Stevie Wonder Quotes

I live by syllogisms: God is love. Love is blind. Stevie Wonder is blind. Therefore, Stevie Wonder is God. I don't know what I'd believe in if it wasn't for that.

Maybe we were together in another life...in a parallel universe, maybe our paths are not supposed to cross twice, maybe your arms are not supposed to go around me. I hear about you now & then, I wonder where you are & how you feel. Sometimes I walk by & I look up to your balcony, just to make sure you were real-just to make sure that I can still feel you...it appears to me that Destiny Rules...

Heaven help the roses if the bombs begin to fall

You can't base your life on other people's expectations.

Music is a world within itself, with a language we all understand.

When you're moving in the positive, your destination is the brightest star.

We all have ability. The difference is how we use it.

I just called to say, 'I love you.

The Lord that I serve says the impossible is unacceptable.

Personally, I prefer Stevie Wonder," confessed the Chink, "but what the hell. Those cowgirls are always bitching because the only radio station in the area plays nothing but polkas, but I say you can dance to anything if you really feel like dancing." To prove it, he got up and danced to the news.

And wasn't that a great moment in baseball history," Holly Grace replied with withering sarcasm. "Helen Keller pitching and Little Stevie Wonder catching.

Jack," I said, "why don't you go check on Sam?" Maybe you can advise her on getting through those doors. OR you could sing to her. I know she'd love that." "Yeah? Cool!" Jack zoomed off to serenade Sam, which meant Sam would want to hit me later, except it was Ramadan so she had to be nice to me. Wow, I was a bad person. At the doors, Jack was trying to help by suggesting songs he could sing to inspire new ideas for getting inside: 'Knockin'on Heaven's Door', 'I Got the Keys' or 'Break on Through (to the Other Side)'. "How about none of the above?" Sam said. "'None of the Above' ..." Jack mused. "Is that by Stevie Wonder?" "How's it going guys?" I asked. I didn't know if it was physically possible to strangle a magic sword, but I didn't want to see Sam try.

....Charles laughingly observed,'Gospel and the blues are really, if you break it down, almost the same thing. It's just a question of whether you're talkin' about a woman or God.

Did you know that true love asks for nothing? Her Acceptance is the way we pay.

Stevie Wonder could make one of 23 shots." - On North Carolina missing 22 of its last 23 shots in losing to Georgetown in the NCAA tournament.

Having obviously forgiven me for the incident on the Starship, Stevie Wonder turned up one day and took out a snowmobile, insisting on driving it himself. To pre-empt your question: no, I have absolutely no idea how Stevie Wonder successfully piloted a snowmobile through the Rocky Mountains of Colorado without killing himself, or indeed anyone else, in the process, but he did.

When you believe in things that you don't understand, then you suffer.

Radio One played “Ebony and Ivory,” a new song by Paul McCartney and Stevie Wonder. The breakfast DJ Mike Read played it two times in a row which was pretty hardcore of him as it was clearly the worst song of the decade so far, perhaps of the entire century.

Here is my music. It is all I have to tell you how I feel. Know that your love keeps my love strong.

Music is a world within itself, with a language we all can understand.

I remember our song was “You and I (We Can Conquer the World)” by Stevie Wonder, because I chose it, of course.

Then his lungs seemed to open up again, each breath going deeper than the one before. His sneakers (not blinding white Adidas, just ratty old Pumas) seemed to shed the lead coating they had gained. His previous lightness of body came rushing back. It was what Milly had called the following wind, and what pros like McComb no doubt called the runner's high. Scott preferred that. He remembered that day in his yard, flexing his knees, leaping, and catching the branch of the tree. He remembered running up and down the bandstand steps. He remembered dancing across the kitchen floor as Stevie Wonder sang "Superstition." This was the same. Not a wind, not even a high, exactly, but an elevation. A sense that you had gone beyond yourself and could go farther still.

Gustavo Tiberius speaking." “It’s so weird you do that, man,” Casey said, sounding amused. “Every time I call.” “It’s polite,” Gus said. “Just because you kids these days don’t have proper phone etiquette.” “Oh boy, there’s the Grumpy Gus I know. You miss me?” Gus was well aware the others could hear the conversation loud and clear. He was also aware he had a reputation to maintain. “Hadn’t really thought about it.” “Really.” “Yes.” “Gus.” “Casey.” “I miss you.” “I miss you too,” Gus mumbled into the phone, blushing fiercely. “Yeah? How much?” Gus was in hell. “A lot,” he said truthfully. “There have been allegations made against my person of pining and moping. False allegations, mind you, but allegations nonetheless.” “I know what you mean,” Casey said. “The guys were saying the same thing about me.” Gus smiled. “How embarrassing for you.” “Completely. You have no idea.” “They’re going to get you packed up this week?” “Ah, yeah. Sure. Something like that.” “Casey.” “Yes, Gustavo.” “You’re being cagey.” “I have no idea what you mean. Hey, that’s a nice Hawaiian shirt you’ve got on. Pink? I don’t think I’ve seen you in that color before.” Gus shrugged. “Pastor Tommy had a shitload of them. I think I could wear one every day for the rest of the year and not repeat. I think he may have had a bit of a….” Gus trailed off when his hand started shaking. Then, “How did you know what I was wearing?” There was a knock on the window to the Emporium. Gus looked up. Standing on the sidewalk was Casey. He was wearing bright green skinny jeans and a white and red shirt that proclaimed him to be a member of the 1987 Pasadena Bulldogs Women’s Softball team. He looked ridiculous. And like the greatest thing Gus had ever seen. Casey wiggled his eyebrows at Gus. “Hey, man.” “Hi,” Gus croaked. “Come over here, but stay on the phone, okay?” Gus didn’t even argue, unable to take his eyes off Casey. He hadn’t expected him for another week, but here he was on a pretty Saturday afternoon, standing outside the Emporium like it was no big deal. Gus went to the window, and Casey smiled that lazy smile. He said, “Hi.” Gus said, “Hi.” “So, I’ve spent the last two days driving back,” Casey said. “Tried to make it a surprise, you know?” “I’m very surprised,” Gus managed to say, about ten seconds away from busting through the glass just so he could hug Casey close. The smile widened. “Good. I’ve had some time to think about things, man. About a lot of things. And I came to this realization as I drove past Weed, California. Gus. It was called Weed, California. It was a sign.” Gus didn’t even try to stop the eye roll. “Oh my god.” “Right? Kismet. Because right when I entered Weed, California, I was thinking about you and it hit me. Gus, it hit me.” “What did?” Casey put his hand up against the glass. Gus did the same on his side. “Hey, Gus?” “Yeah?” “I’m going to ask you a question, okay?” Gustavo’s throat felt very dry. “Okay.” “What was the Oscar winner for Best Song in 1984?” Automatically, Gus answered, “Stevie Wonder for the movie The Woman in Red. The song was ‘I Just Called to Say I Love You.’” It was fine, of course. Because he knew answers to all those things. He didn’t know why Casey wanted to— And then he could barely breathe. Casey’s smile wobbled a little bit. “Okay?” Gus blinked the burn away. He nodded as best he could. And Casey said, “Yeah, man. I love you too.” Gus didn’t even care that he dropped his phone then. All that mattered was getting as close to Casey as humanely possible. He threw open the door to the Emporium and suddenly found himself with an armful of hipster. Casey laughed wetly into his neck and Gus just held on as hard as he could. He thought that it was possible that he might never be in a position to let go. For some reason, that didn’t bother him in the slightest.

Rodgers and Hart, Gershwin, Bob Dylan, Ray Charles, Carole King, The Beach Boys, Stevie Wonder, Kyu Sakamoto’s “Sukiyaki Song,” “Blue Velvet,” “Green Fields.” Sometimes she would close her eyes and nod or hum to the melody.

If this were a courageous country, it would ask Gloria to lead it since she is sane and funny and beautiful and smart and the National Leaders we've always had are not. When I listen to her talk about women's rights children's rights men's rights I think of the long line of Americans who should have been president, but weren't. Imagine Crazy Horse as president. Sojourner Truth. John Brown. Harriet Tubman. Black Elk or Geronimo. Imagine President Martin Luther King confronting the youthful "Oppie" Oppenheimer. Imagine President Malcolm X going after the Klan. Imagine President Stevie Wonder dealing with the "Truly Needy." Imagine President Shirley Chisholm, Ron Dellums, or Sweet Honey in the Rock dealing with Anything. It is imagining to make us weep with frustration, as we languish under real estate dealers, killers, and bad actors.

If you aren’t paranoid before you arrive in this city, give it a few weeks and you will soon notice it creeping in, dripping into your subconscious like a leaky tap. The trick is not to give a flying fuck what anyone thinks about you, and if you are in the right frame of mind this can be an easy trick to perform but if not you’ll soon notice that for a city full of people who do a great Stevie Wonder impersonation when it comes to the homeless and beggars and casual violence towards others, wearing the wrong kind of shoes or a cheap suit brings out a sneering, hateful attitude that can have weaker minded individuals locked in their houses for weeks before harassing their doctors for prescriptions of Prozac and Beta blockers just to make it out the front door.

Stevie had often wondered how these conversations worked, when people talked about feelings and touching and all of the stuff she thought was meant to be kept carefully bottled inside her own personal apothecary. Now someone wanted in, to take the lids off the vials, to peer at the contents. Stevie was unaware that people were even allowed to talk about emotions this frankly. This was not how things happened at home.

I figure that if there's a heaven, then there's a room in heaven where you can look over all of history and be anyone you want to be, at a peak moment in their lives. For example, I always say I would choose to be one of Stevie Wonder's backup singers on the "Innervisions" album.

I did like Stevie Wonder, I did love basketball, and I tried my best to be cool at all times. So why did such comments always set me on edge? There was a trick there somewhere, although what the trick was, who was doing the tricking, and who was being tricked, eluded my conscious grasp.

There's no other feeling in this world like sitting in the attic and reminiscing on a cold rainy day, whilst listening to my favorite music- Next on Playlist- Michael Jackson The Jacksons 5 Beatles Stevie Wonder The Mighty Gabby Bob Marley Bohemian Rhapsody Prince Whitney Houston Lionel Richie Rihanna

When the chosen ones arrived at the studio, they were confronted with a sign instructing them to “please check your egos at the door.” They were also met by an impish Stevie Wonder, informing them that if the song wasn’t up to scratch nor down in one take, he and fellow blind artist Ray Charles would be driving them all home.

You will never feel proud of your work if you find no joy within it; your best work is always joyful work.

That the dumbest shit ive ever seen

Just because a man lacks the use of his eyes doesn't mean he lacks vision.

Until the rainbow burns the stars out in the sky Until the ocean covers every mountain high Until the dolphin flies and parrots live at sea Until we dream of life and life becomes a dream Always

Blue Denim I saw him the other day I saw him again... yesterday I wonder if I'll ever see him again He reminded me of Blue Denim [Chorus:] Blue-gray eyes... they change with the color... Change with the sun... they run with the sight They change with the wind... but they're always bright Bright eyes... Blue Denim Bright eyes... Blue Denim I knew him another way I knew him another day In some ways he'd forgotten me In many ways he got to me I turned away so he couldn't see I turned away... it could never be I never thought he could walk away But I lost him again... yesterday [Chorus] Understanding me... understanding you Is not an easy thing to do Understanding me... and understanding you Is not an easy thing to do And I will never forget... The last time I saw you Like a photograph... so rare Like a painting No I will never forget... The last time I saw you Never to be... not you... not me No... no... [Chorus] So I'm going away for a little while To remember how to feel And if I find the answer... I promise you... I'll come back and get you I'll come back and get you I'll come back and get you

teacher in Detroit asked Stevie Morris to help her find a mouse that was lost in the classroom. You see, she appreciated the fact that nature had given Stevie something no one else in the room had. Nature had given Stevie a remarkable pair of ears to compensate for his blind eyes. But this was really the first time Stevie had been shown appreciation for those talented ears. Now, years later, he says that this act of appreciation was the beginning of a new life. You see, from that time on he developed his gift of hearing and went on to become, under the stage name of Stevie Wonder, one of the great pop singers and songwriters of the seventies.*

One of the things that made Nate and Stevie such good friends was their mutual hatred of sharing emotional things. Somehow, they managed to have a deeper bond by staying on the surface—as if they were snorkeling their feelings, floating along side by side, observing all of nature’s wonders without getting close enough to be stung by something under a rock.

breath, life after seven decades plus three years is a lot of breathing. seventy three years on this earth is a lot of taking in and giving out, is a life of coming from somewhere and for many a bunch of going nowhere. how do we celebrate a poet who has created music with words for over fifty years, who has showered magic on her people, who has redefined poetry into a black world exactness thereby giving the universe an insight into darkroads? just say she interprets beauty and wants to give life, say she is patient with phoniness and doesn’t mind people calling her gwen or sister. say she sees the genius in our children, is visionary about possibilities, sees as clearly as ray charles and stevie wonder, hears like determined elephants looking for food. say that her touch is fine wood, her memory is like an african roadmap detailing adventure and clarity, yet returning to chicago’s south evans to record the journey. say her voice is majestic and magnetic as she speaks in poetry, rhythms, song and spirited trumpets, say she is dark skinned, melanin rich, small-boned, hurricane-willed, with a mind like a tornado redefining the landscape. life after seven decades plus three years is a lot of breathing. gwendolyn, gwen, sister g has not disappointed our expectations. in the middle of her eldership she brings us vigorous language, memory, illumination. she brings breath. (Quality: Gwendolyn Brooks at 73)

You didn't improvise that speech back there," she said. "How long were you working on that?" "Day or two. Got a bunch of it from The West Wing. That was the only show I was never allowed to watch when I was a kid, so it's my favourite. I wonder who my dad will have as VP if he gets into the White House? I'm rooting for a cloud of bats. What about you, Stevie? You know him better than I do.

Daniel Levitin is one of the world’s leading experts on how music influences the brain. He would be appearing with the conductor Edwin Outwater and the Kitchener-Waterloo Symphony Orchestra, which would play Beethoven. Levitin would explain how the music was affecting the audience’s collective brain. Levitin was no disinterested academic. He had had a serious career as a musician, performing with Sting, Mel Tormé, and Blue Öyster Cult, consulting with Stevie Wonder and Steely Dan, and having been recording engineer for Santana and the Grateful Dead. Then he—like Kahn—made a big switch and become a research psychologist, investigating how music interacts with the brain. He was now head of McGill University’s Laboratory for Musical Perception, Cognition and Expertise and author of This Is Your Brain on Music.

Your character and soul, intelligence and creativity, love and experiences, goodness and talents, your bright and lovely self are entwined with your body, and she has delivered the whole of you to this very day. What a partner! She has been a home for your smartest ideas, your triumphant spirit, your best jokes. You haven’t gotten anywhere you’ve ever gone without her. She has served you well. Your body walked with you all the way through childhood—climbed the trees and rode the bikes and danced the ballet steps and walked you into the first day of high school. How else would you have learned to love the smell of brownies, toasted bagels, onions and garlic sizzling in olive oil? Your body perfectly delivered the sounds of Stevie Wonder, Whitney Houston, and Bon Jovi right into your memories. She gave you your first kiss, which you felt on your lips and in your stomach, a coordinated body venture. She drove you to college and hiked the Grand Canyon. She might have carried your backpack through Europe and fed you croissants. She watched Steel Magnolias and knew right when to let the tears fall. Maybe your body walked you down the aisle and kissed your person and made promises and threw flowers. Your body carried you into your first big interview and nailed it—calmed you down, smiled charmingly, delivered the right words. Sex? That is some of your body’s best work. Your body might have incubated, nourished, and delivered a whole new human life, maybe even two or three. She is how you cherish the smell of those babies, the feel of their cheeks, the sound of them calling your name. How else are you going to taste deep-dish pizza and French onion soup? You have your body to thank for every good thing you have ever experienced. She has been so good to you. And to others. Your body delivered you to people who needed you the exact moment you showed up. She kissed away little tears and patched up skinned knees. She holds hands that need holding and hugs necks that need hugging. Your body nurtures minds and souls with her presence. With her lovely eyes, she looks deliberately at people who so deeply need to be seen. She nourishes folks with food, stirring and dicing and roasting and baking. Your body has sat quietly with sad, sick, and suffering friends. She has also wrapped gifts and sent cards and sung celebration songs to cheer people on. Her face has been a comfort. Her hands will be remembered fondly—how they looked, how they loved. Her specific smell will still be remembered in seventy years. Her voice is the sound of home. You may hate her, but no one else does.

Stevie had great hopes for the boarding school dining hall. She knew better than to hope for floating candlesticks and ghosts, but long wooden tables didn't seem out of the question. Long tables were also featured in so may murder mysteries, when all the guests of the house were arranged, eyeing each other over their wineglasses, wondering who Lord Dudley was going to put in his will or who might have killed Ratchets with the golf club.

Superstition Very superstitious, writings on the wall, Very superstitious, ladders bout' to fall, Thirteen month old baby, broke the lookin' glass Seven years of bad luck, the good things in your past When you believe in things that you don't understand, Then you suffer, Superstition ain't the way Very superstitious, wash your face and hands, Rid me of the problem, do all that you can, Keep me in a daydream, keep me goin' strong, You don't wanna save me, sad is my song When you believe in things that you don't understand, Then you suffer, Superstition ain't the way, yeh, yeh Very superstitious, nothin' more to say, Very superstitious, the devil's on his way, Thirteen month old baby, broke the lookin' glass, Seven years of bad luck, good things in your past When you believe in things that you don't understand, Then you suffer, Superstition ain't the way, no, no, no

Ma Cherie Amour It’s my favorite Stevie Wonder song. I never get tired of it. Ask him where his music comes from, and he’ll tell you he’s simply the vehicle for a higher power. But that higher power seems to delight in throwing down obstacles to make the music better.

Right in the middle of a Stevie Wonder concert, right in the middle of this musical trance, this electronic night with thousands in the stadium, a night worthy of Metropolis with the thousands of cerebro-motor slaves gyrating to the rhythm of synthesizers and all the lighter flames serving as a luminous ovation - a new ritual worthy of the catacombs - I feel a total coldness, complete indifference to this faked music, without the slightest melodic phrase, music of a pitiless technicity. Everything is both visceral and coded at the same time. A strictly regulated release, a cold ceremonial, very far in human terms from its own musical savagery, which is merely that of technology. Only the visual impact remains, the spectacle of the crowd and its phYSical idolatry, particularly as the idol is blind and directs the whole thing with his dead eyes, exiled from the world and its tumult, but absorbing it all like an animal. The same air of sacredness as with Borges. The same translucidity of the blind, who enjoy the benefits of the silence of light and therefore of blackmail by lucidity. But modern idolatry is not easily accepted; the bodies stay clenched. Technicity wins out over frenzy in the new metropolitan nights. Growing old is not the approach of a biological term. It is the ever lengthening spiral which distances you from the physical and intellectual openness of your youth. Eventually, the spiral becomes so long that all chance of return is lost. The parabola becomes eccentric, and the peak of one's life-curve gets lost in space. Simultaneously the echo of pleasures in time becomes shorter. One ceases to find pleasure in pleasure. Things live on in nostalgia, and their echo becomes that of a previous life. This is the second mirror phase, and the beginning of the third age.

I think it was the morning of the second day of the show, we heard a rumor that Stevie Wonder had wanted to see the Emulator. And the next thing we know, there’s Stevie with his entourage—they came up to our booth and the NAMM photographers were taking pictures—and he comes up and he just hugs the thing and then he plays it and he listens to it and then he says, ‘Have my people talk to your people,’ and he bought, on the spot, serial number one. After it all cleared down, which took like an hour for this whole thing to happen, these guys from the next booth came over and said, ‘You guys couldn’t have paid any amount of money to get the publicity you just got.

Good music will always sound good and be remembered. Earth, Wind and Fire. The Jackson Five. Stevie Wonder. And on and on and on. In the 70’s it was super-trendy, fashionable and COOL

Stevie Wonder.

Money, as the saying goes, isn’t everything. Stevie reflects on Mac’s fan mail—baby announcements from people who’ve named their daughters Rhiannon (after Stevie’s Welsh witch song) and letters of gratitude for their songs. “That,” says Stevie, “is the sum total of why I write. It’s so wonderful to know that something you wrote made a difference. These things that I say that meant so much to me seem really to mean a lot to other people. And it’s just because it’s real.

Anyway,” Stevie fetches some more brandy for herself and me and resurrects the situation, “I had a wonderful time tonight. I think San Francisco is so special—the place from which both Lindsey and myself came. There’s something very magic about this place—for me, anyway. I burst into tears at the beginning of ‘Landslide’. I had a lot of trouble getting through that song, because the Coffee Plant where Lindsey and I recorded everything to get us our first deal is about five blocks from the Cow Palace.

When you believe in things that you don't understand, you suffer" - Stevie Wonder

There was also a joke that we had filmed where the announcer says, “Air Poland, please clear the runway.” And then we cut into the cockpit, it’s Jose Feliciano, Ray Charles, and Stevie Wonder. Two of the guys were look-alikes, but we actually got Jose Feliciano. Jerry: I got a call from someone at the Jewish Anti-Defamation League.

In the last decade and a half a revival of plant behavior research had brought countless new realizations to botany, more than forty years after an irresponsible best-selling book nearly snuffed out the field for good. The Secret Life of Plants, published in 1973, captured the public imagination on a global scale. Written by Peter Tompkins and Christopher Bird, the book was a mix of real science, flimsy experiments, and unscientific projection. In one chapter, Tompkins and Bird suggested that plants could feel and hear—and that they preferred Beethoven to rock and roll. In another, a former CIA agent named Cleve Backster hooked up a polygraph test to his houseplant and imagined the plant being set on fire. The polygraph needle went wild, which would mean the plant was experiencing a surge in electrical activity. In humans, a reading like that was believed to denote a surge of stress. The plant, according to Backster, was responding to his malevolent thoughts. The implication was that there existed not only a sort of plant consciousness but also plant mind-reading. The book was an immediate and meteoric success on the popular market, surprising for a book about plant science. Paramount put out a feature film about it. Stevie Wonder wrote the soundtrack. The first pressings of the album version were sent out scented with floral perfume. To its many astonished readers, the book offered a new way to view the plants all around them, which up until then had seemed ornamental, passive, more akin to the world of rocks than animals. It also aligned with the advent of New Age culture, which was ready to inhale stories about how plants were as alive as we are. People began talking to their houseplants, and leaving classical music playing for their ficus when they went out. But it was a beautiful collection of myths.

Stevie Wonder,

When you believe in things that you don't understand, Then you suffer...

I love her.” I blurt it out with no forethought. Maybe it’s just Stevie Wonder working his magic through the power of verse.

For my mother, the experience was emotional. When my music was evolving, I hadn’t allowed her to hear it. For years up on Cloverdale, I had always locked myself in my room, not letting anybody hear what I was doing. Then, after I moved out, I never invited her to hear me working in the studios. So, when Let Love Rule was released, she was completely shocked. She could hear how everything that I had experienced on my journey came alive in that album: Tchaikovsky; the Jackson 5; James Brown; the Harlem School of the Arts; Stevie Wonder; Gladys Knight and the Pips; Earth, Wind & Fire; Miles Davis; Jimi Hendrix; Led Zeppelin; KISS; the California Boys’ Choir; Prince; David Bowie; Miss Beasley’s orchestra; the Beverly Hills High jazz band; the magical spark between me and Lisa; the spirit of our daughter. More than anyone, Mom knew that I had poured every aspect of my life into this effort. That was enough to make her proud. But what blindsided her—and me as well—was the sight of thousands of fans singing lyrics that I had written—and most of those fans didn’t even speak English.

When you fall in love with your kids, you fall in love forever. And that love forms the exact shape in the world of the cab of a beat-up pickup on the side of the dark highway—filled with safety and Stevie Wonder and okay-ness. Or the exact shape of a single hospital bed with two figures nestled in it. Which of course suggests that no matter what, the kid is going to be all right.

1973 was the year when the United Kingdom entered the European Economic Union, the year when Watergate helped us with a name for all future scandals, Carly Simon began the year at number one with ‘You’re So Vain’, John Tavener premiered his Variations on ‘Three Blind Mice’ for orchestra, the year when The Godfather won Best Picture Oscar, when the Bond film was Live and Let Die, when Perry Henzell’s film The Harder They Come, starring Jimmy Cliff, opened, when Sofia Gubaidulina’s Roses for piano and soprano premiered in Moscow, when David Bowie was Aladdin Sane, Lou Reed walked on the wild side and made up a ‘Berlin’, Slade were feeling the noize, Dobie Gray was drifting away, Bruce Springsteen was ‘Blinded by the Light’, Tom Waits was calling ‘Closing Time’, Bob Dylan was ‘Knocking on Heaven’s Door’, Sly and the Family Stone were ‘Fresh’, Queen recorded their first radio session for John Peel, when Marvin Gaye sang ‘What’s Going On’ and Ann Peebles’s ‘I Can’t Stand the Rain’, when Morton Feldman’s Voices and Instruments II for three female voices, flute, two cellos and bass, Alfred Schnittke’s Suite in the Old Style for violin and piano and Iannis Xenakis’s Eridanos for brass and strings premiered, when Ian Carr’s Nucleus released two albums refining their tangy English survey of the current jazz-rock mind of Miles Davis, when Ornette Coleman started recording again after a five-year pause, making a field recording in Morocco with the Master Musicians of Joujouka, when Stevie Wonder reached No. 1 with ‘Superstition’ and ‘You Are the Sunshine of My Life’, when Free, Family and the Byrds played their last show, 10cc played their first, the Everly Brothers split up, Gram Parsons died, and DJ Kool Herc DJed his first block party for his sister’s birthday in the Bronx, New York, where he mixed instrumental sections of two copies of the same record using two turntables.

Music, at its essence, is what gives us memories. And the longer a song has existed in our lives, the more memories we have of it.

Writing is an art, and true art comes from inspiration, which makes me wonder what kind of fucked-up lives some of my favorite authors have led. Surely

...then I wonder, does anyone ever intend on being that kind of person?

Fa male l'assenza? No. Fa male la perdita. Che è altro dall'assenza. La perdita sa cosa ha perso. L'assenza può essere un vago sentore, un'emozione senza corpo e senza suono di qualcosa che manca e che non ho, ma che non so cos'è. La perdita, è quella che provo io, perché lo so. Ed è peggio dell'assenza. Perché quello che conoscevo e che tenevo fra le dita non c'è più. Non sarà più. È la stessa differenza che c'è fra Ray Charles e Stevie Wonder. Stevie è cieco dalla nascita, Ray c'è diventato. Ray sa cos'è vederci, Stevie no. Ray ha provato la perdita. Stevie l'assenza. Stevie sta meglio di Ray. Ci metto la mano sul fuoco.

her. ‘Look at Buck in this picture. Ileanna is looking up at him like he hung the moon, but he’s not looking at her.’ ‘Very good,’ Berman praised. ‘Who is he looking at?’ She traced his line of sight and a piece of puzzle settled. ‘He’s looking at Sara, the girl he’d just broken up with.’ Lucy tilted her head, looking at her brother with the eyes of an adult. ‘That’s an effyou look. He took Ileanna to get back at Sara. I wonder why.’ She looked at Higgins. ‘What happened to Sara Derringer?’ ‘Her family moved after high school. She lives in DC and has six kids. I can give you her contact info.’ He started spinning his Rolodex before she could say a word. ‘Here’s her card.’ Lucy slipped it in her pocket. ‘Thank you.’ Fitzpatrick and Stevie looked up from their conversation. ‘Lucy,’ he said, ‘your mother was the first responder. Ileanna wasn’t dead when she got there. She died about fifteen minutes later, but she

They were in a much different mood than I was. I was the bummer in the back seat. My mood brought everyone down. I was not joking. I was very focused and had a lot on my mind. The Javits Center seemed eerie to me. People were partying when I felt like they should be working. I saw Stevie Wonder, a man I have known since I first started working in politics, and the first thing I wanted to say was, Can you make phone calls? We need to get people out to the polls in Detroit.

And his ass needs to drop the fuck out too,” Xaveria insisted. “Bruh, I don’t mean any harm, but NuNu is the last person that needs to be trying to dress anybody. Hell Stevie Wonder wouldn’t even let that nigga dress him,” Quincy laughed. “Well how about you let me and Xaveria plan the wedding and you and NuNu can plan the baby shower?” I threw out there.

We humans have territories too. Ours are psychological. Stevie Wonder's territory is the piano. Arnold Schwarzenegger's is the gym. When Bill Gates pulls into the parking lot at Microsoft, he's on his territory. When I sit down to write, I'm on mine.

Stevie Wonder sings about his precious daughter—Isn’t she lovely made from love?—and we’ll never have a daughter and I lose my temper

But with their backs against the wall, the Beatles produced an album far ahead of anything they’d done before. Since these guys were riding new levels of musical fluidity and inspiration, firing on so many more cylinders than anybody else had, they stumbled onto discoveries that changed the way music has been made ever since. It was an accidental masterpiece—but one that stunned them into realizing how far they could go. After that, they went full-time into the masterpiece-making business. Yet unlike some of their later artistic statements, this one was fun to make, and it shows. It’s where the Beatles became the Beatles. For artists like Stevie Wonder and Marvin Gaye, it was a model of artistic independence. Brian Wilson was still writing surf hits until he heard this record. The morning after his first listen, he sat at the piano and wrote “God Only Knows.” As he said, “We prayed for an album that would be a rival to Rubber Soul.

do you know?” It made Lena’s question seem utterly selfless and without need, a question that didn’t require an answer. Wasn’t that what true love was, according to Stevie Wonder? It asked for nothing. Acceptance was the way you paid.

Stevie Wonder’s ‘Fingertips’.

If you have stage fright, it never goes away. But then I wonder: is the key to that magical performance because of the fear?

Day or two. Got a bunch of it from The West Wing. That was the only show I was never allowed to watch when I was a kid, so it’s my favorite. I wonder who my dad will have as VP if he gets into the White House? I’m rooting for a cloud of bats. What about you, Stevie? You know him better than I do.

Which makes my thinking go like this: When you fall in love with your kids, you fall in love forever. And that love forms the exact shape in the world of the cab of a beat-up pickup on the side of the dark highway—filled with safety and Stevie Wonder and okay-ness. Or the exact shape of a single hospital bed with two figures nestled in it. Which of course suggests that no matter what, the kid is going to be all right.

You took me riding in your rocket gave me a star But at a half a mile from heaven you dropped me back Down to this cold, cold world