Stevie Wonder - Verizon Center, District of Columbia, 10/30/07

Devil’s Night with a Fellow Detroiter

I can still see in my mind’s eye the exuberant gyrations of Motown’s “Little Stevie Wonder” in that old black-and-white footage with his sunglasses, short hair, jacket and bowtie, pegged pants, harmonica.

He’s not so little anymore. As my dad would say, he hasn’t missed a meal in a while. But he can still put on a show like only that elite group of living music legends can. He’s a pro’s pro.

Fifty-seven years old. That must be why it feels like he’s been famous since long before I was born. And I was born a very long time ago, don’t let my amazing age-defying face fool you, girls and boys.

His daughter Aisha (the baby who sang in “Isn’t She Lovely,” now all grown up… and out) escorted him out on the stage, then sang backup for him. He pointed out that she was being paid. He also intimated that she had a new boyfriend, probably because she is quite comely and her dad wanted to shut down as much lascivious thinking about her as he could. (Seems like a lot of the old-timers use their adult kids in their acts. Aretha and Etta do it, too. Maybe making up for being gone a lot on the road?)

I don’t pay much attention to the music at concerts, because I can’t. I’m not bored, though. Au contraire. My thoughts are as hyperactive as my body ain’t. The African American ladies around me were standing up and throwing down and yelling encouragements to Stevie, I was sitting there with my index finger resting on my upper lip, thinking on stuff.

SHRAKE’S THOUGHT FLURRY — ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK: I want to figure out how much he’s pulling down for the show, how much each of his musicians’ cut is, where he lives, what it’s like to be blind. Trying to remember the joke in the Seventies about how mad Stevie would be if he saw how he was dressed. Trying to calculate the demographic breakdown of the crowd (about 15,000 people, and I’d say 60% black, 40% white, an even age distribution from young children to gray-hairs, all of which seems right for a popular crossover musician who’s been in the business for 45 years). Thinking about the secret to longevity as a performer: Give the people what they want (he performed abbreviated versions of just about ALL his hits, wisely skipping the ’80s songs, not trying out new material, and not re-stylizing the sound of the songs; people want to hear it the way they’ve always heard it; he understands this. When you’re making several hundred thousand dollars in a couple hours, it’s not about what YOU want, it’s about keeping the crowd happy; also, he threw in lots of D.C.-oriented shouts-out, which always works in stadiums). This might be obvious… but during the show I never forgot for a second that Stevie Wonder is blind. What does a really rich blind person like to buy? The best food, and elaborate massages every day? Buy lots of stuff for others in what must be a gigantic entourage? Trying to remember his full first name (Stevland, which sounds like a mall in Detroit). What exercises can blind people do safely? Yoga, treadmill, elliptical? I’m taking voice lessons now, so I can appreciate more than ever how difficult it is to sing for two hours plus and not lose your voice. Cataloging all the techniques that go into it. Pros make it look easy, but it’s hard. I was watching his throat (we had pretty good seats) and thinking,“You’re straining your instrument! You’re gonna get hoarse!” But who the hell am I? Thinking about how the ladies around me clearly consider him a treasure; thinking about how sick to my stomach it made me when someone broke into Rosa Parks’s house in Detroit about 10 years before she died and actually hit her while committing a burglary; can you imagine being the sorry fool that beat up ROSA? Then thinking about how it still makes me choke up to remember the sight of the hordes of people lining Woodward Avenue the day of her funeral, not just throwing flowers, but APPLAUDING as the hearse went by. I was so proud to be from Detroit that day.

Stevie has a pretty good sense of humor, kind of mischievous. He told a funny story about himself as a boy that explained a lot.

He also gave two sermons. The first one was about how he wished our leaders would stop the war. “Stop it! Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!” he cried out as the crowd clapped and whistled. (I said to my friend, “Why doesn’t he get in his limo and go over to the White House and talk to Mr. Bush himself?”) His first sermon felt real, and was heartfelt and kind of eloquent, so I didn’t even cringe.

But the second sermon, toward the end, felt a little forced. He was going on about God this God that, how we need to build and protect our communities, everybody love everybody, the children are the future, etc. Then he started talking about “haters” — “You know them, I know them…” and then he kind of surprised me by saying “These haters should just… DIE AND GO TO HELL!”

A little rage is okay.