There are times in life, moments, minutes, hours when all is right with the world. These moments are fleeting and few. They're where you tell yourself, "yes, love will conquer all evil." You say it, over and over, again and again. The cynicism creeps in, you tell yourself it's all bullshit anyway and nobody really cares. But for those moments when you truly believe love will conquer all evil, it's as if all the pain stopped, all the hurt is gone. There are no young women brutally murdered in Kansas, no angry young men shooting innocent people in a shopping mall, no racial tensions in Louisiana. None of it is reality, because at that moment, love IS conquering all evil. Tonight I have had one of those moments, courtesy of Stevie Wonder.
Stevie opens the show, dedicating it to his departed mother; he walks, arms linked with his daughter Aisha (also a singer in his band) and the passion begins to pour. Stevie's Innervisions start early, rocking through "Golden Lady," Higher Ground," and a fierce "Living For the City." Nokia Theater is up, dancing, swirling, black and white folks, young and old, feeling IT, believing IT.
An eight piece band pushes, catapulting rhythms play in the air, bounding effortlessly through Stevie's melodies. Two percussionists, a drummer, wicked bass player. It really IS happening. The white dude down front in a western cut shirt, black Stetson, dancing as if his heart would burst. Four middle aged black women, dressed as only success demands it, laughing, teasing each other, clapping their hands.
And Stevie. Preaching the gospel of love, not guns, peace, not war. Preaching it, telling it, singing it. We are in church, and there is no creed but music. "Ribbon In The Sky" twists and turns, floating softly, then turning into a jam session funk. Stevie cracks jokes, maybe a little too much, but they're nasty and funny. He has a dirty mind, but it's funny as hell, he says "Rick James" and the audience howls.
And then the climax, the sermon and orgasm all at once. The songs tumble and roll over, the entire audience, all the way up into the balcony, dancing, swaying, sweating. "Fingertips," a mid-song countrified break on "Signed, Sealed, & Delivered" cooked up just for Nashville; "Uptight, Alright," "I Was Made To Love Her," it feels as if Heaven is opening up, the angels coming down. "Sir Duke," "I Wish," spill out as if righteousness were simply a soulful melody. And "Superstition," the crowd is lost in the bliss of the moment. Stevie talks of love, love, love one another no matter what faith. Stevie says God can't be calling us to kill one another. Stevie asks us to love. You believe it, because HE says it, sings it, and the music takes you higher. Even "I Just Called To Say I Love You" finds a groove and sounds so much funkier than the tepid studio version. Stevie can do no wrong, only love.
Just for a moment. For two and a half hours. If it can be this beautiful for such a brief time, why can't it become the norm? Stevie says so, I believe it. Just for a moment.
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