Superwoman" was written), Wonder's formative years as a young adult were shaped by Wright's loyal, passionate intensity.

Like most superstars, Stevie is courted by and pleased to court many bright and lovely women, as fuel to his creative fires. But there are many who hope that the Wright/Wonder partnership is far from over; for the chemistry that was reconstituted in song was special indeed.

The Grammy winner, the civil rights activist, the corporate head of Black Bull Music, the sturdy apostle of racial harmony, or the chirping harmonica boy of innumerable beach party movies and "My Cherie Amour"? Which of these diverse personae is the real Stevie Wonder? All of them, I'm afraid, and it is this multiplicity of image that causes some people a great deal of distress—including Stevie Wonder. His attempts to contribute leadership to various black organizations such as the Kenny Gamble brainchild, the Black Music Association, have been fraught with clashing aspirations and egos. His hopes for projects like the aborted film counterpart to Secret Life Of Plants, and even his own companies, have not been realised as much as he would have wished. Lucrative TDK tape endorsements helped keep Wonder in the public eye during the long gaps between tours and records, but why does he not appear regularly on television, an idea he himself has put forth from time to time? His recent guest hosting of Saturday Night Live revealed a knack for acting and comedy that few would have suspected, had Eddie Murphy's stardom not provided the opportunity.

Motown doesn't do much to promote Stevie Wonder since they signed that multimillion dollar contract that guaranteed their prodigy that he didn't have to tour or release his LPs until he was good and ready. Clauses like that can play hell with the momentum desired by a corporate publicity department, so they didn't want to be subject to the whims of a "difficult" artist, thank you. Which means that Wonder has been desperately in need of a functional infrastructure to help build and run the empire he'd like to have.

But his loyalty to relatives and sidekicks who do not necessarily have the skills he needs intensifies the lackadaisical progress of Wonder's multifaceted goals. And, of course, there's that persistant rumor about Wonder's writing block that won't go away no matter how many great albums reach the public. People claim that Wonder is cannibalizing his vaults for excess material recorded and canned during his more prolific periods—reworking the old, rather than pioneering the new. But if so, so what? AH evidence suggests that the Stevie Wonder of five or ten'years ago was easily 20 years ahead of everyone else in his chosen genre. Those vaults are full of treasures, which could only enrich the public that hears them.

What I fear is just the opposite—that egged on by criticisms from those close to him, Wonder feels pressured to contrive inferior new product rather than update and add mature insights to earlier unreleased material. A new album is on the horizon, and in view of the man's track record I feel less trepidation than hopeful anticipation. After all, his Wondirection label is safely off the ground in Europe, due to the success of he and Gary Byrd's rap single "The Crown." Surely a Stateside icebreaker is being planned? After all, there has always been more to Stevie Wonder...than meets the eye.